Father John Misty’s gospel, if the slippery singer-songwriter had one, would be comically uninspiring. Love transforms you, but not much. Progress comes, not for long. When the times call for great social responsibility, such defeatism might sound convenient, but the indie-rock playboy born Josh Tillman takes cynicism all the way to the pulpit. He has faith in his non-belief, and summons you along with him.
A sold-out Eventim Apollo follows this dubious commentator into the dark. Tillman strides out in a trim suit and black shoes so sleekly polished they seem to reflect nonexistent chandeliers. He opens with a bleakly beguiling synth ballad (The Next 20th Century), before spending nearly two hours juggling screeds of social calamity with odes to romantic joy. He patrols the stage, taunting a spotlight’s cusp. Then his hips loosen. He primps for the front row, drops to his knees and theatrically pricks the air, cuing a cymbal crash. He has us.
