My lover's got humor

If you want to be righteous, get in line

Êtes vous ma fleuri, ever carefully breezing

Look out Hollywood, here I come

“His dancing is a cross between Philip Seymour Hoffman’s character in Boogie Nights and the serial killer in Silence of the Lambs.” --Charles someone, from Seattle

That quote is from a man claiming to be a Father John Misty fan who was disturbed enough by what he saw to write a letter to FJM's record label, Sub Pop Records. If you've ever been to a FJM show, you know that he's absolutely correct, although I do think it's important to point out that a Buffalo Bill tuck is never involved.

FJM at The Glass House in Pomona, CA

It's rare these days to find someone who's an entertainer as much as he is a musician. FJM, aka Joshua Tillman, has a beautiful voice, compelling lyrics, and a stage presence that, according to one onlooker I overheard at The Glass House in Pomona, compares to that of Mick Jagger.

I suggest you expose yourself to this sparkling charisma as soon as possible. He'll be at Terminal 5 in New York on July 24th, at my favorite music venue of all time (The Cat's Cradle in Carrboro, NC, duh) on October 25th, and back in LA in November!

Until then, here are some videos, courtesy of Chris Moore, from FJM's June 22 show in Pomona, CA.

Stale conversation deserves but a bread knife

To pollinate means ecstasy

Don't look at the moon tonight

I was just starting to get over New York. 

That's a lie. I'll never get over my first love. But I was starting to let go of my former home, just a little bit, replacing it with my new sunny one. And then I saw Cat Power's new video for "Manhattan," the eighth track off her 2012 album, Sun. I watched it once, and then a few more times, feeling a long-lasting pang of homesickness...a longing to be surrounded by tall buildings with severe facades full of history, to pass by the basketball courts at Chrystie and Houston on my way home from Whole Foods, to walk along the impossibly hard to find Doyers St. in Chinatown, to experience a subway ride from the Spring St. station with crazy dancers and mariachi bands that I endured with annoyance, but now seem quite impressive. Cat Power poetically confirmed what I already knew... anywhere else will never be, never be Manhattan.