serpentwithfeet
When asked if he always knew that he’d be a singer, 27-year-old Josiah Wise—better known as serpentwithfeet—can only laugh. “I always had big ambitions,” he says. “I wrote a letter to Oprah when I was really, really little basically telling her that I wanted to be the first child talk show host. As a kid, I remember every day waiting for a phone call from Oprah being like, ‘I’m going to give you money to start your own talk show!’ When that didn’t happen, I had to figure out other ways to express myself…and then I just never stopped.”
Review: Public Memory's "Wuthering Drum"
Public Memory is the solo nom de plume of Robert Toher, a Brooklyn-based musician who formerly served time as a member of Eraas and Apse. While those projects blurred the edges of rambling space rock and synthy post-punk, Public Memory dives headlong down the electronic darkwave rabbit hole, exploring a Korg-constructed sonic palette that weaves together a variety of primitive beats, delicately employed samples (bells, chimes, the weeping of ghosts), and woozy electronics that sound as if they might have been recorded at the bottom of a lake. Created over the course of a year while Toher was temporarily decamped in Los Angeles, Wuthering Drum is a work of restrained gloom—a remarkably textured electronic record whose minimalist tendencies keep it from collapsing under the weight of its own moribund aesthetic.
Report from São Miguel's Tremor Festival
CREDIT: Joana Camilo
Now in its third year, the Tremor Festival takes place on the island of São Miguel in the Azores — a place that, quite frankly, I didn’t even know existed until I was asked to go there. Located in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean, the Azores is a Portuguese archipelago — approximately halfway between Lisbon and New York City — though most Portuguese people I know have never even been there. Up until a year ago the nine islands that make up the Azores were only serviced by one airline, which made getting to and from the islands prohibitively expensive. Now that the island is serviced by multiple carriers, it’s easy — and relatively cheap — to fly there. Just a four and a half hour flight from Boston, Azores is like this crazy volcanic paradise that you never knew you wanted to visit and that you Now in its third year, the Tremor festival takes place on the island of São Miguel in the Azores — a place that, quite frankly, I didn’t even know existed until I was asked to go there. Located in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean, the Azores is a Portuguese archipelago — approximately halfway between Lisbon and New York City — though most Portuguese people I know have never even been there. Up until a year ago the nine islands that make up the Azores were only serviced by one airline, which made getting to and from the islands prohibitively expensive. Now that the island is serviced by multiple carriers, it’s easy — and relatively cheap — to fly there. Just a four and a half hour flight from Boston, Azores is like this crazy volcanic paradise that you never knew you wanted to visit and that you basically never want to leave.
Will Oldham's Fourth Dimension
PHOTO COURTESY OF TODD BRASHEAR
For the better part of 23 years now, Will Oldham—better known these days by his chosen nom de plume, Bonnie 'Prince' Billy—has released music that has both celebrated and playfully subverted American musical traditions. To say that he is a folk musician or that the music he records qualifies as "Americana" would be a misnomer, as his music toys with these ideas and transcends them. Over the past two decades he has released nearly 20 albums (under the monikers of Palace Brothers, Palace Music, Bonnie 'Prince' Billy, and Will Oldham), worked as a film and theater actor (his turn in Kelly Reichardt's 2006 film Old Joy is particularly fantastic), and generally floated around the edges of popular culture in ways one might not expect (such as having his songs covered by the late Johnny Cash, making a cameo appearance in R. Kelly's "Trapped in the Closet" video).
In short, Will Oldham is equally talented and inscrutable, the kind of wonderfully gifted and gently eccentric artist that one encounters all too rarely these days. And though he is generally reticent in interviews, when he does sit down to talk he is always interesting. We caught up with Oldham in New York City, where he is currently appearing at BAM in the Actors Theater of Louisville's production of Charles Mee's The Glory of the World. Ostensibly we're meant to chat about Pond Scum, a newly released compilation of old Peel Sessions Oldham recorded over the years, some dating back to as early as 1993. Though there is a certain schizophrenic quality to Pond Scum (Oldham recorded six Peel Sessions for BBC Radio over the years, three of which are represented here) it does provide a fascinating window into his psyche and his ever-evolving body of work.
Remembering David Bowie
AS PLANET EARTH TURNS BLUE AT THE LOSS OF ONE OF THE GREATEST ARTISTS WHO EVER LIVED, V REMEMBERS OUR VERY FIRST CONTRIBUTING EDITOR, LOVINGLY REFERRED TO OVER THE YEARS AS THE "GODFATHER OF V," DAVID BOWIE. OUR LOVE AND THOUGHTS ARE WITH V'S GODMOTHER, IMAN. HERE, CONTRIBUTING MUSIC EDITOR T. COLE RACHEL SHARES HIS OWN PERSONAL REMEMBRANCE OF THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH AND CHANGED IT SO MUCH FOR THE BETTER
Born Again as FATHER JOHN MISTY, singer-songwriter Josh Tillman is raising just the right amount of hell
Photographed by Emma Tillman
At a time when so much popular music seems to be literally made for children it’s refreshing to see an artist that is audacious enough to take on the messy business of complicated, adult-sized relationships. For singer and songwriter Josh Tillman—better known these days by his musical nom de plume, Father John Misty—the desire to explore the intricacies of human connection has proven revelatory. After years of toiling in relative obscurity and touring in the shadows behind other more established artists, the 34-year old musician found himself at an impasse. Bored to tears of the sensitive man-with-an-accoustic-guitar trope that felt unavoidably inherent in being a singer/songwriter, Tillman abandoned his previous approach and rechristened himself with the ministerial moniker of Father John Misty, a kind of alter ego that provided him with a creative rebirth. As a result, Tillman has become a kind of sex symbol for the indie-rock world—playing the part of the charmingly erudite louse that sometimes says bad things but ultimately means well, a jerky romantic who wears his heart on his sleeve and isn’t afraid to talk about fucking. He makes folk-inflected pop music that is both sprawling and, at times, incredibly intimate. More importantly, Tillman is making the admirable effort to actually speak the language of grown ups.
“I'm making music for adults,” says Tillman, calling from a tour stop in Lawrence, Kansas. “I know it sounds pedantic to say that, but at the same time it's shocking to me how many young kids are at these shows. I'm like, ‘Wow, you're not even going to know what these songs are about for another 10 years or something.’”
Adult-sized attention might be a relatively new thing for Tillman, but he is hardly new to the music business. He spent the better part of his twenties trying, in various guises, to make a name for himself as a songwriter. Having fled from the conservative confines of his evangelical childhood in Rockville, Maryland, Tillman eventually landed in Seattle. It was there that he would eventually spend the better part of the next decade quietly releasing eight full-length records of earnest singer/songwriter fare under the name J. Tillman--to very little notice. It wasn’t until he took on the job of drummer in Seattle indie-folk band Fleet Foxes in 2008 that his musical life began to radically change. Though he was essentially a hired gun in the band with little creative input (he eventually jumped ship from the band in 2012), the experience of touring the world emboldened Tillman to rethink his own creative ambitions. Thus, Father John Misty was born. His first album under the new moniker, 2012’s Fear Fun, proved to be a kind of sleeper hit, eventually charming its way onto lots of critical “best of” lists and turning Tillman into the indie-rock equivalent of a rock star.
“I've never been particularly sentimental about the past,” says Tillman of his early body of work. “To be honest, it was sort of surreal to plunge the knife into that 10-year body of work and just be like, ‘This is over, and something else has to grow where all of this is going to die.’ I'm ambivalent because I have some empathy for 21 year old me. I was just addicted to some fucking archetype. I was trying to embody something that just wasn't me. I think that for that period of time I was looking for a painless existence. I was trying to anesthetize my life, and I think that in my mind being a working singer-songwriter was going to cure my life. I was a kid, you know?”
Tillman’s most recent album--2015’s I Love You, Honeybear—is decidedly not kid stuff. Both beautiful and occasionally exasperating, It’s a record that balances a very tenderhearted narrative about romantic love (the album is essentially a document of Tillman’s courtship and eventual marriage to his now wife and frequent collaborator, Emma) and a kind of snarky indictment of all the things it is supposed to be celebrating. It is, as one Pitchfork critic described it, a record “so cynical it’s repulsive and so openhearted it hurts.” One of the album’s many pleasures is trying to decode where the joke ends and the sincerity begins. The album is packed with zinging one-liners and smirky delivery (“Mascara, blood, ash and cum / On the Rorschach sheets where we make love”), but Tillman isn’t kidding. At its core Honeybear an album about the ridiculous and amazingness of falling in love with someone and allowing yourself to really be seen by another person. (“Everything is doomed / And nothing will be spared / But I love you, Honeybear”) In a culture that seems increasingly only comfortable operating in absolutes, the fascinating slipperiness of Father John Misty is arguably Tillman’s greatest achievement.
Since releasing Fear Fun in 2012, Tillman has cultivated a formidable persona—equal parts modern day lothario and intellectual rogue whose work treads an almost invisible line between irony and sincerity. He is a showman—an artist prone to grand gestures and occasionally ham-fisted stage antics involving props and audience participation—but his music is imbued with a kind of emotional maturity that belies the fact that Tillman himself can occasionally be a clown (albeit, a sexy one). Not only are there very few other artists are writing as honestly or as ruthlessly about sex and love, it’s hard to imagine any of Tillman’s current indie-rock peers writing a song called “When You’re Smiling and Astride Me” and have it sound not only sexed-up, but deeply romantic.
“I could just start ranting and raving, but I do think that by and large songs about love are typically advertising some fantasy, some faith-based reality that doesn't exist,” says Tillman. “Love and companionship in this day and age is viewed almost strictly in term of compatibility. Is this other person going to be this source of constant amusement for me for the next 40, 50 years? Will we get bored? Will this person help facilitate a painless existence for me?”
Given the deeply personal nature of Honeybear’s subject matter, it’s understandable that Tillman initially had reservations about performing the record live. Now, deep in the middle of what looks to be another full year of nonstop touring, he seems to have come to terms with not only sharing his music (“The last time around, the shows could be sort of borderline antagonistic,” he says. “Because I was so skeptical of myself and skeptical of the whole enterprise. Thankfully that feeling ran its course”), but he also accepts the often conflicted way that people view him. Though he is quick to point out that there exists a difference between himself and Father John Misty, the question of sincerity—whether Tillman is doing something deeply satirical or if he really means it—remains somehow central to his appeal. The irony that Father John Misty might actually be the most deeply authentic thing he’s ever done is not lost on Tillman.
“People need me to be one thing or the other,” he says. “I've been called a pretentious blowhard by some, and then by others I'm regarded as a total clown. I do think that it's difficult to reconcile the two sometimes…but I don't see any other way forward in terms of portraying life as I see it. To me, exploitation is lying to the audience, or manipulating the audience in some way. On a personal level, I want to play chicken with the audience. I think there's some kind of... it is not a morbid thrill, but I think it's some kind of variant on something that happens in my relationships, too. It's sort of this baring of yourself, you want to show more and more.”
The original version of this story appears in Man of The World Issue No. 12
THE NOTORIOUSLY ELUSIVE JONI MITCHELL OPENS UP ABOUT HER INCREDIBLE NEW UNDERTAKING, AND WHY SHE’LL BE THE ONLY ONE WHO TELLS HER OWN LIFE STORY
photo by Hedi Slimane
Before I can dive headlong into a conversation with Joni Mitchell, there are a few things that the 71-year-old icon needs to clear up. “You aren’t going to call me a folksinger, are you?” she asks. “You aren’t going to say that I’m like the female Bob Dylan—or worse—a singer-songwriter, are you?” It’s a jarring way to begin an interview, but in Mitchell’s case a totally understandable one. Although she is one of the most celebrated artists of the 20th century, Mitchell remains deeply misunderstood. Some will always see her as the sunny-haired, dulcimer-playing folk naïf of “California” and “Both Sides Now” but Mitchell’s body of work—a back catalog 19 albums deep—is unlike any other in popular music. Her sense of harmonics, innovative song structures, and uncanny take on jazz remain totally singular. Given the scope of her influence, Mitchell has earned the right to be a little thorny when it comes to the subject of her legacy. “I’m liable in interviews to get frustrated and become stupidly boastful,” she says. “I just want things to be acknowledged. It’s like, don’t make me say it.“