Father John Misty returns with “The Old Law,” a song rooted in memory and satirical yearning for what once was that finds Josh Tillman drifting through spiritual wreckage, sun-bleached nostalgia, summer-soaked disillusionment, and a fevered hunger for something new – all rendered in one of his most intoxicating reveries.

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Stream: “The Old Law” – Father John Misty

On a warm August day in Los Angeles at FYF Festival in 2016, Father John Misty took the stage just before sunset at Exposition Park.

As the asphalt scent rose from the ground, resonant power chords of “Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings” echoed beyond the perimeter of the coliseum – all with a late glow of the afternoon heat. The year before his sophomore release, I Love You, Honey Bear, was a highlight of his performance, showcasing his artistry to audiences through his notable, distinct voice and somber lyricism in ballads that combine irony and theatrical sincerity.

Since then, he has furthered that artistry through a nuanced discography of songs that explore and unpack religion, relationship dynamics, and the influence of narratives in conveying the truths behind satire and the humor of humiliation. His latest single, “The Old Law” (released January 9th via Sub Pop Records) continues that trend, following 2024’s sixth album Mahashmashana with plenty of charismatic Josh Tillman bite, wit, warmth, and charm. Previously known as “God’s Trash” to fans, the track finds Tillman employing musical performance and satire to explore how human behavior repeats and resurfaces.​

my death mask and my mismatched suit
I pilate-chop you across the stage
I met a musing gospel in the bathetic, it made its way
To my red-hilt brain
The drinks had martyred lunch effectively,
before I even rose to speak
Don’t want to dis-annoint the campaign
but, Jesus who lives on me
Rent free, oh

A man’s life, God’s trash
There’s no law but the old law, baby
Pet it for, nothing dies
Except by except by a strong kamikaze
Year zero in the summertime
Year zero in the summertime​

“The Old Law” opens up with churning ‘90s-like distortion, rhythmic drum patterns, and a lead guitar line – the combination of which saturates the airwaves with a sweaty, spirited heat. Colorful layers and instrumental textures blend thoughtfully throughout the composition, the warm piano and guitar notes coalescing around Tillman’s empathic voice to create dazzling moments of harmony and connection. Listeners can bask in the sweet sounds themselves, turning back the clock to an inviting summer day in each steady beat.

Yet what truly stands out here are Tillman’s lyrics – a hall-of-mirrors sermon where sacred and profane collapse into one another, each line flickering with irony, dread, and a strangely bruised tenderness.

From the opening images of “my death mask and my mismatched suit” and “I pilate-chop you across the stage,” Tillman casts himself as both martyr and ringmaster, performing belief even as he dissects it. These surreal, almost grotesque vignettes feel like the debris of a culture that can no longer tell the difference between spectacle and salvation, especially when he confesses that “Jesus still lives on me / rent free” – a barbed joke that doubles as a genuine admission of spiritual hauntings that refuse to let go. In the chorus, his bleak mantra – “A man’s life, God’s trash / there’s no law but the old law, baby” – lands like a bitter proverb, a recognition of how easily human worth is reduced to something disposable in a world governed by inherited dogma and self-perpetuating power. Yet the refrain “Year zero in the summertime” keeps cutting through that cynicism like a fever dream of rebirth, a longing for some impossible reset where history, guilt, and hierarchy might finally be wiped clean. Tillman has always excelled at turning contradiction into poetry, but here his wordplay feels especially volatile – playful, caustic, and devastating all at once – as if he is daring us to laugh even while the floor drops out beneath us. It is this ability to make satire ache with real existential weight that continues to mark Father John Misty as one of contemporary music’s most enigmatic and distinctive voices, and on “The Old Law,” that gift burns hotter than ever.

Pick me the sling, you little clopilet drying
Matte Mac boy, hairy guys
Oh I left you for the honey
Couldn’t try to you if I lied
If I lied, oh

​A man’s life, God’s trash
There’s no law but the old law, baby
Pet it for, nothing dies
Except by a strong kamikaze
God said no, I said twice
Come on big man, won’t you make me
Year zero in the summertime…​

With “The Old Law,” Father John Misty creates an open dialogue to discuss where humanity was once, and where it is currently going.

Tillman, throughout “The Old Law,” ties experiences to emotions that can resurface from past seasons of life. He folds memory, belief, and disillusionment into one another, tracing how old wounds, old systems, and old stories continue to echo through the present. He reflects on the feeling and yearning for what the future may become, and the possibility of a reset or rewind. His yearning for a “Year Zero” feels less like naïve optimism than a quiet, desperate wish for release – a chance to step outside the gravity of what we have inherited.

As Father John Misty prepares for his US, EU, and UK tour in the springtime, listeners can enjoy a sardonic, sweetly summery tune that feels like a reset – a bittersweet anthem for anyone still hoping, against all evidence, that something new might yet rise from the wreckage.

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Stream: “The Old Law” – Father John Misty

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