Mahashmashana

Mahasmashana is a triumph and return to form for Tillman, who navigates themes of impermanence, rebirth, duality of mind and body, and the passage of time, without cynicism but much needed grace—for a world that his child will inherit.

With Mahashmashana, he hasn’t necessarily broken a lot of new ground, but he seems to come as close to perfecting his artistry as anyone can. Put simply, Mahashmashana is a masterpiece. Musically, Mahashmahana – clocking in at a relatively modest 50 minutes – takes advantage of Tillman’s love of a variety of styles.

Mahashmashana, despite its weighty poeticism and nostalgic sonic grandeur, feels rooted in the here and now. Tillman is still a keen and sardonic observer of the human condition, but here he directs the proceedings with a gravitas that finally feels earned.

It’s intimate yet expansive, it’s beautiful, but also reveals the ugly truth that death is inevitable for us all, but how you live your life is what counts. ‘Mahashmashana’ is assured, emotive and luminous,

This is an album that stands next to Fear Fun or I Love You, Honeybear as one of his finest, and if he intends Mahashmashana to be his own personal cremation ground for his persona, then it’s a hell of a way to go. An inspiring return from one of the most creative, interesting artists out there.

Across the board, ’Mahashmashana’ might be his best to date, an album that ploughs a relentlessly adventurous furrow while striking a compelling balance between the epic and the intimate.

For listeners who are particularly attached to any one version of the artist, Mahashmashana will likely underwhelm. Everyone else will walk away with a soundtrack for tempering their next existential crisis.

If Mahashmashana seems oddly of the moment for an artist whose new project seems to be rejecting it completely, it’s only because Tillman is such a keen observer of social patterns, regardless of age or epoch.

All the best songs stretch toward seven minutes and beyond. A toast to decadent culture! The evident pleasure in the construction and writing of these songs is strong enough to justify lingering on this side of the veil.

Lyrically, Tillman remains a superlative chronicler of life’s perverseness, whether aimed at himself (Josh Tillman and the Accidental Dose) or at the platitudes documented on Mental Health. Yet where before his words teemed with fiery judgment, now it seems like Tillman is simply noticing the embers and watching how they burn.

This is a record of patient, sojourning hope, so leave your adolescence at the door.

Another great, mind-bending, soul-baring, melodically rich album to his name: a singer tap dancing on the very edge. [Jan 2025, p.80]

If you’ve already decided that Tillman is an insufferable smartarse, you can doubtless find evidence to support your claim among its dense, allusive songs. But you’d have a harder time arguing that he’s not a fantastic writer in both terms of melody – all nine tracks bear a tune that’s both beautiful and beautifully constructed – and the scope of his musical ambitions.

So even if this is an elegy for FJM, it’s a rather wonderful one.

He’s bowed out from the spotlight to produce a record that tunes into love, ageing and the search for meaning without the compulsion for a punchline or wry aside. As a result, the lush ‘Mahashmashana’ doesn’t quite mainline the zeitgeist in the same way that ‘Honeybear’ and ‘Pure Comedy’ did. Then again, there’s something to be said, in 2024, for logging off in favour of self-reflection.

Tillman sounds abundantly alive: flushed with wit and luminous melodies, his songcraft remains an inexhaustible pleasure. [Dec 2024, p.106]

This is another set of brilliant, beautiful, occasionally frustrating songs themed around ideas of ending and death. [Review of the Year 2024, p.24]

On the career-spanning Mahashmashana, things are not connected musically, but they still manage to thematically tie together lyrically around Tillman’s thoughts on aging and death. The self-centered artist still conjures up thought-provoking and, most importantly, enjoyable songs.

Tillman’s characteristic lyricism (“Stabbing at the ashtray like it might give up the truth/Like it might finally confess who else you’re nearly faithful to”) settles into one of his more plainspoken choruses: “Stay young/Get numb/Keep dreaming/Screamland.” Whether it works, is likely a matter of taste, or maybe even just your mood that day; but to the extent this choice succeeds — and it largely does — is a testament to Tillman’s commitment to grand gestures.

While still an immensely enjoyable record, coming from someone who never shied away from mixing it up, it's hard not to walk away from the last song thinking, "Has Tillman lost his nerve?"