Father John Misty @ Usher Hall, Edinburgh, 12 Apr

The ornate surroundings of the Usher Hall are perfectly suited to Josh Tillman's current Father John Misty iteration; open-collar suit and a vibe that's more lounge Sinatra than adrenalised drama, eight-piece band that are just as comfortable delving into lithe funk or stadium-filling soft rock. The pristine keys, generous helpings of saxophone and inventive percussion work in service of Tillman's greater vision – the philosopher pop star who can make you laugh, cry, dance or question your existence in two hours or less.

The confidence is high from the first moments of I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All – one of his longest and newest songs – which degenerates into a rangey jam that flexes the band's muscles. Josh Tillman and the Accidental Dose and The Night Josh Tillman Came To Our Apt. are two sides of the same sardonic coin, poking fun at pretentious hipsters knowing full well he's their patron saint. But the laugh out loud moments are tempered with earnest chamber-pop feints like Q4 and breezy Laurel Canyon moments like Nancy From Now On.

As the gaping void that serves as a backdrop seems to widen, a suite of Mahashmashana songs closes the main set, proving that this really is his best album since at least Pure Comedy. Screamland might still sound a bit like Coldplay or U2, but as with those two milquetoast guilty pleasures, you're dead inside if you can't derive a bit of joy at the awesome spectacle. She Cleans Up has a choppy, Collins-era Genesis guitar lick and Summer's Gone is a standout crooning moment with just Tillman and a piano for company. The new album's title track is an instant classic that doesn't waste a second of its near-ten minutes to really earn the encore break.

Another early favourite, I'm Writing a Novel, seems to take the johnny-come-latelys by surprise with its embrace of traditional rock; 2012's Fear Fun no doubt gained a few new fans tonight. But the final trio of I Love You, Honeybear songs are when Tillman really underlines his generational songwriter bona-fides. The spare, chugging hilarity of Chateau Lobby #4 (in C for Two Virgins) flows into the epic, pealing crescendo of Holy Shit. The title track is the icing on the cake and the band rise to meet the repeated cries of “honeybear” with ecstatic glee. In the context of the album it's a specific declaration of love to Tillman's wife, but in the rousing communal adoration tonight, it feels like we're all honeybears.