STAFF PICKS: Mac DeMarco, Salad Days, and the tears of a clown
Twenty minutes late, a tired Mac DeMarco slouches in from stage right. He scratches his impressive beer belly, leaving streaks of dirt from his fingernails. Tonight is his 40th birthday, but the crowd doesn’t know that. They just want the classics. They want “Eddie’s Dream.” They want the covers medley. They want, most of all, some kind of outrageous story they can share with their friends. Maybe another drumstick vid?
I’m certain Mac DeMarco has been running this scene in his head. He knows that if his career ended today, the credibility of his catalogue would be debated. His previous album 2 was certainly a sequel in spirit to his breakout Rock and Roll Night Club EP. It thinned the mucky layer of broken crooning swagger, and opened DeMarco up like never before: cooking meth in Alberta, accepting his outsider status, and falling in love.
The funky, beer koozied melodies made us smile, but was it with him or at him? Would his legacy be defined within his gap-toothed smirk, or the impressive power of his low-slung, loosely tuned rock?