![]() The remnants of DeMarco's off-kilter swagger lend an alternately warped and waterlogged quality to the music itself, which suits our narrator impeccably. "Can't claim to care / Never been reluctant to share," he muses in "Passing Out Pieces." "What Mom don't know has taken its toll on me." Often, that seems to be the point: DeMarco still sings at times like he's trying to lure you into the back of a van, but Salad Days is self-possessed and even-keeled even as it reflects on the wages of lipstick-smeared celebrity. ![]() ![]() Without the attention-grabbing antics, his core sound - an amiably loping, obscurely funky jangle, The Kinks as filtered through Kurt Vile or Bradford Cox - hasn't changed much. ![]() Gone are the Rocky Horror pantomimes, the sleazy radio promo skits, the gnomic pronouncements about "European Vegas." In their wake is a thematically tight, formally slender album full of sun-dappled songs about frittering youth away and being mostly okay with it.īeing pegged as class clown on his previous solo outings, 2012's Rock and Roll Night Club EP and its immediate successor, 2, likely shaped the mind state in which we find DeMarco here. For someone who once coined the phrase "jizz jazz" to describe his own style, Montreal 23-year-old Mac DeMarco sounds remarkably grounded on his second album, Salad Days.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |