A thin blanket of melancholy rests just over some of his best work, like a layer black ice on a sidewalk that’s invisible and ready to bust your ass if you stumble into it unprepared.Īs early as “Cookin’ Up Somethin’ Good” on his breakthrough album 2, DeMarco was singing about a dysfunctional home life, but with a rubbery cheeriness as if he was in “The Brady Bunch”. He is, by his own admission, a regular guy who likes to sing about regular stuff.Įxcept, beyond the surface-level shenanigans that have come to define him to many, there have always been hints that there is more to the man than his stage presence. He’s charming, in a goofy, off-kilter, gap-toothed kind of way. His live sets are littered with inside jokes, he’s liable to play a jangly AC/DC cover at any moment, and he looks like he just climbed out of sleeping bag in a cave. You could argue that Mac DeMarco has made a career for himself through the intimacy he’s developed with his fans more than any other factor.
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