Not until you see, there’s a price tag hanging off of having all that fun, Oh oh, looks like, I’m seeing more of my old man in me”. For he can’t be me, look how old and cold and tired and lonely he’s become. “ Look in the mirror, who do you see? Someone familiar, but surely not me. He looks like he just got out of bed, and his music often sounds the same way.ĭemarco’s absent father has an ironic presence throughout the album, with Demarco lamenting at the similarities he’s starting to see between them on intro track My Old Man. There’s a precision to every strum, key and lyric – and new additions such as swinging bass riffs and harmonicas shows that he’s still capable of trying new things – an old dog with new tricks.ĭemarco’s style of music coupled with his goofy, good-natured prankster personae are a match made in heaven. With the release of This Old Dog, Demarco appears to be taking this album seriously. On his previous album Salad Days, the production and recording sounded lazy, fuzzy and half-awake – whilst also low quality. He looks like he just got out of bed, and his music often sounds the same way. On his third full-length album This Old Dog, indie rock icon and all-round slacker Mac Demarco takes a more introspective approach to his craft, as his age finally starts to show.ĭemarco’s style of music coupled with his goofy, good-natured prankster personae are a match made in heaven. It comes for the athlete, the geek, and even the carefree prankster. These songs, though, feel more like a bridge to future discovery.Time comes for us all, forcing us to grow up. On the Lennonesque “No Other Heart” DeMarco comes across like a doleful young romantic obsessing over an elusive woman: “Is it wrong to think my love could really help you out / it’s simply just my stubborn heart no doubt.” Ultimately, this is part of DeMarco’s winsome charm, as he continues to struggle with doubt, failure, and hope with soulful sincerity.
Self-reflection turns to self-absorption, and never quite resonates on a universal level. Some of the 25-year-old artist’s songs here seem unrealized, his slim insights into relationships not as revealing as his often eloquent guitar work.
This mini-LP, with its rough, demo-quality guitar and synth-based songs, translates as his bedroom tapes, documenting bruised epiphanies and woozy emotions from contemplating the small mysteries of love and desire. These slightly dazed love letters from a confused heart make up an introspective intermission for Mac DeMarco, the idiosyncratic, lionized indie-rock singer-songwriter.
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