MAC DEMARCO with TONSTARTSSBANDHT at Danforth Music Hall (147 Danforth), Friday and Saturday (May 12-13), doors 7 pm, $37-$47. ticketmaster.ca. After-parties at Velvet Underground (508 Queen West) both nights, doors 9 pm. $11. ticketweb.ca.
“EDMONTON BOY GETS A POOL!”
Mac DeMarco adopts a deep and sturdy announcer-like voice while discussing the home he purchased in Los Angeles’s Silver Lake neighbourhood. It’s one of several animated voices the singer/songwriter slips into while chatting about his move to the West Coast after years of living with three roommates and his girlfriend on the outskirts of New York City.
“That was just the cherry on top of the whole ridiculousness of moving to L.A., especially since I’m from the Prairies,” he explains on the patio of 99 Sudbury ahead of a solo acoustic show as part of a House of Vans pop-up market in April. “It’s extra-funny. It’s something I never thought I would have or even want, but fuck it.”
The 27-year-old relocated in August, partly for more space, partly for a change of scenery. In addition to a pool, he’s building a home recording studio. But he’s quick to dispel any notions of glamour I might be projecting onto the situation.
“It was very fixer-upper. It was disgusting when we moved in and still needs a shitload of work. The whole house thing is just ingrained in my brain, like” – he slips into an Exorcist-like growl – “‘You made some money, you have to buy THE HOME!’ Which is, like, weird. And now that I’ve done it, I’m like, ‘What the fuck do I do now?’ It’s strange. But I’m enjoying my life.”
DeMarco wrote and self-recorded half of his third album, This Old Dog (Captured Tracks), during the move. The songs are soft, genteel but punchy. There is a bleary, unpolished quality (he uses the word “sketchy”) that belies their complex emotions and simple pop melodies.
It contrasts starkly with his Jackassesque stage persona, which has encompassed nudity, an exploding fire extinguisher (unintentional) and hanging from ceilings to evade irritated security staff (his 2014 NXNE performance at Tattoo).
He’s drawn to songwriters who embed tormented fragility – Neil Young, James Taylor – within a simple delivery and top-notch songcraft and arrangements.
“The thing I like about James Taylor is his music is very soft, very smooth, almost butter-knife-esque,” he says. “But he was a junkie and a very tortured man. So it’s like an evil butter knife.”
Many of the songs are about his estranged father, who has substance abuse issues and became seriously ill last year but pulled through. Both the sardonic and jaunty My Old Man that opens the album and the serenely ambivalent closer, Watching Him Fade Away, are about his dad.
“He’s out of the hospital now and doing pretty good,” DeMarco says. “It’s interesting to write these songs that are almost like, ‘See you later, old man! Didn’t really know you that well, but, hey, I’m your son, so god bless.’ And now he’s gonna hear ’em.
“He called me up the other day” – DeMarco slips into a grizzled old coot voice – “‘Heard your song My Old Man. Write about me, eh?’ I was like, ‘Oh. My God. Wait until you hear the rest of it, buddy!’”
Love, family and aging are big themes on the record. He describes the songwriting process as catharsis and with no particular goal in mind.
“I wrote them in my own space and time, reflecting on and thinking about things,” he says. “It was essentially diary-entry-style, and then the record label was like, ‘C’mon, man, give us the record!’ Then it clicked: OH FUCK. Other people are gonna hear these. GOD!”
DeMarco has a devoted and young fan base, and his profile is increasing. Salad Days debuted in 2014 at number 30 on the Billboard 200 album chart, and he’s embarking on an extensive tour for This Old Dog. Critics adore the album, and expectations are high.
If he feels pressure, it’s not apparent in his casual and gregarious manner. But old friends seem more important to him than ever. He says he’s been connecting with many of them while in Toronto. His mom, meanwhile, oversees his social media feeds, and he’s known his bandmates for years. To recruit a keyboard player, he worked his Prairie connections and brought in Winnipeg-based Alec Meen, originally “from the block in Edmonton.”
Fame has sharpened his realness detector.
“It’ll always be me and my friends, kind of like Crazy Horse,” he says. “Neil Young is always like, ‘They’re not the best musicians, but they’re my homies, so fuck you, deal with it.’ Not to say that about my guys, but you know, I like to play with people I know and share things with my friends.
“We get to go around the world and make money now. It’s fuckin’ weird. It’s awesome.”
kevinr@nowtoronto.com | @kevinritchie
