![]() A move from Queens to Los Angeles allowed time for his new demos to marinate a bit longer than he is normally in the habit of permitting. As an anti-star who, at his heart, would likely be happy playing in a Midwest basement for beer money, DeMarco possesses innately strong songwriting abilities, endearing him to bedroom lo-fi purists and besandled Parrotheads alike. The void left by the disappearance of much of Mac’s subtle ribbing is arresting, bringing to mind the initial shock felt by early listeners of Beck’s bummer-study standout Sea Change. The heavy-lidded jams of Demarco’s breakthrough record 2, and later on Salad Days, are largely absent on This Old Dog, replaced by the sounds of a more introspective crooner staring mortality right in the eyeballs. So it goes, albeit somewhat sooner than expected with the crown prince of goofy pop, Mac DeMarco. Whether you want it to or not, the dreaded fangs of adulthood sooner or later gnash at everyone.
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