Despite being embraced by a hip alternative rock mainstream, DeMarco has his roots in a forgotten yet familiar era of rock music, a period of pop music history in which the likes of Harry Nilsson or Can’t Buy a Thrill-era Steely Dan weren’t just artists revered in the pages of MOJO magazine by middle-aged record collectors, but were considered bona fide stars. However, Passing Out the Pieces isn’t the kind of psychedelic fare that contemporary alt-rock fans of Tame Impala, MGMT or Unknown Mortal Orchestra will recognise. Salad Days, its follow-up, makes for an infinitely more psychedelic affair, as illustrated by its leading single Passing Out the Pieces: an unsteady and ungainly slope of intricate, ringing guitars and queasy, layered synths babbling in the background, bringing to mind the sound of a disorientating, seasick merry-go-round on its last nostalgic spin. His rise to moderately-successful indie fame came with the album 2, a lean though excellent set of beguiling pop tunes in the mould of hazy 70s soft rock with unapologetically pre-punk, not protopunk, guitar noodling. Furthermore, while he has played up his slacker image, right up to the letter, the music he makes is by no means slapdash or lazy.įor a man who appears to spend his days rolling around in the cosy filth of his untidy bedsit and is probably regularly mistaken for a drifter, DeMarco is possessed of a unique professionalism and incredible work rate, as shown in his previous musical incarnations: his prolific run moonlighting in various low-profile bands (an indie outfit called the Meat Cleavers, a post-punk band with its name taken from a Wire song, an R&B ensemble unpromisingly called the Sound of Love) his scrappy, surf-rock-inspired clamour as Makeout Videotape with fellow factotum Alex Calder. He was born into a family of musicians as Vernor Winfield McBriare Smith IV, before his mother changed his name to the slightly less lengthy McBriare Samuel Lanyon DeMarco, which is nevertheless some way shorter than Brian Peter George St John le Baptiste de la Salle Eno, but still makes you think of other rock musicians bestowed rambling birth names like Brian Peter George St John le Baptiste de la Salle Eno. Yet despite all that, there’s another side to DeMarco.įor starters, there’s his upbringing. ![]() He looks and acts like a man for whom personal hygiene is something one takes up like a hobby: he has been known to completely disrobe at gigs and once, notably and notoriously, swung from the rigging of one particular establishment with his thumb up his arse. ![]() Mac DeMarco’s image seems to be pretty solidly defined, appointed, seemingly outside of his control, as the leading purveyor, if not the undisputed king, of languid, jangling slacker-rock. As David Bowie or, perhaps more pertinently, Adam Ant would acknowledge, once your chosen guise is sealed in the public’s imagination, it can be a trifle hard to shed it. You can bring along this three-legged stool on your hike or simply leave it in your trunk until it is needed for the next game.Who would use The Slackerzx tripod stool?HuntersFishermenCoachesGolf spectatorsBird watchersWhere they would use The Slacker tripod stoolHikingHunting blindSidelinesMatchesGamesGolf tournamentsWhy they would use The Slacker tripod stool: LightPortableGets you off your feetPracticaStableStrongOverbuilt",Ĭhoosing a selection results in a full page refresh.Something about Mac DeMarco’s sustained slacker image sits at odds with his proficiency for laidback, sun-dappled tunes, carefully laced with pensive lyrics – not that it gets in the way of enjoying his easy-going new album’s manifold pleasures ★★★★☆Īppearances are deceptive. "description": "The Slacker tripod stool is a lightweight camp chair that folds down small, it is easy to set up, and is the perfect blend between comfort, portability, and durability.
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