By Gia Vescovi-Chiordi
Did I expect Mac Demarco to come out with a mini-album of love songs? Nope. Am I glad he did? Oh yeah. They can’t all be about a favorite brand of cigarette or chock full of meth innuendos. (Though in fairness, ‘Viceroy’ is a kind of love song.)
Mac Demarco is quickly becoming a bit of an enigma to me. First it seemed as though he was this self aware, reflective stoner type who managed to brand his own weirdness in an affable way that was only somewhat relatable (though a lot of teens in ugly sweaters and Keds will tell you otherwise), while touring extensively and in reality working harder than a lot of people out there. Keeping up a near constant output of either live performance or recorded effort, while also maintaining an Instagram that tags locations as ‘cookie monster butt crack’, ‘salt water urethra’ and my personal favorite, ‘the devil’s choade’.
And now here’s Mac singing love songs.
Released a little over a year after Salad Days and recorded at his place in Far Rockaway, Queens, Another One (Captured Tracks) comes in at 8 songs total, the last track after which Mac gives out his address and earnestly invites fans to stop by for a good old cup of joe. (Side: after posting an Instagram photo about leaving on vacation he thoughtfully hashtagged #nocoffee. Mac cares, guys.)
Another One spans the well-worn but no less universal territory of the different aspects of love – good love, tanked love, never-beens and almosts. Amorousness is one of those few immortal topics – there are personal things you can’t care about unless it’s your own saga, whereas love is an advice we constantly seek. Tempestuous romance? Think Cleopatra and Mark Antony (and possibly your parents – sorry). Rejection? Van Gogh felt it and cut off his ear – Demarco felt it and cut you a track.
Another One is a solid medley, my favorite track being ‘A Heart Like Hers’ – it’s crafty, creepy and creamy, hazy and distantly demented. But at the same time, I feel like Sade could have easily crooned this sucker out and someone testing out a massaging recliner in a Brookstone may have bobbed their head much in the same way I’m currently bobbing mine.
If you’ve ever found a dusty unknown vinyl in the back of your dad’s record box, warped from years of neglect from being stationed behind the water heater, only to put the needle down and find it was really great and kind of mysterious – then you’ve experienced what someone in 2045 might experience with Another One. Assuming it’s the child of someone hip who can afford to buy modern vinyls.