Mac DeMarco

“You really had to be there when Salad Days came out”. So it was commented on a YouTube Short, providing a pithy measure of how the indie scene views Mac DeMarco today. His albums since this magnum opus have been relatively forgettable. Yet it’s also easy to forget just how much DeMarco’s music changed the course of independent music back in the early 2010s; the Strokes-emulating, often landfill quality indie that dominated the noughties was, in 2012, largely replaced by Antipodean psychedelic imports and DeMarco’s reimagining of soft rock. DeMarco took the reverb-laden guitar tones of Connan Mockasin and imbued them with a 70s soft rock listenability and a 90s slacker rock aesthetic. Salad Days’ synth tones, inspired by 70s Japanese electronica, seemed to preempt the zeitgeist setting 1980s nostalgia of Stranger Things and its iconic synth-based theme. 

Mac DeMarco’s retrofitted slacker style and happy-go-lucky charisma achieved a sort of broader cultural virulence. The internet is awash with clips showcasing his absurdist humour and slapstick stage presence. To a certain demographic, he became like a music equivalent to a cult slacker film (indeed he looks and sounds like he just walked off the set of Linklater’s 1990 classic of the same name). And, like a great cult film, he became a commonality for that same demographic of college/university music nerd. In the process, he generated billions of listens on streaming platforms like Spotify. 

DeMarco, originally hailing from Edmonton in Albertan oil country, brought a Canadian unrepressedness to his live shows, whose raucousness became infamous in an era where punk had become a niche, increasingly forgotten genre and the wellness movement (in addition to Gen-Z sobriety) was on the rise. The antics were not well received from all quarters, especially given the young age of some of his fans, and it always seemed as though his behaviour was about to take him over the edge. One rumour that sticks in the mind concerns a drumstick protruding from a certain bodily orifice. Yet there was and is a teflon quality to Mac, with bad press failing to tarnish his reputation as an enfant terrible of independent rock (even when multiple previous bandmates were, over the years, cancelled). 

Those heady salad days, so to speak, now appear to be well and truly in the rearview for Mac. Since that bookishly-named album was released, the critical reception for his output has declined, and the buzz, if not the streaming reach, has largely subsided. A new generation of Gen Z bands are now the trend, with their own tactics for harnessing the internet’s potential. DeMarco is aware of this, recently saying, somewhat poignantly: “when I see Cameron Winter or Mk.gee it’s like, ‘I was there once’”. 

Mac DeMarco, once famous for the beer-drenched atmosphere of his live shows, and whose breakout track was written about the Viceroy cigarette brand (“I’ll smoke ya till I’m dyin’”), is now sober and has given up smoking. And, prior to the release of his latest album last year, Mac had not toured extensively since before the pandemic. In 2022, he cancelled most of his international touring and there were rumours that he had retired from live performances. It was therefore of great excitement to see Mac DeMarco in 2026 at the O2 Academy Brixton, the same venue where I last saw him in London, nearly 10 years ago during the sprawling This Old Dog tour in 2017. 

Since those more wayward days Mac has overhauled his band as well as his lifestyle. A proclivity for lengthy diversions into heavily distorted breakdowns has been replaced by a mellow synth heavy sound. Mac frequently drops the guitar to croon into a handheld mic. Long-haired rock musicians have been replaced by long-haired soft rock musicians. 

Having watched this band bring the gentle Canadian-cabin-music of his latest album Guitar to life with a sort of smooth jazz bar flair in forums such as KEXP, I was excited to experience Mac’s new phase firsthand. It felt like things were not quite landing in Brixton, however: the newer, much slower tracks were interspersed among Mac’s more lively older repertoire and the frequent switches in energy seemed to choke up any momentum. 

The crowd was not on hand to fill in the gaps. Reddit had warned me of this in advance, but it was remarkable how little movement there was in the crowd, even during the more kinetic numbers. During Mac’s popular older hits (e.g., ‘Chamber of Reflection’, ‘Passing Out Pieces’) a network of phones would suddenly rise up from the crowd, hundreds of circular red record buttons being hit in synchrony. And, as Mac admits in a New Yorker interview: “it seems like I have grown older, but my fans haven’t”. At the show I found myself dodging the Snapchat selfie livestreams of tweenie attendees dispersed among the stalls.  

In fairness to the crowd, energy is a two way street. As mentioned previously, Mac no longer brings a manic, alcoholic energy to his live shows. He looks better for it, but it definitely lent to an overall feeling: the salad days are over; they ain’t coming back. 

That’s not to say the show was without its merits. The Canadian has retained his comedic sensibilities, and the show included non-stop roaming around the stage, handstands and even bringing Ryan Paris onto stage for a cover of La Dolce Vita and a rendition of Simply Paradise. He only spoke in what he seemed to think was a Yorkshireman accent, but which was in reality a sort of Dickensian cockney. 

As with all DeMarco shows in the UK, there was an ongoing motif around food. These appear to be based on whatever Mac has consumed earlier in the day. In 2017 it was salt beef bagels from Brick Lane and at Glastonbury in 2019 it was “real bangers, real mash” (a food stall Mac could see from the Other Stage). On this particular evening, it was a debate between different British tea brands:

The crowd’s antipathy for any song post This Old Dog, and the ubiquitous smart phone filming of the older hits, did create the sense of a museum set. The progress through the setlist at times seemed mechanical, with no cinematic build up to key numbers or moments. Combined with the lacklustre energy on Mac’s output since Salad Days, I got the sense that perhaps Mac has reached some sort of creative limit. This can be contrasted with his 2017 show, where he appeared to be a man filled with an unstoppable energy.

There may be some exempting factors: the show was the middle night of a three night residency. The first or concluding night may have brought a different atmosphere. I also wonder if the slower, more recent tracks were not suited to the grungy feel of Brixton’s O2 Academy. There are videos of DeMarco performing these in a summery glade on Pender Island, which feels like a more appropriate forum for his newer style of music. 

As he notes on his entertaining contribution to the Emma Chamberlain podcast: “perhaps I’ve retired from the ways things used to be”. There is a lot to be said for taking a step back after periods of artistic success. DeMarco looks the best he ever has, and in a sense his current phase can be seen as a sort of well-deserved, and, by most measures very affluent, retirement. 

He was not able to reignite the sense of collective euphoria that his 2017 show elicited. But for the older DeMarco fans, the musician is like a favourite shirt they cannot bear to part ways with. It may not be the best condition or trendiest shirt, but wearing it provides a contented sense of one’s salad days.