Every high school has a .
He’s that kid that’s late to class, but never willfully disrespectful. Goofy and well-liked, but clique-less. Like Spicoli at Ridgemont High, but a fathom deeper.
There’s an unknowable quality to these types, able to disarm and deflect any personal inquiries with sharp wit or a well-timed fart noise. What they do after class is anyone’s guess. In DeMarco’s case, it’s noodle on an electric guitar and write increasingly heavy lyrics. Despite his life’s-a-pizza-party ease, the songwriting on DeMarco’s last album, “2,” had its share of serious moments, small-town drug tale “Cooking Up Something Good” chief among them.
“Salad Days” extends DeMarco’s pensive songwriting streak. Most of the album is spent staring down life’s doldrums without an obvious hint of his “What, me worry?” grin. Even that triumphant album title comes with a caveat in its title track: they end. On “Brother,” over one of the many similar “jizz-jazz” rhythms (his words), he bemoans the absurdity of living with sad-sack observations (“You’re no better off living your life / than staying in bed”). “Blue Boy” is a brief portrait of a kid who found all that out too early.
DeMarco’s advice throughout life’s bum circumstances is typified by its soundtrack. Take it slow, calm down, unfetter. As the album’s simple jazz grooves float on by, so should you. Looked at pragmatically, it’s defeatist, the equivalent of tossing your hands up when you’re adrift miles from shore. But like in “Cooking Up Something Good,” there’s a sense that this chorus-driven “wisdom” is a put-on, musings by characters entrenched in endless banality. DeMarco’s total rejection of outside advice on “Goodbye Weekend” drive the point home further: If he won’t listen to anyone, why should you?
The album’s handful of relationship-driven songs, “Let Her Go” best among them, are typically precious. He’s never been afraid of coming off corny on the subject of love, and he does unequivocally on “Let My Baby Stay” and “Treat Her Better.”
“Salad Days” drops a few more shades of blue on Mac DeMarco’s discography, raising many it’s existential question without offering real solutions. Even as its blurred-together jazz lite evidences some musical stagnation, “Salad Days” is nuanced and evidence of DeMarco as an ever maturing songwriter in subject and style. If you never knew him, here’s a good place to start. If you do know him—or the type— “Salad Days” is an interesting insight into the world of Demarco—like stumbling on Spicoli’s poetry notebook in the hall: enlightening, a little funny and oddly fascinating.
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Dylan Owens is Reverb’s all-purpose news blogger and album reviewer. You can read more from him in Relix magazine and the comment sections of WORLDSTARHIPHOP.
