GIG REVIEW: Mac Demarco - The Roundhouse, 9th September

for fans of: Unknown Mortal Orchestra, DIIV, The War On Drugs

from a festival performance earlier this year
(photo creds: fame images)

Crossing the bridge at Camden Locke, it began. First they were in small quantities then, like a plague of locus, they multiplied and were everywhere. Walking down the street sporting cans of Red Stripe, they were greeted with more of their kind congregated on the grassy slope outside Camden Morrison's or lingering outside bars (which they probably hadn't even been into) on Chalk Farm Road smoking roll-ups. Then, Mecca is reached. And there are, what seems like, millions of them. The Mac Demarco clone squad is out in full force.

It was almost like a convention; the annual meeting for all who seek to emulate the style and aesthetic of Mr Demarco from head to toe. This was no exaggeration: a good 85% (an extremely mathematical estimation) of those who flocked to the Roundhouse to witness their idol in the flesh were living breathing cliches. The majority were clad in baggy t-shirts/sweatshirts/button-ups, jeans with the cuffs rolled up, sport socks pulled up to their ankles and any of the stereotypical footwear deemed acceptable to such a crowd. Many even went as far as to complete their look with the staple Mac accessory: the 80s flat cap (exemplified on 3/4 of his album covers thus far). It was fair to say that my second-hand embarrassment had seldom been so fierce. But at least no one had tried to imitate his iconic tooth gap: get the Demarco look.

Inside the venue itself, the atmosphere of the unmistakably try-hard crowd tiptoed into hysteria. Through the mist of marijuana (yes, people really did stoop to those depths to emphasise their "ultra-hip youthful rebellion") Demarco emerged to a vehement roar. It's clear from the get-go that these fans worship the holy ground he walks on.

Brooklyn's zaniest export has ascended from relative obscurity to against-the-tide hero status. His music is generally gentle soft rock slurs with the occasional doo-wop or quirk - intimate vanilla tunes that, remarkably, are able to keep themselves far away from bland territory - so what is it that's been able to charm the masses?

Mac during saucier times
(photo creds: tumblr)

I believe there to be a sort of illusion surrounding Mac Demarco. Because he engages in two-minute-long screams onstage in between songs and because it appears he has minimal responsibilities offstage, many consider him a pinnacle of hedonistic eccentricity. Often photographed surrounded by his beloved Marlboros or wearing a silly billy facial expression, it's easy to see why some perceive him as a bizarre nutjob. In reality, I judge him to be pretty normal. His antics are nothing short of happy-go-lucky banter. He's like a lad, except he's actually funny (e.g. when he strikes a multitude of poses while chanting "John" in honour of one of his new band members) and seems to be suffering from a bit of an identity crisis.

September 9th marked the second of Demarco's sold out shows at Camden's Roundhouse where he demonstrated a set heavy in his latest material from his newly-released mini album Another One. While songs like title-track Another One and The Way You'd Love Her created an aura of magnetism, others such as A Heart Like Hers fell onto deaf ears. His showmanship, however, was not the cause of this, but rather the crowd's bawdy restlessness.

Pictures of Mac Demarco gigs have always shown them to be artistic interpretations of feeding time at the zoo. Honestly, the pits are actual mad ting considering the nature of the music. From fists in faces to the current pulling fans under, it was clear that the mellow slacker smoothness in Demarco's catalogue was unmatched for the fans. The lawlessness reached its peak early in the set as soon as Demarco croaked the lines "As I'm getting older..." and everyone in the crowd screamed the entire song (which is, of course, the lazy boy anthem Salad Days from the 2014 album of the same name) back to him.

While the crowd's energy seemed to die somewhere along the halfway point, Demarco and his band steamrolled through the set like Duracell bunnies until the very end. Every song was the same classic that everyone had heard again and again while their Mac Demarco Spotify sessions played on loop, except live they're beefier and better. With an almost nitty gritty edge to his easy breezy freshness, he incited anarchy with favourites Freaking Out The Neighbourhood and Cooking Up Something Good. Perhaps the more rugged sound emanated from the Roundhouse's hideous sound system which meant hearing any spoken word from anyone onstage was literally impossible. Nonetheless, Demarco and his band seemed to slip into the spotlight of their biggest British stage to date with comfortable ease.

Mac and his Vans crowd surfing last year while they were
stiiiiiillll tooooogeeetttthhherrrrr
(photo creds: NME)

In his grand finale, Demarco ended with his cozy love serenade to long-time girlfriend Kiera (who he's waking at the end of the studio version - he's not calling over a cat as I originally thought). Still Together's shrill but in-tune wailing has a kind of Lion King-esque vibe going down and the live version has real gusto. While the band members onstage engage in an indulgent instrumental, what else can we expect from Demarco except for him to dive head first into the crowd only to emerge five minutes later utterly battered and bruised. Hobbling back onstage in a Sonic Youth shirt now ripped to shreds and unsalvageable, he mildly threatens to beat up whoever stole one of his red Vans before completing the howls of "stiiiiiillll tooooogethhherrrrrr". Apparently he was so pissed off at this that he refused to encore his usual Metallica cover. A bit of an ironic reaction considering he was detained by police mid-performance last year in Santa Barbara, CA for climbing the venue's scaffolding. I guess there's one thing you can learn from these experiences, Mac: don't feed the hipsters.

twin peaks: probably the most important band in the galaxy

...dissecting the politics of the music industry and championing underrated bands one step at a time...

(photo creds: Pooneh Ghana)

Twin Peaks are the generation-defining band that most of the generation hasn't heard of...yet. The cheeky chaps from Chicago (I already regret that alliterative combination) are set to do what The Strokes did for riotous indie rock in the previous decade - shatter any previous misconceptions and spearhead it into a a new, restored direction.

My gripe with modern 'indie' (besides the fact it is a truly awful world that should be used only to - ironically, of course - describe twatty teenagers) is that it fails to live up to its namesake. Indie is, in the classical sense of the word, associated with independent labels that traditionally churned out the kind of music of which this genre originates. However, could this also be translated into a more independent movement of music; one that nudges boundaries, challenge its peers to do better and gets audiences excited just because they can be. Transecendal electronica from Jamie xx and FKA Twigs and underground grime from JME and Skepta are doing this. Apart from the few exceptions, indie rock is not.

As I believe I've mentioned in previous blog entries, I feel that most of modern indie tends to mesh into one. Of course big sing-along choruses are fun, and boppy riffs act as ammunition for festival mosh pits, but what separates decent bands from those of potential heroic status? Indie seems to have lost its roots along the way and it's time that Twin Peaks brought it out of the woods.

Returning to The Strokes comparison; both bands capture rock music in its purest form - (seemingly) unfussed about delicacies, unsubtly advertising a passion for noise and pledging allegiance to their art. This Is It is a landmark in music history, so it should be noted that Twin Peaks' ascent into rock and roll fame won't be as quick as their apparent counterparts. However, who's to say that this quartet can't be as equally meteoric? It could be suggested that The Strokes achieved success so early in their career because they are associated with prominent labels and don't look like they play fight on an hourly basis. On the other hand, Twin Peaks are messy, marijuana obsessed teens, yet the latter's releases are significantly and seriously overlooked which is certainly not down to the quality of their first two projects.

Sunken - their debut mini-album - bursts with feverish colour. Erupting with serious DIY garage rock, it's over quicker than you can bat an eyelid. From the musty vocals to the explosive stifle of the percussion, there is little time for pause in a record that runs for less than twenty minutes: it's lo-fi scuzzy rock and roll in its most natural form.

The urgent immediacy in Sunken is endearing; almost every track fades into one another, giving it a more vintage touch and making it perfect for vinyl (apologies for the pretentiousness but I own it, and it's honestly amazing). There's also something strangely wistful about their lyrics (a la Natural Villain and Ocean Blue) even if they still spiced with youthful slang (particularly my favourite Stand In The Sand - an ode to their holy grail).

Clay of Twin Peaks (photo creds: unknown)

The boyish essence Twin Peaks captured on Sunken lingered into 2014 when they released their sophomore effort Wild Onion. While Sunken trembled with a this-is-an-extended-jam-session vibe, they truly wore their influences on their sleeve during the recording of Wild Onion (perhaps somewhat of a modern masterpiece, but that's just my opinion). These roots of inspiration lay the foundations for a great record and are most obvious in the album's title and artwork which mimic The Beach Boys' Wild Honey. Not only is the title of Twin Peaks' second record a nod to the 1967 album (both compromising untamed vegetation of some kind), but there are also similarities to be found in the fonts and positioning of the two album titles as well as the floral aesthetics - undoubtedly a homage on Twin Peaks' behalf. However, this is not where the Wild Honey influences come to a halt. Throughout Wild Honey there is a hedonistic thrill and buoyancy, particularly in Darlin' and the album's title track, that can be found to be so tightly intertwined in Wild Onion. Though the latter may be without the prominence of keyboards and organs to add that punky edge, the lazy carelessness of each respective band's vocals are uncanny.

i spy the similarities?

The Beach Boys aren't the only sixties/seventies swingers that Twin Peaks emulate. Particularly on Wild Onion, a lot of the tracks have a definite Rolling Stones air to them. From the Mick Jagger-esque yelps of Making Breakfast to the Stones style climaxes of I Found A New Way, it's blatantly obvious that Twin Peaks had Sticky Fingers on rotation whilst recording. The entire album works as a juxtaposition of the forceful garage gnarl (Flavour, No Way Out) with the delicate soft rock (Mirror Of Time and the ambrosial stoner daze of Ordinary People), something akin to The Kinks spectrum. Where Wild Onion truly succeeds is the harmonious balance of both, in tracks such as the uptempo euphoria of stand-out Telephone.

Where Twin Peaks triumph and other bands falter is the way they've coined their inspirations. Their body of work is less of a recycle of what we've heard in the past but more of a leasing of new life into the ways of the old classics. Through wicked live performances and songwriting that's beyond their years, it's clear their ethos is modernisation instead of imitation - and this is why they will reign supreme.

LISTEN TO TWIN PEAKS' RSD SINGLE BELOW   

don't forget to like our //facebook page//

how i survived the 1989 world tour

looking out onto the sea of peasants
(photo creds: jason williamson @ the line of best fit)

Some may say her power lies in her ability to single-handedly make the largest cooperation in the world redesign their business plan (we're looking at you, Apple). Others in her ability to reduce relatively emotionally stable people of all ages into a fit of tears. Although, it's most prevalent (and, perhaps, most overlooked) in her ability to sell out Hyde Park (that's 65,000+ tickets, I'll have you know). Out of all the other headliners of the British Summertime Festival, the only other act who was able to draw identical numbers were The Who. Neither Britpop heroes Blur nor the founders of modern indie rock The Strokes could achieve such numbers. Hence, Taylor Swift is a musician completely on par with rock legends celebrating their golden anniversary. And she proves it in her biggest UK headline show to date in the company of her London crowd.

The day-long event was opened fittingly by an array of genre-crossing acts. Rae Morris was charming and euphoric; Vance Joy's cotton candy acoustics were impressive and dynamic; though he can't dance for piss and tried (and failed spectacularly) to get an audience who wasn't there for him to sing-a-long to his unknown tracks, John Newman gave his all; and Ellie Goulding went above and beyond, pumping up the crowd with a cluster of electronica fire-starters. Surprisingly, it all made the excruciating seven hour wait from doors opening to Miss Swift's set a little less painful.

For someone who once claimed she couldn't dance and is infamous for her problematic award show moves, the love letter to her beloved new home and show opener Welcome To New York was the first of many performances to boast high-precision body pops and locks. It also set the bar for an ornately camp extravaganza. Almost every sugar-tinted synth was accompanied by high kicks in even higher waisted garments and the most incredible (for lack of a better term) slut drops the eyes have ever seen. Behind the superstar herself was an army of truly exquisite backing dancers to accentuate the big top show. (Collectively, we decided we loved Mason Cutler the most.)

friendship group goals
(L-R: martha, kendall, serena, swizzle, karlie, gigi, cara)
(photo creds: glamour magazine)

Each beat which burst from the Great Oak Stage was bedazzled to perfection; whether they were a blazing inferno as in her 2013 worldwide smash-hit I Knew You Were Trouble or silky smooth under Style. During the latter - a slinky, seductive instant classic glossed with immaculate hooks and retro riffs - she paraded members of her ever-growing girl squad of beautiful people - Kendall Jenner, Gigi Hadid (I literally died), Serena Williams, Martha Hunt, Karlie Kloss, and Cara Delevingne - to the adoring crowd.

Prior to attending, I was initially a bit ambivalent towards the set list as, for a Swift-till-death personality like myself, it was too 1989-heavy for my liking, particularly due to the inclusion of This Love (which was a bit of a snore and could definitely done with being replaced by a masterpiece like Last Kiss or All Too Well) and You Are In Love. After attending, I still harbour these feelings. However, one of the most bewitching moments of the show was Taylor being suspended above the crowd against a background of sallow oranges as the sun was in mid-set as she acoustically (and unforgettably) sang You Are In Love.

love story at sunset

Yet, her set was not shy of her previous catalogue. Though it did not include any full version of her songs from the greatest album of all time (2010's multi-platinum Speak Now), the songs she did incorporate showed her remarkable talent for reinvention. It's not just the fact that 1989 transformed her from pop princess to the biggest superstar on the planet, but her tour has given her the artistic opportunity to inject fresh energies into her archive. During her platform suspension over the crowd, she played the song that catapulted a then-18 year old Taylor Swift into international music fame: Love Story. Tinkering at her keyboard, she turned the country crossover smash into an 80's tinged ballad. Later in the set, she electrified the crowd with an amazing beefed-up version of one of her dryer tracks We Are Never Getting Back Together, shredding guitar and whipping like it was nobody's business. Her final surprise was a mash up of one of my most favourite T Swizzle songs Enchanted (circa 2010) and brooding ballad Wildest Dreams. Living up to its namesake, it was enchanting. Beginning as a soft piano solo and evolving into a momentous serenade to the beauty and delicacy of love. It was certainly a set highlight.

don't be so baffled luv, they're all here for uuuuuuu
(photo creds: tumblr)

It is a well-known fact that Taylor is not a one-trick pony. Not only is she, possibly, the most famous singer-songwriter of the 21st century, accomplished multi-instrumentalist, philanthropist and the dictionary definition of 'goals', but she can add 'agony aunt' and 'potential Noble Prize speech writer' to her CV. Before Clean, her severely underrated track about finding yourself in the midst of stormy heartbreak, she gave a speech that wetted the cheeks of many. She preached about the importance of self-love and how we are not "damaged goods", before launching into a graceful melody that captured the crowd.

It is indisputable that Taylor Swift is some kind of phenomenon. She brings the bangers through some of this year's biggest songs - Shake It Off, Blank Space, Bad Blood (the tour version is, unfortunately, minus the explosive Kendrick Lamar appearance) - and lifts them to new, dazzling heights. She has flowered into a bonafide music icon. May the reign of Taylor Swift continue.

past taylor-related posts

WARNING CONTAINS SEVERE EMOTIONS: 1989 album review

Red Tour review