The so-called Goofball Prince of Indiedom can partly put down his surprising success to the obvious fun he has in public; plenty of pulled faces, nudity, self-deprecation, all enhanced by that gap-toothed smile and a look that resembles a hobo slacker. ie, he doesn't seem to give much of a monkey's, further endearing him his fast increasing fanbase. Conversely, this public persona is counteracted by a hard work ethic, somewhat of the old school artist in him whereby he'll lock himself away in his studio for days on end, chain smoking for Canada (for he is a Canuck), until he's got something. Moreover, musically he also strikes a more serious and contemplative tone when making sounds, even if his songs and stlye barely rises above hammock rock. He's also got a heightened restless creative spirit; this eight track mini-album serving as a necessary outlet for the often frustrated DeMarco, who has publicly often expressed his frustration at churning out the same songs, night after night…

 

Doing everything himself, and once again utilising tape, DeMarco has put together what is essentially a collection of homely, and simple love songs with titles such as 'No Other Heart', 'The Way You'd Love Her', 'A Heart Like Hers' and 'I've Been Waiting For Her'. It's a concept album of sorts, about love and its emotions: jealousy, frustration, sadness et al. DeMarco continues to blossom into a very fine, classicist pop writer; universal themes to the fore, delivered in a way that is lyrically accessible. Musically, it's easy-on-the-ear, but with a pinch of the offbeat – derived from the ever-so-sightly warped vibe of the sounds, engineered via his particular recording techniques – that helps to elevate the songs above and beyond the banal.

 

From the off, DeMarco lays down the musical template that features vocal reverb, manipulated pitch control (on his beloved tape-to-tape recorder), simple emotional sentiments, some superb flanged guitar, and chordal keys. As well as obviously being in love with 70s solo period John Lennon (check out the accompanying video for the title track, featuring Lennonesque glasses, hair, et al), and McCartney and Harrison, too, there's also a little Morrissey in there as well, Donald Fagan, and 80s pop, via his stated admiration for Ryan Paris's 'La Dolce Vita'. In DeMarco's mind, that song represented all that is best about pop music; lyrics that speak of loneliness, sadness and longing, but counteracted by simple, yet strong keyboard melodies. 'Real human emotions' as DeMarco puts it.

 

Previous album Salad Days was a more eclectic affair; less keyboards, more guitar, and on occasion an enticing psychedelic soul vibe with DeMarco having much fun with his vocals, particularly on songs like 'Still Together', which combined straight soul-pop with weirdness aplenty, going off-piste perhaps, but drawing the listener in via it's maverick strangeness.

 

'Another One' is a little more straightforward and stripped back. There are two styles here; chord based melancholia and jaunty, mid-tempo numbers, much in the manner of classic 70s pop and rock.

 

'The feeling never stops, and neither does the clock. Wishing for tomorrow, today' are typical lyrics, from 'Another One', a beautifully crafted and delivered song, it's languid groove oozing melancholic pop at its best, his unfussy drumming and melodic bass playing complimenting the mood. Whatever you call it – Blue Wave, Slacker Rock – it's beguiling and memorable stuff. As is the soft-rock sounds of 'No Other Heart', a song that McCartney would be proud of, featuring no more than some very simple chords, super simple guitar lines and not much else. But somehow, in his hands, it works, staying the right side of cheese, but flirting with it nonetheless.

 

DeMarco partially ruins the great work with the penultimate track 'Without Me', a song seemingly intentionally tepid and airy-fairy; he lets his mind drift into barely perceptible meaning or purpose except wishful thinking, lazy hopes and valiumed-up pseudo sadness. Futheremore, Another One could have easily done without the album's closer, 'My House By The Water', which features, weirdly enough, the sound of water lapping, a metaphor for a man who is living by the water's edge (as he does, and where this was recorded, in Averne, a neighbourhood in the New York borough of Queens). The repeated and descending keyboard motif replicates the rhythms of the water, but truthfully it's beyond redemption, like some soundtrack to a super cheap sub-David Lynchian film. Literally, nothing else is going on in this song, except at the every end when DeMarco gives us his address and invites the listener to pop by for a cup of coffee…

 

But, not withstanding those two final tracks, it's a marvellous work, from this maverick indie talent, and should stand him in excellent stead for the proper album sometime next year.