Mac DeMarco on anxiety, alcoholism
and the Mitski controversy
^{_{Chamber of reflection}}

After leading the way to his studio via the kitchen and the pool (surrounded by ashtrays piled with fag ends), the 28-year-old curls up, legs crossed in the opposite direction, as far away as possible on the other end of a couch. At times he lights a cigarette and then crosses his arms while inhaling, his shoulder turned towards the door. He looks like he’s trying to shield himself from attack, his body language screaming: ‘Don’t do it.’

“It always kind of smells weird in here, I’m sorry,” he begins. “I had a couple oranges… I remember dropping one of them. I haven’t been able to find it.” It smells of studio and hard work, I say, to relax him. “Okay,” he says with a shrug.

You’ve said that you went a little crazy making your new album. What does that look like?

It’s just being like, ‘What the fuck?! NO!’ Not being able to make the call. You learn so much and then you’re left with too many options. The concept of the record was that I didn’t wanna make a perfect record. Then I got into this circle where I was trying to perfect something that was supposed to be imperfect – perfectly crappy… I haven't even listened to it since I made it so I don’t remember what it sounds like. But I remember being stressed out mixing it, I tell you.

What’s contributing to that neurosis? You’re approaching the 10th year of your career. Is there self-doubt? Do you feel like you have to do something unexpected?

Uhm, maybe. Pretty fucked up to think [it’s been] 10 years since I put out a CD-R in Vancouver. I’m in a place right now where I just don’t care. Even with this. I assumed this record would pop up, fly under the radar, maybe some people listen to it. I’m totally fine with that. I’m always putting out music. It makes me feel like I’m not wasting my life away. I appreciate the people who listen. I like playing shows. Everything else? I don’t care.

Explain that.

It’s fine. I just wanna make music, hide in my little garage and I’ll just die someday. People can do whatever they want, say whatever they want, but I’m gonna make it. That’s gonna be how it is.

Tell me about your move to LA from New York. Was this city what you expected?

I didn’t like LA for a long time. It’s hot, it’s bright, everybody’s looking at you if you’re in the street and not in a car. It’s a place about having your own space. In New York, people go to bars because if you have someone over at your apartment, the landlord will shoot you. For me, having a space [to produce music] is important. I haven’t lived in a cool neighbourhood for a long time. But I never leave my house, so I forget. I miss seasons, dense forest and mountain water. The main thing is my girlfriend. In New York, we lived far out of town. It made sense because we lived right near the airport and I’d just go on tour.

Is having this studio space lending itself to more exciting collaborations?

Yeah. Right now it’s in a shambles because we’ve been recording. Anderson Paak and his band would come over. I’d barely even play. We’d jam all night, record all of it. Anderson likes my snare drum. Mac Miller and I used to go back and forth to each other’s houses all the time. May he rest in peace.

The song ‘K’ on the record is obviously for Kiera.

A ’lil sweet Paul McCartney tune for her.

You still have the capacity to be a hopeless romantic...

She’s sweet to me. I love her. I’m sure she’s like, ‘For fuck’s sake.’ I like writing songs. Sometimes you gotta do something nice. I don’t even know if it’s nice. Maybe it’s embarrassing.

You’ve been together for so long. What is it about the relationship that works?

Me and Kiera have known each other six years longer than we’ve dated. It took time for us to get here but she’s part of who I am, I’m part of who she is, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’m really lucky.

You grew up in Edmonton with a musical family, but rejected it ’til your teenage years, right?

My family were musical in a different way. My grandmother was a next-level opera singer, well respected. She just turned 90 and holds onto her upper-crust cosmopolitan lifestyle. When I got into music, I was into rock’n’roll. Edmonton is Anywheresville. It’s just somewhere in Canada.

You played in a hardcore band as a teenager. When did you develop vulnerability in songwriting?

It was terrifying! The only audience I had at that age were my friends. So if I wrote this heartfelt thing, they would go, “Shut up!” Then there was Bandcamp, so I put it on there and didn’t tell them. It’s the same now. I don’t show my friends my music. I don’t even know if vulnerability is good. I can play it off-the-cuff, always tongue-in-cheek. It’s a process. I like the idea of writing. The problem is what you’re going to write about.

You cite Jonathan Richman as a huge influence. When did that ball drop?

I used to hang out with these older kids who’d always be in record stores. They put me onto Wire and post-punk bands. I thought, ‘Jonathan Richman – yeah, he probably rocks.’ They were going to a show in Calgary and I went. Oh my god, I’d never seen a show like it. It was an attitude. He loves it up there. He’s a good model. It made me reject that cool guy, quiet, dark, sexy thing. Maybe I could never see it in myself.

Why did you move to Vancouver after school?

I didn’t have a plan. I went in the summer and thought, ‘I wanna move here!’ Then I got there in the fall and all my friends were in school. I was confused. I started applying to schools. Didn’t know what the fuck to do. I’d brought some recording stuff so I set up in my garage and made my first CD-R.

What were you going to study?

I wanted to do early childhood education. I didn’t really know. I never ended up going.

That was when you did Makeout Videotape. What motivated you back then?

I just wanted to be a part of it. There were a lot of bands there. I was making it out on my own. I had no purpose. Playing shows gave me a purpose, even though it was to nobody. It’s not like I was making money. But it’s the last time I felt part of a music scene.

As a man in music who’s been called out for joking about rape onstage, where is your sense of responsibility amid the #MeToo movement? Do you regret that stuff?

Oh, tons of stuff. You learn. What you’re referring to… there’s a bunch of different ways to look at that…

You don’t think it was a problem?

The conversations are important. I’ve learned a ton. Everyone’s learning. It hurt yesterday to see people say, “Mac is trying to minimise a woman.” Do people assume I would troll [Mitski]? That makes me sad. At the same time, I know I wasn’t. Mistakes get made. I’ve always tried to be positive. I understand that I am a man. I’m a white man. I’m a white straight man. With this album, I just made a record. I’m not trying to say anything about anything. I’m taking a back seat. If you wanna listen, you can. If not, that’s okay. I hear it and I’m listening. I’m not like, ‘Fuck this shit.’ No way. It’s important.

It sounds like you feel the need to apologise for taking up space.

Yes. Days like yesterday make me feel like that. I was just trying to do my songs. There’s nothing I can do.

The theme of this issue is hedonism.

I don’t even know what that word means...

Unadulterated joy. What does hedonism mean to you?

Creating things. That’s the one time where, if it’s working out, then man do I feel good. I think I’ve felt that way since I was a kid. It makes me feel better about everything. I never think about what I’m doing. I just pick something up, try it and if it turns out, then fuck yeah!