Mac DeMarco’s Best Deep Cuts

Wobbling synths and an unusually ugly lyric about fame make this a revealing detour from DeMarco's familiar guitar-led charm.

DeMarco writes about family memories without forcing them into a grand lesson, which gives the modest song its credibility.

A small, strange song about wanting to disappear, carried by a keyboard figure that makes isolation sound both peaceful and worrying.

The slow arrangement gives the breakup nowhere to hide, and DeMarco's tired vocal refuses the comforting resolution the melody seems to promise.

One of his neatest guitar lines carries a direct love song whose craft is easy to miss because the performance sounds effortless.

In barely two minutes, DeMarco builds a complete portrait from a simple chord pattern, a distant vocal and no unnecessary flourish.

The lounge-room piano and polished melody initially sound comforting, until the lyric admits how thoroughly the relationship has failed.

The first half is a patient meditation on death and family; the distorted final minutes let the recording itself come apart.

Birdsong remains audible around the drifting arrangement, reinforcing the sense that the recording captured a private afternoon rather than a formal session.

A plain melody and unadorned lyric confront aging directly, with none of the jokes DeMarco often uses to protect himself.