![]() I’m not sure how long many people have been paying attention to it. It’s funny because I guess I’ve been doing it for a little while now. It’s cool to put that out there and be like, “You can do it too!” and then kids went and put it out there too. I’m just going to do that!” That would feel weird to me, but some of these kids, they’re like, “Oh it was only three years ago? I guess I’ll just do it!” But at the same time too though, I’ve always said, “look we’re just normal whatever people playing, we’re not like crazy musicians or fancy or sexy rockers or we’re just so.” If I was like, “Wow something came out three years ago…. Like, “Oh I’m gonna rip off this George Harrison song or this Kinks song,” but I think the difference in what the internet has kind of done now is, say, some of these new bands aren’t reaching back that far. I think there’s people who have influenced me over the years, but I reached pretty far back to get it. I am a byproduct of say, Ariel Pink and R Stevie Moore and these guys that have been doing it. Well it’s funny for me because I know some of the bands that you’re probably talking about, you know. So we both established that it’s “Post Mac- DeMarco,” that’s the sound! So, I was wondering how it feels to have created an entire sub genre of Indie music? You’ve been a huge player in empowering a DIY music market. I didn’t know what to call it or how to talk about it. That’s the way to live sometimes… so this other musician and I were talking about how to categorize this new surge of Indie music that all has a similar sound. How do you like that? Are you a fan of the movie? Me and Kiera just watched that show Hannibal about Hannibal Lector So how are you doing, how has your day been? When I ask him why he chose this symbol of a cowboy for the album, as he is not a cowboy, he explains, “I feel like is almost an interpretation of what a cowboy is supposed to be, by someone who really has no idea what they are talking about, you know?” After listening to this audio multiples of times, one question I deeply regret not asking is, “Do you ever feel like the cowboy?” Through plumes of smoke and DeMarco’s deep belly, husky laugh, we discuss his latest album “Here Comes the Cowboy,” how he writes his songs, feeling more in tune with himself, growing up, and more. We gather in the backyard to some patio chairs, prepped with a sturdy pack of marlboro reds and black coffee, and begin the interview. To my surprise, he is less crowd wrangling, whirlwind rowdy boy, and more the dude abides, or a grizzly bear plucking sunflowers by a lazy creek. I was taken aback by his blue marble eyes, dishwater blonde wheat field of hair. His voice still gravelly with sleep, DeMarco introduces himself and extends a hand. Stubble staggers across his jaw and chin. In a distressed Sublime t-shirt and trunks, Mac DeMarco, trailblazer of indie rock, the gap-toothed frontier of the DIY music scene, bizarre stage antics legend, saunters out from the hall barefooted, a tired grin dribbles up his cheeks. She lets me know Mac will be out in a second, “Here Comes the Cowboy” still barreling through my head. ![]() The kitchen is whitewashed and bright, ornamented with long-limbed plants and garage sale trinkets. She is enveloped in a grey cherub hoodie, has smile like a gust of wind, and soft dove eyes. Once I reach the house, sweat studding my blouse, the door flings open, and I am greeted by Kiera. “Here Comes the Cowboy” is throbbing in my head the beat synchronizes with each step. I am trudging up a street that is endless, feeling like a pack mule dragging itself up the side of a mountain, saddlebags full of stones. It is the kind of heat where you sweat behind your knees and between your elbows, and I wish for handfuls of wind. After the show we all loitered around the stage, taking swigs of something that stings and rambled about how when he plays, his bones look light as eagles.įour years later and it still feels like the desert, Los Angeles to be exact. Failed magicians, frat boys and surfer bros, a fistfull of atheists, herds of psychedelics, Instagram influencers, skater chicks, and many more have trekked miles to see him. His voice was barbed with a Canadian twang. Each pluck of the guitar lassoed our hearts, with a beat tough as raw-hide, a cigarette dangled from his lips. The cowboy had a gap-toothed smirk, a silver bullet smile. ![]() On stage, he towered above the tumbleweeds of fans, as we stampeded to the crack of his voice, ricocheting like a shot from a winchester rifle through the valley. I first saw the cowboy in the heat of the Coachella Valley, so dry it chaps your lips to sandpaper.
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