Salad Days

Mac knows better than to let his bellyaching get in the way of everyone else's good time--instead, he’s simply dialled down the quirk and written his best record yet.

With more memorable tracks and a slightly more accessible feel, the album is less distracted and more tuneful than before without losing any of the freewheeling spirit that made his songs and persona so attractive in the first place.

On Salad Days it becomes a lot clearer. He's honed his skills to write wonderfully weird, often gentle pop songs.

The guitar sounds throughout Salad Days are pristine, the lyrics sublime and the vocals... the Lennon-isms are often befuddling but they can only be applauded.

The results are a wistful, free-wheeling and intimate snapshot of DeMarco's psyche-an album that is more complex than you might assume, but more rewarding for it.

For all its internal contradictions, Salad Days is no more or less than a great album in a tradition of no-big-deal great albums.

It’s a record that boasts glaring maturity without diminishing the iconic immaturity.

Above all, there's a genius for economy. [Aug 2014, p.94]

A simple record to listen to under the sun that has a couple of knowing winks about going steady and treating your pals right, but nothing you need worry about.

The pleasure was all ours. [May 2014, p.108]

The mood only really dips on Chamber of Reflection, when jangly guitars are replaced by a discombobulating synth and his downer sentiments are matched by the music.

Salad Days is a testament to love at its most selfless and pure as much as it is the fear of holding on to it.

His patron saints appear to be Harry Nilsson and yacht rockers like 10cc, and rarely are either channeled with this little cheese and this much panache. He merges these influences with what's quickly become his signature guitar sound, an effortless style that can be playfully discordant. It's these dissonant bits that elevate DeMarco's easily digestible pop.

Goodbye Weekend sees DeMarco take issue with his critics, particularly the way his sometimes bizarre live shows have been reported. On this evidence, his talent should be celebrated. Salad Days, indeed.

Ultimately, Salad Days is an aural testament to the old adage that there’s a fine line between genius and insanity.

You can enjoy Salad Days for its unadorned flow and easygoing weirdness, or you can stop, reflect and be moved by its fresh honesty. It’s worthwhile either way.

While the tone keeps the wistful summer vibes of his earlier work intact, the Brooklyn-based Canadian also gets reflective on this dud-free second full-length.

The songs only sound sleeker, more melodic, more intensely stoned.

Salad Days isn't the stuff of mainstream success, but it strongly suggests his cult is only going to get bigger.

While those individual songs are great, they generate the urge to listen to the whole record in its entirety which, in the end, may not be as healthy and carefree as the title and arrangements would have us believe.

It’s a good look for him and an excellent return of the Mac.

Salad days is goofy but sweet guitar pop in the vein of Jonathan Richman, occasionally somewhat lightweight but delivered with a crooked smile that's quite endearing. [May 2014, p.73]

The progression that Salad Days shows is encouraging, even if the album starts to peter out at the end.

The music never seems to come from a place of desire to convey something true or honest from within DeMarco, but instead it paints variations of past emotions, interpret others’ honesty, gives a distorted remembrance of the past for a more entertaining present.

Salad Days is packed with wry, knowing lyrics and washed-out vocals, like a meeting of Stephen Malkmus and Marc Bolan.

Recorded in his Brooklyn apartment, Salad Days tosses off the same charmed, lazy pop songs with a balsamic aftertaste.

DeMarco doesn’t spend time wallowing. Instead, he crafted a companion piece to his previous works, fleshing out a fuller image of an artist “struggling” to find his place in the landscape of indie rock.