Mac DeMarco dazzles at delightfully chaotic sold-out Brixton show
The Pepperoni Playboy delivered a wildly whimsical set that celebrated over a decade of hazy indie favourites.
Fifteen-year-old me, who played Salad Days on loop in my bedroom, would have been horrified if I'd let a £40 resale ticket pass me by. So when one popped up the morning of Mac DeMarco's Brixton show, there was never really any question. I was going.
The Canadian singer-songwriter sold out three nights at the O2 Academy Brixton, a venue surely in the running for London's sweatiest room. But the sloped floor, grand stage and undeniable history of the place somehow make up for it. Fans filed in wearing baggy jeans, distressed shirts and enough nose rings to make it clear that DeMarco's appeal spans generations of indie kids.
The show moved at astonishing pace. With a setlist thirty songs long (yes, thirty) DeMarco pulled from almost every era of his catalogue, taking Brixton on an eras tour of his own. It served as a reminder of just how much longevity he's had. Few indie artists can play for over two hours without momentum dipping, but with a discography this strong, it never really has a chance to. He even squeezed in material from One Wayne G, his infamous 199-track collection of half-finished ideas and abandoned guitar riffs that somehow still contains moments of brilliance.
Of course, Mac DeMarco has never just been about the music.
Between songs he filled every possible silence with odd impressions, mocking the British accents coming from the front row, grunted down the microphone. The entertainment didn't stop at the songs. DeMarco casually broke into a 15-second handstand, climbed onto the speakers to loom over the crowd and hurled the mic stand across the stage, his delightfully chaotic stage presence ensuring Brixton was constantly entertained.
What struck me about this gig is how strangely whimsical it felt considering how melancholic so much of his music actually is. Songs filled with loneliness and longing become warm and communal in a live setting.
And sonically, it was flawless.
The arrangements were beautifully crafted, allowing every member of the band their moment to shine. The drummer, in particular, was phenomenal. His solo during Moonlight on the River was one of my favourite moments of the night, elevating an already brilliant song into something even more mesmerising.
DeMarco himself sounded almost identical to the records. His vocals drifted effortlessly through the set, punctuated by surprisingly gorgeous higher notes. Combined with his stylish guitar work, it was a reminder that beneath the slacker persona is an incredibly accomplished musician.
Towards the end of the show, indie’s original mellow troublemaker delivered a euphoric version of Freaking Out the Neighbourhood, repeatedly teasing its ending before snapping back in with that iconic riff, each time a little faster. He closed on My Kind of Woman, with the crowd swaying together as it faded out.
Unsure if it was the washed-out purple lighting or just nostalgia, but the show felt unexpectedly cathartic. Hearing these songs, once tied to teenage bedrooms and solitary walks home, sung back by thousands of people in unison was genuinely moving, proof that Mac DeMarco's music has endured for a reason.
Delightfully chaotic, beautifully played and utterly charming from start to finish.
