It’s hard to imagine Mac DeMarco getting too down. He’s walked his ever-growing band of disciples through irresistible sun-stained daydreams with his unpretentious, softly swaggering indie records. Single-handedly he developed the cult of Mac, a success propelled by his sloppy, sincere self.
But something’s up with Mac on Another One. A forlorn and disillusioned sense of insecurity is palpable. This is a Mac DeMarco break-up album. On The Way You’d Love Her, his syrupy guitar riffs wobble more than ever, bend- ing and stretching under his gentle vocals – a beautifully burned-out ode to a romance slipping out of reach.

The misty subdued synths of the title track carry his mournful words “afraid she might not love you anymore”. The faint delicacy of A Heart Like Hers will cause your own tender ventricles to rupture. Sounding like a lost track from The Virgin Suicides, Mac bleeds over weary sliding notes: “Tried so hard to believe in something that will never be, never be.” There’s no coming back from here, even with the chirpy rhythms and airy harmonies of I’ve Been Waiting For Her, which are left feeling a little like a forced smile.

Bringing the album almost to its end, Without Me is a cathartic sigh of acceptance. With a synth lead reminiscent of a 70s high school sitcom theme, it laments an intense love slowly ebbing away. Mac’s lost his taste for sunny-side up slacker ballads. The dreary synths cascading downwards and an invitation to My House By The Water speak volumes. The future of Mac DeMarco doesn’t lie solely in his talent for crafting immaculate jangle-pop. The charismatic everyman is growing and expanding, and while there aren’t as many earworms to be found here, he’s hopelessly endearing – even with a broken heart.

Aine Devaney