Album Review: Guitar by Mac DeMarco
Guitar may not hit with the immediate impact of DeMarco’s earlier releases, but its raw honesty and melodic consistency make it a worthy, if subdued, addition to his catalog.
With Guitar, the sixth studio album, finds the Canadian singer-songwriter peeling back layers and returning to basics. After the sprawling 199-song experiment One Wayne G (2023) and the instrumental road-trip diary Five Easy Hot Dogs (2023), Mac DeMarco has “rediscovered his voice” on this project—literally, as Guitar is his first studio album of vocal songs since 2019’s Here Comes the Cowboy. True to its title, Guitar forgoes the lush synth textures of some past releases in favor of an all-guitar palette, recalling the lo-fi warmth of his early work. DeMarco handled nearly every aspect himself: writing, performing, and recording the album in 12 days at his Los Angeles home studio, then mixing it. He also shot the cover artwork and music videos, with mastering engineer David Ives providing the final touch. In DeMarco’s words, “I think Guitar is as close to a true representation of where I’m at in my life today as I can manage to put to paper.” This stripped-down, do-it-yourself approach gives Guitar an unmistakably intimate, handmade feel—one he believes captures his current state of mind more directly than a polished production could.
This effort is a somber song cycle tracing the end of a friendship and a romance, delivered through introspective ballads that are as brief as they are heartfelt (no track exceeds three and a half minutes). Over the album’s roughly half-hour runtime, DeMarco sings quietly of letting go, loneliness, and lingering guilt, crafting a narrative of self-reflection and hesitant optimism. The melodies often sound gentle or even sunny, while the words tell a more sorrowful truth. The tone feels confessional and unvarnished, with DeMarco’s characteristic wryness occasionally peeking through the melancholy. He offers an intimate self-portrait, sacrificing much of his trademark goofiness and sonic experimentation to center on heartbreak, guilt, and growth.
Guitar opens deceptively bright. “Shining,” the bittersweet opener, sets the tone both thematically and musically. It’s an earworm built on a lilting late-‘60s-style melody, yet in the chorus DeMarco wonders whether his ex-partner is still on the “sunny” side of life without him, hinting at the darkness beneath the shine. He reaches for high notes with audible effort, and that slight strain heightens the vulnerability on display. The very next track, “Sweeter,” continues the juxtaposition of breezy sound and a broken heart. On first listen, its gentle, tuneful groove could be mistaken for a love song, but the lyrics reveal desperation: he’s recollecting a failed relationship and practically begging for another chance, promising that “this time, it’ll be sweeter,” and that he will be too. “Phantom” lives up to its title: a brief (just under two minutes) apparition that leaves a lasting impression. Over a delicate, melancholic guitar figure, DeMarco reflects on an absence—a ghost of someone or something now gone.
Following that spectral interlude, “Nightmare” moves into a more direct and personal mode, essentially offering tender advice to a younger self. Set up as a oneiric conversation, the song has him preparing his past self for the hardships to come—even suggesting he carry an old comforting vice (in classic Mac fashion, a cigarette) to brace for the future. The instrumentation stays unobtrusive and straightforward, so when the vocals swell, the track lifts into one of the album’s standout moments. There’s a familiar DeMarco charm in the image of offering a smoke as solace, but beneath the half-smirk is genuine sentiment. Thoughtful and compassionate, this balances nostalgia with gentle wisdom, showing how far he has come—and how much of his old self he still recognizes. With “Terror,” DeMarco wraps self-loathing in one of the album’s peppier arrangements—a deceptively upbeat bounce that belies the darkness of its subject. A shuffling rhythm and strolling bassline give the track traveling momentum, almost as if we’re wandering with him, yet the mood is anything but carefree. He uses the jauntier groove to confess his deeper fears, as he wanders aimlessly, grappling with a fear of death, and feeling unable to escape old tendencies. The catchy, toe-tapping instrumental mirrors the rhythm of restless footsteps, while the lyrics reveal the terror behind the wanderer’s smile.
DeMarco turns toward open nostalgia. “Rock and Roll” is not only titled after his debut EP Rock and Roll Night Club (2012), it also nods to that era’s sound. The production brings back his classic quirks—the woozy, warbling guitar tone and a long solo that wouldn’t have been out of place on his first release. The echo of early work underscores how much has changed emotionally since those carefree days. Released as the lead single, “Home” is a soft, twinkling meditation on what the concept means now. Over a gentle strum, he grapples with the loss of a place he once loved, likely his Canadian hometown, which has become “an inhospitable, alien place” in his heart. “These days I’d much rather be on my own/No more walking those streets that I once called my home,” he sings, capturing estrangement and a reluctant acceptance that you can’t go back. In the self-shot video, DeMarco paddles a canoe on a quiet Canadian lake, surrounded by honking geese and wearing an Edmonton Oilers cap—imagery that emphasizes both connection to and distance from the idea of home.
He also confronts personal change and penance. “Nothing at All” rides a somber rhythm and features a contemplative call-and-response between a lead riff and the underlying chords. The mood is meditative, and the soft, sincere vocal suggests a clear-eyed look at the void and an attempt to find peace in doing, well, nothing at all. “Punishment” plays like a confessional prayer, cloaked in a subtly cinematic arrangement. Over guitar lines with a faint spaghetti-western twang, he lays himself bare, signing off worldly possessions and ego, wishing only to keep his soul. If Guitar has an emotional low point, it comes with “Knockin,” which literalizes nagging guilt. A looping motif repeats like an unrelenting thought while he lists what keeps “knockin’” at his mind. The chorus slips in quickly and is easy to miss, almost swallowed by the cycle, which matches the repetition in the lyrics. He looks skyward, half-sarcastically hoping for intervention. Over a slow, minor-key line on “Rooster,” DeMarco delivers what sounds like an accusatory, last-ditch appeal to the person he’s lost. There’s a subtle menace in the atmosphere—fitting for a title that suggests an uncomfortable truth at daybreak. The last line lands like a plea and a warning at once.
“Darling, I don’t bite—at least not like I used to.”
He tries to assure a change (declawed, safer now), yet the need for assurance suggests the wounds haven’t fully healed. The ending is uneasy, with a question mark rather than a period.
Throughout Guitar, minimalist arrangements keep attention on the voice and the lyric. Most songs stick to simple forms with layered guitars, modest rhythm parts, and the occasional keyboard or chime. When the writing and emotion are strong—“Shining,” “Nightmare”—the intimacy draws you in. The vocals aren’t pristine by design; hushed deliveries and light falsetto passes put feeling ahead of polish and often earn it. The same austerity can flatten the middle stretch, where tempos and tones cluster. The heartbreak stays contained, rarely breaking into catharsis, and the brevity can blur edges. Guitar trades the quirks and mischief of This Old Dog for a homier, more subdued palette by choice; that choice brings clarity and also limits. It’s a quiet, cohesive record that rewards patience. The fact that this is arguably one of DeMarco’s more low-key and somber efforts, and yet it still ends up a good album, speaks volumes about his core songwriting ability. The aim is accuracy about where he is now, without an ironic mask. The cost is occasional sameness and fewer sparks of invention than in livelier eras. Longtime fans may miss the odd synth warbles and the winks, but the cohesion holds. Guitar doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel, but it tries to be exact—and largely gets there.
Solid (★★★½☆)
Favorite Track(s): “Nightmare,” “Rock and Roll,” “Rooster”