Review | Mac DeMarco Sings His Little Heart Out at the Santa Barbara Bowl

After a decade of easy-listening to Mac DeMarco, this old dog ain’t about to forget (lyric pull). No — in fact, I remembered, and remembered again, throughout his cathartic two-hour set at the Santa Barbara Bowl on September 29.

Surprisingly, it was laid back. 

Sure, DeMarco himself is famously chill. His music is of the slacker-rock variety, or what he calls “Jizz Jazz”: nonchalant and lo-fi, with dreamy synths and hopelessly romantic lyrics crooned in the buttery cadence of a cigarette-smoking armchair therapist.

But his stage presence always had a reputation for being weird. I’ve seen it lean into unpredictable chaos, complete with onstage antics. For example, at one show, inflatable tube guys (known for flailing around at car dealerships) crowded the stage. Out of nowhere, Jack Black appeared and dry-humped one of said tube guys.

This show, though, was more simple and intimate in comparison. There was a fog machine, shifting lights, and a few folding chairs that looked as though they might’ve been accidentally left out. That was it, besides the instruments. 

It’d been years since I’d seen DeMarco live. I wondered: Was this chiller, relatively antic-less show emblematic of his evolution as a musician? 

As he’s aged, his sound has mellowed out. His newest album, released this year, is simply called Guitar, and it’s primarily acoustic. He’s stripped his sound down, favoring a softer, smoother, more casual quality (high quality, all the same). 

Maybe it’s his sobriety, I thought — he quit drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes during the pandemic to free himself from being “beholden” to substances. 

Was who I saw on Monday just a so-called “new” Mac? Can there ever be such a thing? 

So I asked him.

 “I just think the unpredictability and the insanity came because I didn’t have confidence in the music before,” he told me when I ran into him at Dargan’s later that night. (He was super nice and down to earth. Thank you, Mac. You made my whole year.)

“I’ve performed a lot of my records — that’s a different thing — but now I have confidence in these guys that play with me, and I’m trying to sing my little heart out, too. Some of the shows on this tour got a little bit wackier than tonight, but tonight was about the songs.”

Mac DeMarco with band, Santa Barbara Bowl, September 29, 2025 | Photo: Carl Perry

This was the final show in his U.S. tour, and though the vibe was dialed down, it was clear he put his little heart into every note. And his signature goofy persona still shone through between songs — via hilariously morbid, free-associative rants — and quite a few poop jokes — delivered in an eerily deep voice.

He’d then launch into what my friend Maya Johnson called, “the chillest songs ever.”

“I’m taking your eyeballs out of your head tonight, and I’m keeping ‘em!” he declared at one point, before playing “20221102 The Truth,” a sweet ballad about wrestling with new love and one’s old ways. It’s from One Wayne G,  a 199-track compilation of demos, experiments, and other sonic souvenirs. 

He also didn’t hold back on the moans and other interjections of high-pitched “yeahs,” “ahs,” and “oohs,” that add a characteristically fun and lighthearted texture to his tunes. 

I’d like to think that I know his discography well. It was the formative soundtrack to my high school and college years, and many songs pull up fond memories. I was thrilled that he wove in some of his classics — songs up to 15 years old.  I swear some of them were older than the teens in the crowd. 

Even though the Canadian musician has grown up since his Salad Days (the iconic, 2014 indie pop-rock record that helped put him on the map), he’s somehow kept a young fan base. 

On stage, he admitted he had some trouble deciding which tracks to put on the set list.

“I’m too old, and I made too many of them, so how do I choose?” he mused. “We’re just gonna do as many as we can.”

Screams of recognition (including mine) greeted songs like “On the Level,” and “Still Beating,” from This Old Dog (2017), with their synthy staircases and dreamlike melodies accompanied by vulnerable, heart-filled lyrics. 

He also plucked some of his best tracks from his timeless repertoire, dating back to his coming-of-age, breakthrough album 2 from 2012: tried and true fans sung along to “Ode to Viceroy,” “My Kind of Woman,” and “Freaking out the Neighborhood.”

My favorite song of the night, though, was “Passing Out Pieces,” a hit from Salad Days. It was better than I remembered, and the melody has since taken up pleasant residence in my head.

“Can’t shake concern / Seems that every time that I turn / I’m passing out pieces of me / Don’t you know nothing comes free?” he sings. “What mom don’t know has taken its toll on me.” 

I won’t pretend to know DeMarco’s intended meaning behind those lyrics, but what young adult can’t relate to that? It’s backdropped again by that distinct, hazy synth and some punchy, head-bobby horns. It displays his sonic versatility and his unmatched ability to spawn ear worms. Listening to it feels like wrapping a blanket around the shoulders of my inner teenager. And then giving her a kiss on the forehead and a punch on the shoulder. I don’t know how else to describe it. 

Mic in hand, he swayed and flowed around the stage, until the closing instrumentals. For that, he did a weirdly awesome, frog-squatting, air-humping dance move that has become a staple at his shows. His popular synth-heavy, twinkly track “Chamber of Reflection,” also had him put down the mic for a few handstands on stage. The excitement of the crowd in response to this showmanship was beautiful, primal, and uninhibited. 

His band deserved every ounce of confidence he placed in them. They had good vibes and great chemistry, giving each song more than its due with masterful renditions that were true to recorded memory. Daryl Johns even took the spotlight a few times to show off his bouncy and beefy bass skills. (He was also a great pool opponent later that night.) 

After the main set, they came back for the encore with “Nobody,” a simple track portraying DeMarco’s poetic, tender, and somewhat sad reflection on fame, which lays him bare for all his inner strength and musical talent. With verve, he yelled: “Nobody — thats what I’ll be after I blow my fucking brains out backstage — that’s the end of the fucking tour!” 

Overall, he didn’t need all the inflatable bells and whistles he’s employed in the past. The music spoke for itself.  It had been eight years since Mac DeMarco last played the Bowl. And the Bowl was elated to have him back. 

“Oh, how time flies,” he sighed.