Mac DeMarco at Collins Barracks

This article focuses on the experience of being in the crowd at Mac Demarco’s show in Dublin. It is not a technical analysis of the performance. I previously covered his show in Denver. This is a follow-up of sorts. I originally thought of it as a comparison, but I am not sure anymore.

I had things to say about Mac DeMarco’s show in Denver. I have been a DeMarco fan for as long as I have been passionate about music. I was overwhelmingly excited to attend his show in Denver and make years of watching YouTube videos worth it. His performance was beautiful, but somehow the crowd did not reflect that beauty. As he brought passion to the stage, the crowd stood not in awe but in almost boredom. They didn’t sing, they didn’t dance; they were an angry, unmovable congregation.  I don’t want to go into it too much, but it was truly disheartening; if you want more context, you can read about it here.

This time around I ventured into the green of Dublin, Ireland to see DeMarco play. The show was held at an outdoor coliseum and was welcomed by a break in the perpetual rain that plagues–or nourishes–the island. Puddles reminded concertgoers of the fleeting storm, and the crowd sported an assortment of rain jackets and ponchos. The walls were high, and the air hung heavy with a mix of moisture and cigarette smoke. Not suffocating but heavy, like a quilt that lets the smallest bit of breeze through its hand-knitted knots, not weighing you down, but keeping you warm. People filled the space, beers in hand and arms intertwined. 

I had a fear going to this show; I feared I’d somehow missed the prime of Mac DeMarco. I was dispirited after my previous experience that the groovy DeMarco lovers I had seen on YouTube had somehow dissipated. I enjoy music best through movement, and I simply couldn’t handle listening to the music that makes me bounce while walking through the library, in a crowd of people unmoving. I worried I had missed the moment when the world rallied around the indie masterpieces DeMarco creates and performs. 

The crowd at Mac DeMarco in Dublin showed me this wasn’t the case; at the start, people weren’t moving much, but they were far from stagnant. As I wiggled through bodies and settled into my space, smiles were exchanged, space was given, and an excited anticipation was shared.

 The performance led the crowd through a story of life, love, and realization with the accompaniment of melody. DeMarco allowed the crowd to be with him as he ached for a person whose heart was not his to be loved by. He lulled them through the realization that you have become the person you believed you could never understand. He called out to all the experiences we know but have never been ready to articulate; the beauty of simply liking, the connection of a person you live parallel to but never quite with, the despair in caring but never knowing how to comfort, the distance in never reflecting the love you receive, and the joy in knowing someone but still loving them the same. Each of these thoughts, fears, and memories was brought to life through the attention of someone who has lived them and has the brain to compose them. 

Although often he spoke of despair and the rawest of human emotion, they were performed with a careful impulsiveness. He danced across the stage, beaming, bouncing, throwing the mic around, and occasionally stopping to kiss his photographer/friend on the mouth. This was the DeMarco I had learned to love and seen in Denver, but there was a difference. As he glided through his jestful act, the people around me reflected it. They laughed, sang, and yelled responses to what he was sharing. They were not simply bodies filling a crowd to see a show but people who were connected in the mutual agreement of how to spend their Saturday evening. 

There was no wall to be broken; Demarco was speaking to each of us, and we were connected simply through our luck in the ability to hear it. He invited a friend to the mic for No Other Heart, and he sang with the cadence of a karaoke bar. As the light reflected off the keyboard, I scanned the crowd and saw a smile more contagious than a yawn. People stood interlocked, beaming in their web of friends and partners, often eyes closed and voices joining the mystery character on stage.

It felt like a show for people in love. As he stood on stage reciting a melodic masterpiece about a sandwich, I reveled in my time. Not only did DeMarco share a life of love, but the crowd felt it. People held on to each song with a soft fulfillment that resonated with my constant smile and occasional tear. There is such a talent to being able to move people past mindless movement and into displayed appreciation. Although I am not in love, it reminded me of how lucky I am to be surrounded by it.

Mac DeMarco’s show in Dublin, Ireland made me appreciate words. It made me appreciate that I can hear and understand someone’s description of love and loss, even in a crowd of thousands. It reminded me of the joy of living in a world with people who can bring those feelings to life and share them with those who will listen. Finally, it was a reminder that music is still made to be enjoyed. That seems like an obvious point, but I find that there has become a culture of music consumption rather than appreciation. People speak of concerts like they are losing their ability to create community if they are not explicitly uplifting, as if you cannot dance to the words that describe life as it is. As if people don’t still cry with the stranger next to them. Music is still created authentically and enjoyed through companionship. People are still embarrassing, and the world still loves them for it. Concert culture is not lost; you just sometimes go to a show, and the crowd is a bunch of Denver teenagers. Don’t let it make you lose hope in one of the world’s most talented funky fellows, Mac DeMarco.