Edmonton-raised Mac DeMarco finally being taken seriously, for better or worse

TORONTO – Leave it to widely feted misfit Mac DeMarco to take up residence in what must be one of the only parts of New York City without cellular service.

After growing up in Edmonton and finding his creative coming of age in Montreal, the gap-toothed whiz of laconic rock recently abandoned a cramped abode in Brooklyn for a more generously appointed residence in Rockaway Beach.

It feels remote, and that’s what he loves about it.

“It’s still in New York City technically, but it’s pretty much Long Island,” he said.

“Nobody can really call me…. I don’t have to see people if I don’t want to. It’s nice.

“It’s a working-class family neighbourhood. It’s mostly Hispanic and black people out here, and if you go a couple blocks over, it’s maybe Irish cops as well. Very religious. Lots of churches.

“I think the neighbourhood is like: ‘What are you doing out here?’ I’m like, don’t worry about it.”

No longer does he worry about being cornered by a fan during a late-night cigarette run, anyway.

“What I’m worried about now going to the deli at night is, like, am I going to get held up or beat up?” he beamed. “It’s a different vibe. It’s nice. It’s refreshing.”

Perhaps DeMarco is simply more comfortable as an outsider.

After his early releases established his reputation for smirky if subtly accomplished indie pop, DeMarco’s wistful second full-length — 2014’s “Salad Days” — had the crafty singer/songwriter teetering precariously on the precipice of being taken seriously.

An 11-song collection of crystalline guitar ambles, “Salad Days” was declared by NME the second-best album of 2014, and other tastemakers — including Mojo, Q, the Guardian and Spin — were similarly effusive.

“It’s like Pitchfork posts an article when I do my laundry nowadays,” DeMarco quipped.

Indeed, he seems to regard the attention with bemused distance.

At the Juno Awards, for instance, DeMarco — a nominee for breakthrough artist of the year — wandered the red carpet armed with a selfie stick and a lop-sided grin, certain he was unlikely to ever be back.

“I was really drunk the whole weekend,” conceded DeMarco.

“I really didn’t want to go. It ended up turning out fun and I saw people I hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I’m obviously not going to win,” he added. “And even if I did, it doesn’t matter really. I don’t care. But it was cool.”

On Friday, he’ll release “Another One,” a brief collection of tuneful ditties that would have sidled in snugly on “Salad Days.”

They’re love songs, but the otherwise unguarded DeMarco refuses to divulge more: “This album I feel is a lot more personal than ‘Salad Days,’ so much so that I refuse to talk about what anything on the album is about.”

If his newfound cachet has any currency, it’s come in the form of artistic freedom. As he discusses the increasing control he has over his music, the prankish singer turns serious. With “Another One,” he insisted his label not meddle at all with song selection.

“I understand they want my records to do well and they want things that will sell, but they’re not a huge label and I’m not a huge artist,” he added.

“It’s extremely disrespectful to second-guess your artists. Go (expletive) yourself. I’m not saying that about my own label — they do a good job.

“But that’s not OK with me. I’ve heard a lot of friends in the industry, people will get some weird request. They can’t do that. It’s not OK.”

Of course, should it ever come to that, DeMarco’s label will probably find it tough to reach him anyway.

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