There are four slow songs and three songs that are a little less slow but still plenty relaxed, all of them filled with little details to catch your ear. It riffs on his established formula: the same rinky-dink guitar tone, funky basslines, air-tight percussion announcing a band with enough experience to avoid fucking up the vibe. It's like a novella, or a made-for-TV movie-something to chew on while we wait for the next major project.
Which means: If you like DeMarco, you'll like Another One. This type of sincerity without precocity is rare in art, and the contrast between the content of DeMarco's music and the content of his character only highlights his singularity as someone whose contradictions build toward a vibrant self, rather than collapsing in disarray.
Music made for the end of a rooftop barbecue, when the sun dips, the beer is nearly gone, and everyone who doesn't want to be there has already gone. Here, you can be honest, goofy, even silent all of it is accepted without a dissenting word. They're for the unguarded moments you might share with another person where the both of you are comfortable without reservation. His music isn't for situations that are laidback in and of themselves. He connects not simply because he's "chill," but because his relaxed self seems borne of extreme self-confidence. At first sight, DeMarco seems impossibly "chill," that meditative state achieved by studying Buddhism or popping a few Oxys, only it’s more complicated than that.
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