For Tame Impala purists, the first spin of his new album Deadbeat feels like walking into your childhood bedroom after coming home from college to find it’s been converted into a guest room. You know it was once yours, because there are still remnants of you lying here and there, but the overall feel and decor of the room has been completely changed. Naturally, you start yelling and pointing fingers in a completely justified meltdown. You don’t like change, and it feels to you as if your room is no longer your own.
Many fans experienced that same feeling of displacement when Deadbeat finally dropped. It’s been five years since the last Tame Impala album, five years of eager anticipation, of wondering what Kevin Parker would do next. When the long-awaited fifth studio album arrived on Oct. 17, however, some listeners were mourning the loss of Parker’s psychedelic rock roots, while others embraced the new sound as a natural and bold step forward into a more electronic sound.
As a devoted fan, I fell somewhere in between. I may or may not have had a brief panic attack when I first listened to the record. I felt so removed from the music; I didn’t understand where Kevin was going with this new sound, or why. Like many other people, I wanted Currents or Lonerism 2.0, but Kevin is constantly evolving as an artist. He likes to explore new genres, sounds, and techniques. He likes to throw his fans a curveball. We just don’t always enjoy it as much as he does.
Tame Impala fans have a few defining traits. First, we like to think of Kevin as our pal. His music has been a soundtrack to life’s highs and lows. My junior and senior years in high school were scored by Innerspeaker and Lonerism (I was a top 0.005% fan on my Spotify Wrapped, thank you very much), but I also cried my eyes out to Currents after getting my heart broken. We fans also tend to take a few listens before embracing anything new he releases. But we do keep listening. And eventually, we usually can’t remember why we resisted in the first place.
That has been the story with Deadbeat for me. The first time hearing the new songs was like plunging into cold water: jarring and deeply uncomfortable. But if you get out of the cold water for a bit and then jump back in, it’s warmer. With each listen the water got a little warmer. I would notice a brilliant guitar part in the background that I hadn’t picked up on before, or I would find myself entranced by the hypnotic beats. I still couldn’t say I loved it, but I was getting there.
I was going down a YouTube rabbit hole and came across a recent NPR Tiny Desk spot Parker did with his bandmates, so naturally, I clicked. Six guys, six acoustic guitars. No glitz, no glam, no reverb (Kevin’s specialty). The songs had to speak for themselves, and they did. Listening to the songs acoustically made me appreciate the writing on its own. Deadbeat is the rare dance music album with good songwriting, but I do believe some of the album’s production keeps the songs from being heard for what they are: genuinely sound songs. I’ve always loved Kevin’s production, but this one is a little too house music–esque for me. If I’m at a rave, then hell yeah, put these songs on. Actually, blast ’em. But I’m rarely at a rave. I couldn’t see myself listening to Deadbeat religiously on a daily basis like I have with his previous records. I don’t see this being a part of the soundtrack to my life, unlike the first four albums which are quite literally always playing, either in my headphones or just in my head.
I was recently lucky enough to receive Tame Impala tickets for my birthday (I begged until my parents finally caved), and on Oct. 27, I saw Kevin Parker in the flesh for the opening night of the Deadbeat Tour. Nothing could harsh my buzz, not even New York City parking. There was a little part of me that was scared: What if the show was not what I’d built it up to be in my head? What if he played too many of the new songs?
But if hearing the new songs acoustically made me appreciate the writing, then seeing them live made me fall in love with them. I finally saw the vision. I watched people around me in a trance. I watched the band members completely immersed in the music they were creating. And then there was Kevin. During his DJ set, he lay down on the ground on some pillows with warm lamps all around him and sang with his eyes closed. He was smiling. I found myself lost inside the music, and I realized I’d been wrong. I could absolutely lay down with the lights off and close my eyes while listening to the sweet sound of Kevin Parker’s voice. By the end of the night, it felt like my bedroom was mine again, just rearranged.
Edie Anderson can be reached at emanderson@wesleyan.edu.
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