I’ll admit I’m not a fan of Kevin Parker’s work, but there is a lot to respect in what he’s accomplished. Deadbeat is his newest album as Tame Impala. It comes after a string of successful releases that have elevated Parker from his origins among college stoners and dirtbags to a state of adoration among the mainstream public. He’s worked with Rihanna, Travis Scott, Dua Lipa, secured multiple grammy nominations, and sold his catalogue for an estimated hundred million dollars. By anyone’s standards, he’s done well for himself.
Anyone’s standards but Parker’s: the stories that came out of this album’s production mirror those you’ll find for every album he’s made. Rewriting songs endlessly and setting new deadlines. Watching more and more pages drop from the calendar. Nervous breakdowns. All of it culminating in a short-lived satisfaction in his creation. Rinse, repeat.
Something about the way he feels about himself— doubtful, anxious, cast aside— are the qualities that have made him such an idiosyncratic songwriter and producer. At the same time, they’re the qualities that most hold him back throughout this album. On Deadbeat, that self-doubt seems to have won, stripping away the beloved psych-rock he mastered for a stark, cautious pivot to minimal house beats and loops. You’d think this would present Parker with an opportunity to let go of his usual perfectionism. You’d think.
‘My Old Ways’ opens the album with a jazzy piano lick that gets old fast, followed by a couple would-be ideas that shuffle along without leaving much of a mark. ‘Loser’ and ‘No Reply’ stand out in all the wrong ways, with painful lyrics like “I’m a loser, babe” and “You’re a cinephile/I watch Family Guy.” Even ‘Afterthought’, the strongest song here, would’ve been the weakest and most repetitive song on Currents.
This new direction feels like a reaction to The Slow Rush’s reception. If accusations of stagnation prompted the change, it seems the fear of failure paralysed him mid-production. He’s taken his formula, stripped it bare, and then, afraid to do anything more adventurous, left the album unfinished and stillborn.
Worst of all is the feeling that you can hear a heartbeat somewhere in each track. It’s the faint, frustrating sound of his talent, buried alive under bottomless piles of thumping beats. Too depressing for the dancefloor, too hollow for introspection.
“Kevin Parker, de Tame Impala” by morrissey is licensed under CC BY 2.0.