Album Review: 'Deadbeat' by Tame Impala

An abridged version of this article was published on Clash

What’s left to say about Tame Impala that hasn’t already been said over and over again? Quite a lot, actually. The recipient of critical acclaim for one and a half decades straight, Kevin Parker has grown increasingly comfortable with his reputation as the music industry’s golden child … perhaps too comfortable.

While the polished sheen of ‘Currents’ and ‘The Slow Rush’ multiplied his patronage, it also dampened his creativity. Over five years after his last album, the one-man band is back with 12 fresh cuts of mixed signals that have blurred beyond recognition what was once an exceptionally sharp vision.

As the textures of his sound got richer with time, Parker’s songwriting lost its potency. Now, it’s a stretch to even suggest that his material is “written,” when in fact it sounds more like overdubbed scraps that never made it past a second draft. Things were already looking iffy based on what he cooked up for the ‘Dungeons & Dragons’ and ‘Barbie’ films as well as his collaborations with Justice, yet these were still no indicators of just how steep a fall the overall quality of his work would take.

‘Deadbeat’ is unique in that its most embarrassing track was released as a single, as if the lyrics “Now I'm Mr. Charisma, fuckin' Pablo Escobar” would do it any favors. Parker even referred to the song as one of the defining moments of his current era, which is completely true, but for reasons unbeknownst to him. This oblivion is most likely what gave him the confidence to launch the rollout with two other profoundly unremarkable extracts. Whereas a piece such as ‘Loser’ exists for the sole purpose of taking up space, ‘End of Summer’ features a hollow beat that's halfheartedly embellished with a standard of singing only fit for improv — though the latter has a transitory moment of warmth right down the center, the squeaky delivery of “Do it on my own, goin' through it on my own” quickly cancels out whatever little promise it shows.

As suspected, this album was done for before it even arrived. The signs were certainly there from the start, but no one could’ve predicted the severity of its aggregate.

While the drums did most of the heavy lifting on the last record, this one has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Rather, it relies exclusively on the charity of unconditional optimism from fans who’re convinced that Parker knows what he’s doing even when the product makes no sense.

The Aussie producer almost seems confused about what to publish under the Tame Impala moniker at this point in his career, because the tracklist in question just doesn’t line up from any angle. For example, the ‘Obsolete’ beat would’ve perfectly complemented Nelly Furtado’s brand back when she was working on ‘Loose’ during the mid-2000s; Parker’s vocals, however, have no business being anywhere near the instrumental.

Then, there are numbers like ‘No Reply’, ‘Oblivion’ and ‘Afterthought’ that are just less invigorating versions of an ambient house strain that is already marred by excess. Similar to André 3000’s pivot to massage-parlor music, these tunes will only impress those who haven’t listened to anything new for about three decades. Though the 39-year-old has stated that his latest material is “deeply inspired by bush doof culture and the Western Australia rave scene,” in no context does the album hold up.

What’s frustrating about ‘Deadbeat’ is that the potential buried deep beneath its cumbersome nihility occasionally surfaces, only to vanish right before it amounts to something worth writing home about.

Any hope for the album outperforming its singles dissipates a minute into the first cut, when the warm and toasty intro hastily succumbs to whatever it is Parker’s trying to accomplish. Still, his songwriting shows promising signs of life on ‘Piece of Heaven’ despite its inadequate arrangement — the detached closing section, on the other hand, is absolutely breathtaking and without question the single most captivating moment on the entire record. Likewise, ‘See You On Monday (You’re Lost)’ is the closest he comes to Tame Impala’s most respectable form, although this too takes a turn in the wrong direction with the way he sings, “I’m the one you want, and you can turn me on / But life ain't too much fun, when there's no telling where you're headed.”

These momentary sightings of his artistic prowess make the flippancy that dominates ‘Deadbeat’ that much more upsetting. That is precisely why ‘Not My World’ reverting to its original form after a mildly catchy midsection feels so utterly exhausting. Worse yet, ‘Ethereal Connection’ takes up far too much real estate for how little it offers across its seven-minute runtime. Easily the most persuasive evidence of Tame Impala’s identity crisis, the lack of ambition and plodding continuance of this one is in direct contrast with the courage that birthed it.

Aside from spotty traces of Parker’s now-distant genius, at no point does the album elicit any passion. There’s really nothing that makes you want to own a copy of it on vinyl or witness the tracklist live, so the main takeaway from ‘Deadbeat’ is that maybe it’s not worth the hassle anymore. After all, trying this hard to keep admiring someone can be taxing on the soul.

Undoubtedly the most exciting prospect of the 2010s, Parker’s work is now indistinguishable from the homogeneity he was the antithesis to not long ago — from the mastermind behind Tame Impala to no longer surprising anyone as the “did you know it’s just one guy?” guy.

The best-case scenario here is that Parker reveals the whole project was a jocular social experiment, forcing Zane Lowe to admit he pretends to like all the music his interviewees make. The worst-case scenario? Well, look no further.

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