The xx performed at the perfect intersection of an eye-catching stage set-up, a mastery of music and a varied setlist. Switching up pace, lighting and era, the xx’s atmospheric indie pop never went stale.
What’s so impressive about No Shape isn’t just the breadth of sonic territory it covers, but its ability to do so while also capturing, in many ways, the essence of camp in all its effeminate and kitschy glory.
The whole Mac DeMarco shtick has a ticking expiration date before he goes from cute to suffocating. We can only handle so many of his stunts — like shoving drumsticks up his butt or telling fans his home address, something he admits was a bit ill-advised — before he becomes nothing more than a royal pain in the ass rather than Indie Rock royalty.