She consistently lifted me out of devastation and emotional ruin when it should’ve been the other way around. I was a bit concerned (my dad, though not an insufferable “rockist,” did raise me on a steady dose of Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, and Santana.) The song started playing. Kevin himself, deeply involved with actually making the album, would only say that he thought it was the most musically diverse release to date. All signs seemed to point towards a significant shift in Kevin’s sound – from guitar-heavy psych-rock washed in reverb to a more diverse set of songs pulling from R&B, disco, and a more Pop-oriented aesthetic. Anyone who identifies strongly with a certain artist could probably understand my anticipation – I had been scanning the web for months, reading every interview for hints about the new album, set to debut in July after a delay earlier in the year. My girlfriend, Emily, had been given a grim prognosis in December from an earlier bout of cancer and I was struggling to stay afloat – socially, at work, and in my own head. I was already three months into an incredibly difficult year. I smiled dumbly, strapped on my headphones, clicked the link, and melted into my pillows. Scrolling through my News Feed, a friend’s status flashed past: “Everyone shut the fuck up there’s a new Tame Impala song.” Six shows in the last 12 months puts me somewhere between fanboy and belieber for Kevin Parker’s central project. I don’t remember how I started the day, but I finished it in my bedroom at 191 Graham, kinda drunk, kinda stoned.
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