Mac DeMarco is a weird guy. Marked by his unusual concert antics anddisturbing rumors concerning a drumstick and a gap between his front teeth, DeMarco has managed to create a distinct, unmatched reputation. But all of his eccentricities, oddities and vulgarisms are what make him one of my favorite musicians.

 DeMarco came onto the indie music scene in 2012 and has since released six full-length studio albums, my favorites being “Salad Days” and “This Old Dog.” You’ve probably heard his hit track, “Freaking Out the Neighborhood,” which now sits at over one billion streams on Spotify after amassing immense popularity on social media in late 2021. But how — if he’s such a weird guy — has he created such a fanbase? It’s simple: Consumers crave weirdness and people who go against established norms. And that’s exactly what DeMarco excels at.

“DeMarco is not a ‘normal’ musician, but in a realm of incessantly emulative industry plants and plagiarizers, his antics are amusing to consume and easy to love.”

 Going through DeMarco’s discography, everything seems normal  until you open his 2023 release, “One Wayne G.” This record is 199 songs long, running just over nine and a half hours. Every song is simply titled by its original file name from studio demos, with some featuring a song’s title, as well (e.g. 20200817 Proud True Toyota). Most surprisingly, one of these 199 songs became a hit and remains DeMarco’s 14th-most-streamed song, “20191009 I Like Her.”

 DeMarco’s ability to release a nine-hour album and still have fans sift through hours of unfinished demo debris to discover a hit song is special. DeMarco is not a “normal” musician, but in a realm of incessantly emulative industry plants and plagiarizers, his antics are amusing to consume and easy to love.

 Even odder is the DeMarco concert experience. It’s worth pointing out that DeMarco hates touring and performing. “My alcoholism stems from being scared of playing,” he told an interviewer. “I don’t really drink when I’m at home. I don’t go out to bars. It’s an ‘only at work’ thing, which is f***ed up.”

 This might explain the insane videos of him on stage, where he often bounces up and down in an awkward crouch, makes robotic, awkward movements and seemingly always ends up awkwardly stripping off his shirt. He has recently gone sober: “I do what my acupuncturist tells me — no cold foods, no cold water, only hot water and steak.” This guy might be off the rails, but his sense of freedom is one I envy.

 DeMarco has created a sound that, despite sometimes feeling repetitive, is uniquely his own. In the last one and a half minutes of “Ode to Viceroy,” the twangy guitar arpeggiates against a backing guitar moving counter to it, making the sound feel like notes are raining upon the listener. You can also recognize a DeMarco song by its drum pattern: rolling hits on the snare and subtle but complex fills at the end of every few bars.

 The drums also create the laid-back but melancholy feel of all his songs. Some DeMarco songs remind me of The Smiths — prominent guitar, slightly depressing lyrics and memorable melodies. His most explorative exercise is the drawn-out outro of his most emotional song, “Moonlight on the River,” which beats the listener relentlessly with undecipherable screams and laughs over a distorted guitar that represents the amalgamation of anxiety, addiction and stress that pinballs around DeMarco’s head.

 All of these elements contribute to his unparalleled ability to transfer raw emotion to the listener. DeMarco has had a troubled life; his dad left when he was four, and he describes himself as “a savage alcoholic.” But behind all of his irregularities is a guy who just wants the freedom to express himself, and that’s why he’s a great musician.

 “I’m sure people still like the idea of Mac being this rowdy, f***ed-up, stinky, party-master guy. I have been, maybe I still am.”