At 56 minutes, it’s not exactly Tame Impala’s longest album – 2020’s The Slow Rush still holds that record. But it takes one glimpse of the cover to know what really sets it apart. For one, it’s the first to depict any member of the band, particularly its Aussie founder, Kevin Parker. Gone are the lush, psychedelic symbolism and imagery of past covers. Instead, we get a black and white tight shot of him cheek-to-cheek with his daughter, Peach. 

From there, one can already deduce the personal and contemplative route this journey takes. The first track, “My Old Ways” sure sets that mood, as it opens with a minute-long raw recording of piano and vocals, before launching into the band’s trademark psychedelic sound. And as Parker starts singing about his patterns, the irony becomes crystal clear. Deadbeat isn’t as tender as the daddy-daughter image suggests. With a title like that, fat chance. 

Parker himself attributes it to disconnect, the emotionally displacement he always felt, whether as a family man or as a musician. That theme is reinforced with songs like “No Reply” and “Not My World”; which respectively deal with social awkwardness and detachment; and the self-flagellating second single, “Loser”, where he sings “Do you wanna tear my heart out?/I’m a tragedy/Tryna figure this whole mess out”. These are not melodic ramblings we’d typically expect from someone expecting his second child. Yet, here we are. And it’s as visceral as it gets, even when it occasionally ventures to filler.  

Given the pre-Halloween release, it makes sense to see a track called “Dracula” in the mix. As the third single, it showcases the strongest simile, where Parker compares the fear of exposing his flaws to being a vampire: comfortable in the dark, averse to sunlight. It’s one of the album’s strongest cuts and quite reminiscent of Currents. 

And really, Deadbeat excels when it channels the band’s 2015 opus, their most exalted work to date, which also recently marked its 10th anniversary. It plods when it resorts to repetitive rambling, like in the otherwise-cleverly titled “See You On Monday (You’re Lost)”. The album’s two seven-minuters sum up that contrast. There’s the techno-flavored “Ethereal Connection”, a club-worthy jam which stretches on but then ends abruptly. While, on the flip side, the first single, “End of Summer” finishes the album strong. Apart from exemplifying the band’s brand of electronica, it also encapsulates the yearning for connection and owning up to one’s shortcomings (“I know I can seem uncaring in moments like these/Just ‘cause I don’t regret it, doesn’t mean I won’t think about it”). It’s a potent breather, considering the 49 minutes of lamentations that come prior. And perhaps more importantly, it hints as growth – much like the band itself in taking this introspective and personal turn. The end product may be far from essential, but it’s a necessary detour.