Kevin Parker Looks Like Jesus?

How about we start with an unquestionable certainty: Kevin Parker isn't Jesus. He is, truly, on earth to spread a sort of salvation. Furthermore, he has that hair and those warm eyes and the little whiskers, which consolidate to make him seem as though he ought to be sat at the focal point of Leonardo's Last Supper. In any case, no, Kevin Parker is more likely than not Jesus.

Does Kevin Parker Look Like Jesus?

Granted, in the flesh, you might wonder. He has this energy, or perhaps, a lack of energy, that quiets a room. It's a kind of stillness, a preternatural calm that seems to soothe the people around him. That might actually just be because he's a softly spoken Australian who's partial to a joint and who's written some of his best songs stoned out of his tree. 

For Parker, getting high is a way to escape the twanging of his brain, which can get in the way of his creativity. Hence, the mellow vibe.

But even at larger scales, you can sense his aura. He can lean out from the edge of a stage and make tens of thousands of people feel like he's singing just to them. Oh, and he does write songs like 'Posthumous Forgiveness', the centerpiece of his upcoming fourth album, The Slow Rush, in which he laments the failings of an absent father before offering him exoneration (although, unlike the Biblical Son, Parker's comes backed with pillowy synths). 

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And he does occasionally withdraw from the world for extended periods of painful self-examination, after which he drafts a group of acolytes to spread his message. But, look, he's not Jesus, OK?

Kevin Parker Selfie With Sophie. Image on Instagram

Although if he was, it would explain all the Kevin Parker-as-Christ art his fans make, and why they self-identify as 'Disciples', and why they caption selfies taken with him as their "lord and savior."

It would also make sense of their fervor, which seems religious in its intensity, as though they're experiencing his music as something more than music, something transcendental. Hence why, though I'm fairly confident that he's not actually the Messiah, it's hard to be sure. 

Then again, nothing about Kevin Parker, or his alter ego Tame Impala, is exactly certain.

I'll do whatever it takes make music I think is inspired. Which is different to music that is good- Kevin Parker

However, he is maybe one of Australia's most renowned rock stars, however, he has burned through the vast majority of his profession holing up behind a band that doesn't generally exist. He is searched after a partner who literally can't write music with any other individual in the room. He is a celebration featuring a pop craftsman who makes thick hallucinogenic exciting music. 

He is a stickler, skirting on control crack, who thinks his best music is conceived in snapshots of unbidden motivation. What's more, he is a self-admitted restless, self-critical recluse who's once in a while more joyful than when he's remained in front of an audience before a huge number of individuals.

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This dichotomy is encapsulated in his songs, which can feel both intimate and enormous. Take 'Let It Happen', the breakout single from his breakout 2015 album, Currents. It's an eight-minute psych-rock wig-out, driven by a military drumbeat that frequently judders apart like a scratched CD. 

As a record, it bangs. But Parker's falsetto and his shimmering synths are gossamer things that seem like they might blow away if you focus on them too hard.
It's a melody that makes the blood siphon and stills the heart, all simultaneously.

This is accurately why Tame Impala is such a shocking thing to involve with the substance, preferably shoulder-to-lager splashed shoulder with a large number of individual messengers. 

The communal uplift of 'The Less I Know The Better', or 'Lost In Yesterday', almost makes me understand why people go to those speaking-in-tongue megachurches. 

Parker has the ability to induce a kind of collective mania which makes you doubt the veracity of your memories.

Parker can actuate a sort of aggregate craziness which makes you question the veracity of your power of reminiscing. Did I truly feel those things? Might I be able to actually feel those things once more? 

At the point when you see Tame Impala live – and feel compelled to pressure this as much as possible when he hits the street in the not-so-distant future, you should see Tame Impala live – he will be flanked by other men, on drums and synths and guitars. 

For a considerable length of time, it was accepted that Tame Impala was an aggregate thing. 

A band, in the time-honored meaning. And then, around the time that Currents was going platinum and being nominated for Grammys and winning ARIAs (the Australian equivalent), Parker slowly began to disabuse people of an assumption that he'd spent years cultivating. There was no band. There was him, alone.