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As Tame Impala continues to give his listeners a taste of the next album to come, “Loser” serves as the second single to follow “End of Summer.” And, in contrast to the latter, there’s less “jubilant bittersweetness” to the track, and instead more of a resigned hopelessness. Indeed, very much in the spirit of Beck’s seminal 1993 “anti-hit,” “Loser,” which went on to become a Gen X anthem (and, not to worry, Tame Impala is aware of his reference, further solidified by Beck making a cameo in his “Loser” video).
Since Tame Impala is representative of the millennial generation, perhaps he’s decided to offer them up their own somewhat belated anthem, now that it’s crystal clear they won’t be holding down steady jobs or buying houses in this lifetime. Or maybe it’s just that Kevin Parker is still stuck in the mindset that he’s a “loser” by sheer non-virtue of being a musician. After all, Parker’s father, Jerry, had drilled it into his head that making a career out of music wasn’t a viable option. Not just because the likelihood of it happening in a way that could regularly pay the bills was improbable, but because, “If you do music as your job, as the thing that puts food on the table, then it will instantly ruin its magic, it won’t be mysterious and fun anymore, it would just be like work.”
And so, Parker tried his hand at playing it straight for a while, attending university and majoring in engineering. At some point during his tenure, he decided to somewhat rock the boat/say “fuck you” to convention by majoring in astronomy. A decision on which he commented, “I knew that I would be poor and I just wanted to do whatever was fun.” Spoken like a true so-called loser. Or, at least, the definition of a loser that society ingrains within people who couldn’t care less about being rich. Granted, some of the less desirable loser qualities—such as being an unkempt dick—are present in the Sam Kristofski-directed video (shot in the same cinematic widescreen aspect ratio as “End of Summer”), with Joe Keery a.k.a. Steve Harrington (in truth, there’s a lot of Steve during his Scoops Ahoy employee era emanating from this particular “loser”) playing the stand-in for Parker.
To be sure, Parker must have hand-picked Keery to play him because, from the back, the two look practically identical (it’s the hair, obviously). However, Keery’s voice gives him away as “not Parker” while he chases after the girlfriend he’s clearly just insulted. As she glares at him and indicates that he better get his hands off her fucking Benz, it’s apparent that this relationship is really all he has going for him. So when she drives away, it’s easy to see that “Djo,” as the “character” is called (a nod to Keery’s Instagram handle), feels as though he’s lost the one thing (women always being seen as “things” to men) that at least sort of made him feel like a winner. But with no “dame” to prop him up now, Djo is left to walk to the convenience store (though some call it a grocery store) on his own—with Bob’s Market in Echo Park getting plenty of screen time (and yes, it feels pointed for the video to be set in Echo Park when taking into account that plenty of loser musicians live there).
But before walking into the shop, Djo is met with a dirty, judgmental look from a cop. Even though briefly fazed by it, he still goes in to collect what he came for: a beer. The drink not of champions, but losers. So it is that, as he pulls one out of the fridge (at least it’s in a “classy” bottle, not a can), the chorus declares, “I’m a loser, babe/Do you wanna tear my heart out?/I’m a tragedy/Tryin’ to figure this whole mess out.”
And the perfect place, apparently, to figure said mess out is at Bob’s Market. Since, instead of leaving with his beer, Djo just sits outside drinking it—still there by the time night falls. Because, really, where else has a loser got to be? Although mostly staring into space (perhaps such a loser that he doesn’t even have a phone to occupy his blank gaze), Djo clocks a scratch-off ticket lying on the ground and unabashedly picks it up so that he can scratch it with his nail—not even a goddamn penny or something (further proof that loserdom is, in this world, automatically associated with being penniless). Which is why it’s so appropriate that the lyrics, “Desperate times call for dеsperate measurеs” play right at this instant.
Having no luck with the ticket (quelle surprise), Djo continues to visibly spiral, which makes for the perfect time to introduce the song’s dreamy bridge: “I leave alone and/Dark streets I roam in/Night air, I breathe in/The stars I believe in [again, he majored in astronomy]/I don’t know why I didn’t fight it/I probably tried and magnified it/I cannot lie, I feel defeated/Take it as a sign, you’re badly needed/You’re badly needed/Badly wanted [a woman always being “salvation” to Parker].” During the final scenes of the video during which these lyrics punctuate the bleakness of the moment, a car containing a couple pulls up to the market. The guy in the couple gets out of the car while the woman remains in the front seat smoking a cigarette. As she waits for him to get back, she locks eyes briefly with Djo, flashing him a decided “you’re a loser” look before tossing her cig out the window.
When their car pulls out, Djo shamelessly picks up what’s left of the cigarette and smokes it (smoking now being a sign o’ the retro times), turning around to see a little boy also looking at him like he can’t believe what a loser Djo is. After receiving the child’s disgusted appraisal, he continues to sit on the sidewalk. Then there’s a few seconds where, after a passerby breaks the viewer’s sight of Djo, we see Parker himself sitting in the same place—same outfit and, of course, same haircut (or lack thereof). And while Parker is still in the “loser” role, we hear the simple outro of the song, whispered like a sigh: “Fuck.”
Another passerby then breaks the view to bring it back to Djo sitting there looking all forlorn and hopeless in the world. And, just when one thinks there really is no hope for this loser, his face lights up and he smiles at someone in the distance. Presumably, the girlfriend who had abandoned him at the outset of this whole sad affair. Looking at her like a revelation, Parker seeks to prove that, yes, it’s true: god is a woman. Especially in the life of a loser douche who ought to realize no one else is lining up to get with him.
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Genna Rivieccio
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