Tame Impala Is an Obsessive, Not a Perfectionist

On a bright afternoon in late August, I met Kevin Parker, the polymath behind the psych-pop project Tame Impala, at a hotel bar in the Los Feliz neighborhood of Los Angeles. Parker was dressed in baggy pants, flip-flops, and sunglasses. His hair is the kind of shaggy that suggests abject neglect more than overpriced Hollywood coiffure. We ordered a round of mezcal cocktails, which, when they arrived, were conspicuously pink and garnished with tiny orchids. “I didn’t think it was gonna look like that,” Parker said, laughing, as we clinked glasses. “My friends are always giving me shit: ‘Kevin orders a pink flirtini’ or whatever.”