Listening to Salad Days, the album that affable Brooklyn-by-way-of-Edmonton singer-songwriter Mac DeMarco released earlier this year, feels like stepping into a hazy, sun-dappled dream world. Some tracks (“Brother,” “Passing Out Pieces”) are tinged with a reverb-soaked psychedelic vibe. Others, like “Let Her Go” and “Treat Her Better,” are all jangly Sixties soft rock. Sonically, it’s lush and varied, with heavy emphasis on guitar. DeMarco’s relatable crooning seems to glide over the music: Listening to him is both incredibly easy and surprisingly heart-stirring. DeMarco has a reputation as an unserious, gap-toothed stoner (thanks to his willingness to appear nude and drunk in public, not to mention his penchant for sloppily covering class-rock songs), but Salad Days should change that. It’s his most personal — and best — album to date. Step into his world at Great American Music Hall (859 O’Farrell St., San Francisco), where he’ll be performing two nights in a row.