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By: Dennis Cook
Devendra Banhart :: 04.14.09 :: The Independent :: San Francisco, CA
'Tis a glorious thing to see an artist come into their own - chrysalis shaken away, wings dry, antenna alert, prism eyes taking it all in. An honest to god hush fell on The Independent as Devendra Banhart strode out, his usual lean meat lankiness but a whisper of a strut to his step, a touch straighter posture. Confidence, pure and simple, or perhaps just a cellular acceptance of the role the universe has given him, playing across his face and in his movements. I'm not even certain it was remotely conscious but standing solo for a few numbers there was an undeniable sureness of purpose that only grew stronger as his chums joined in and the night progressed.
Though perhaps the victim/recipient of too much hype, too much early praise, too much adulation, Banhart is also freaky talented, a unique voice in a sea of sound-alikes and American Idols. Set aside what you've heard and actually listen and he's got a bag of great fucking songs offered up with color and character and such feeling that something thought lost, that soul we had of old with a feathered cap and wooden sword (thanks, Lorca!) reemerges, coaxed into daylight by his tremulous invitation. He may not be for everyone but if he taps that kid in you, well mister, he's got your love. And there was a lot of love in the room this night, where even the sharp clink of ice in glasses subsided during his opening solo stand – a full house of enthusiastic but not rowdy folks allowing quietude to seize the moment. And it's in these stilled thoroughfares that Banhart often shines most poignantly.
"Your body aches/ but you'll get over yours/ and I'll get over mine/ And the sun will rise," he enthused in a voice and demeanor that sure as hell made you want to believe him. In this early stretch he recalled Tim Hardin, a messenger imparting the good and the bad in life's red balloons and blue surprises. His singing is less quirk-dappled now, more manly though also flowing in ways that remind me so much of Nina Simone – the savoring of choice words and the delicious spray of juice in their phrasing. When he invited us to put him on our breakfast plate we welcomed him with forks at the ready. The tangibility of his presence, his obvious hunger for life, makes an attentive listener a bit peckish, too.
 Devendra Banhart |
As has been the case for a while, his band has grown right along with him, cutting fat and punching up boyish harmonies, smoothing oddball turns and mainly beefing up the general strength of the whole enterprise. This show firmed up for me why Neil Young has taken a shine to Devendra and his gang, whose playing was quite Crazy Horse-like during the heavier passages (and there were plenty of big, craning, sharp-edged, beautifully blown guitar fueled moments, stray rivulets left "Down By The River" or in the frosting folds of a "Cinnamon Girl"). Outside of a few handheld plops, the set was keyboard-less, with the main attack of up to three guitars rolling over the never busy, right-where-they-should-be drums of Greg Rogove (Megapuss, Priestbird). As usual, Noah Georgeson proved a truly lethal guitarist and all around quality instigator, playing off different tangents and inspiring a few of his own. Rounded out by Luckey Remington and Rodrigo Amarante (Los Hermanos, Little Joy), these guys really serve the material in a way that's elevating their general game, putting oomph and imagination into the new arrangements and tackling the fresh material with a wild confidence that matches their bandleader's own.
New one "Chin Chin & Muck Muck" was introduced by Banhart as being "like Usher's 'Confessions' but done by Weird Al," adding afterwards, "Well, steal my face, I do declare!" His playful nature was present on this cut but again, more well seasoned, more focused, more expressly musical – a feeling that pervaded all of the new debuts. "Angelica" is Latin-tinged, sprightly and folky with Banhart's elliptical poetry riding a befuzzed Georgeson solo that sounded like something snatched from Trini Lopez's subconscious. "Baby" has a swell Summer of Love radio vibe, quite a Lovin' Spoonful, which isn't a big surprise from a cat who's covered Mungo Jerry in Golden Gate Park.
"We were going to call the new album Hello Mom! but a techno band [Modeselektor] beat us to it two years ago," said Banhart of his yet-untitled summer release. "Beaten by ravers again."
The perfect symmetry of venue, audience and band created a night dappled with happy moments, too many to number but these stand out: Howling with the other cubs during the cascading breezes of "Mama Wolf," with Devendra's circular questions flying like leaves; the good chug of "The Good Red Road," where one of today's truest romantics announced appealingly, "It isn't hard to adore you/ thread you into my town;" the renewed exuberance for modern classic "Long Haired Child," including some Morrison-worthy hip shakin'; a pulverizing "Sea Horse" that showed the group's equal facility with whimsy and sincere contemplation, both spoken and instrumental; and the "like a reggae song" encore that had weird roots but pungent blossoms.
At one point, Banhart cried, "Please, mama, let me go on a rock 'n' roll tour of the universe!" In the moment, I had no problem believing they had a space bus parked out back, crammed with seeds (and stems), ointments, ripe fruit, potent libations and fresh tunes for the 8-track player. Their arsenal is widening rapidly – stretching from the quite Sabbath-y "Rats" to the poodle skirt flirt of "Shabop Shalom" to Brazilian nut-funk and many other othernesses – so this bucket will be loaded for bear. No silly names or attempts at subterfuge this time. This was simply the Devendra Banhart Band, and they made some of us really curious about the spaceways we'll be traveling with them soon.
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