Thus far, he's gained critical and commercial patronage from artists such as Michael Gira and Courtney Love, been hailed by the NME as the one self-confessed hippy who should be allowed to thrive and given bizarre, stalk-munching psychedelic interviews where he's suggested that eating papaya is tantamount to cannibalism. It's no wonder that weirdo acoustic troubadour DEVENDRA BANHART is gaining a reputation among those in the know.
However, as you may realise if you're a regular round these parts, your reviewer has enjoyed a fractious relationship with Devendra thus far and even after giving "Rejoicing In The Hands" seriously heavy rotation for several weeks, he's gotta admit he's still baffled by the way these kooked-out, (mostly) acoustic doodles seem to be winning so many hearts.
To be fair, however, a decent proportion of tracks here do help to establish some common ground between Devendra and your notoriously suspicious, hippy-mistrusting reviewer, so perhaps a thaw is slowly coming in the future.
Let's examine the evidence, then. "The Body Breaks", from the recent EP was the first Banhart tune that caught your reviewer's ear favourably and here its' gentle acoustic framework hiding darker clouds of mortality ("The body stays and the body moves on, I'd rather not dwell on when yours will be gone") hits home once again. "Poughkeepsie", meantime, again showcases Devendra's ability with rippling, circular guitar refrains and features tinkly vibes from the splendidly-named Thor Harris. Not to mention quite possibly the weirdest Elvis pastiche ever.
Elsewhere, it tends to be Devendra's darker moments that succeed. "It's A Sight To Behold", for instance, features baroque strumming and a strangely effective, bluesy vocal, while the sudden burst of strings are a pure shot of genius. At a separate tangent, the all-too brief "Dogs They Make Up The Dark" finds evocative guitar figures leading Devendra into Howe Gelb-style territory and the deft picking on super-fast guitar instrumental "Rejoicing In The Hands" would have Albert Lee nodding in appreciation. The closing "Autumn's Child" is even better: a beautiful lament set to sparse, solitary upright piano.
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More of this diversity and "Rejoicing In The Hands..." would be a surprise hit round W&H Towers, but sadly too much of the remainder languishes in the missed opportunity bin. Tracks like "This Is The Way" and the childlike "Fall" are naive and dreamy, but far too slight to really engage, although they're infinitely preferable to the execrable "This Beard Is For Siobhan", the stoned ramblings of the admittedly brilliantly-titled "Tit Smoking In The Temple Of Artesan Mimicry" and the title track where Devendra starts trilling "the lemon tree, it laughs at me": the precise moment where your reviewer desires to call up Jack Regan's ghost to shout "Oi! Devendra! Shut it or they'll collect your head in a pillow case!"
All is not lost, though, and certainly parts of "Rejoicing In The Hands..." are enough to justify the unlikely hype building up around this distinctly odd character. Having said that, your reviewer's still some way from donning a wizard's hat and velvet loonpants whether Glastonbury's around the corner or not. Bear that in mind the next time around, Devendra.
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