Texas-born, but initially raised in Venezuela, DEVENDRA BANHART returned to the States whilst still a child, this time to L.A., where he recorded a debut with possibly the longest album title in the world! An underground hit, it was followed by asuccession of releases - including 2005’s hailed success ‘Cripple Crow’, with its Sergeant Pepper parody cover - that were equally well received.
Steeped in kudos, his recorded work builds a profile of an unpredictable, yet innovative multi-instrumentalist in his mid twenties, already a folk veteran, with an intriguing, almost universal appeal.
Though elsewhere on W&H you will find the views of respected critics who just aren't having any of it, ‘Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon’ is another unmitigated success, with tracks that blend English and Spanish and twist and turn as if resentful of the gaps that mark their beginnings and endings. Instruments are outnumbered only by collaborators, and include tablas, zither, a water-drum, pots and pans, and believe it or not, a mop-stomp!? ‘Vocals’ is a term that I use in its broadest sense, and under the umbrella we find harmonies, and a half-finished slurry of mumblings along with duck and geese calls, that come courtesy of percussionist Greg Rogrove.
Opener ‘Cristobal’ is a mid-tempo mass of strings that quickly dissolve into lullaby territory despite the lazy tempo. Banhart’s cuatro and psaltery playing feature here as well as his guitar work, and the results are complex, but instantly euphonious. The odd, spoken word vocals - provided by a Mexican star of the screen they are - pave the way for Banhart’s own voice to wobble and reverberate hysterically, whilst out of nowhere, the Hammond jumps in to kick-start the song as we come to the final third.
The ever-popular alt/country sound is central to the record as a whole, and goes head-to-head with Latin American folk sounds in the battle for sonic control. In between, a myriad of other influences guest star or make cameo appearances as the already bewildering plot thickens. Thank God for unselfconscious eccentricity like this – and for orchestrated and perfect confusion.
The gentle cha-cha of ‘Samba Vexillographica’ is rendered dreamlike by Luckey Remington’s ethereal backing vocals. Like a rug pulled form underneath, there’s a sudden step back as a scratch DJ spasm sends the whole thing wobbling before the plunge takes it headlong into chaotic salsa chaos.
Though neither outweighs the other, both folk and country are twin-lined freely into some arrangements, or elsewhere refracted and reworked into the trip. Whilst ‘Bad Girl’ weaves it into a subconscious and ambient vision, ‘Sea Horse’ takes it on through a sudden but smooth gear change and into new territories. Crossing one hell of a big divide, the flat echo of the 50’s radio mic together with Banhart’s hare-lipped rock n’roll mumble help the hook-line to bridge the gap between the big country and acid-headed psychedelia. Vocal delay recreates the five-fathom depth of the ocean in gentle and complex layers of chaos. Then the whole thing rocks out Hendrix – or Mandrax-style to stunning effect.
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‘Shabop Shalom’ is a total heart-melter that messes with the head as it flirts with the forces of evil. Again, we hear pedal steel, and the tongue-in cheek spoken-words have a tale to tell but the campfire intro gives way to surreal doo-wop as Banhart’s high-school prom. crooning and a gorgeously lazy semi-acoustic guitar echo transform this sleep-under-the-stars cowboy number into a David Lynch-like juke-box classic.
Our bilingual hero code-switches for fun as he slurs in the language of love, with odd asides that turn the ballad inside out and bring a fair old smile to the lips:
“…Darling, I’ve watched you cakewalk to the Immaculate Conception for far too long…” he croons along to the cymbal-tapping bossa-nova. Though deadpan, he surely delivers with half a mind engaged in the struggle to keep a straight face.
The Hammond and a Gospel choir vocal sound are infiltrated with the desire to blaspheme at will during the cartoon comedy ‘Saved’, whilst ‘Lover’ stomps like Northern Soul as it bumps and grinds through a kind of milk-drinking funk (you need to hear it, but I swear it’s an accurate description!). There’s a definite wanton streak in evidence as the band kick up and everyone happily takes the piss, handclapping as they go. A theme emerges as Banhart takes what’s already familiar and makes it a target for gentle subversion. It’s disorientating and will keep you guessing, but the unique blend of styles all command near-unconditional love in their own right. It’s very Frank Zappa. Or Scott Walker – but, unbelievably, with even greater extremes.
‘(I will always be) The Other Woman’ is awash with trans-sexual pretensions, but so what? The unmistakably warm and sunny sound of vintage ska glows in the brass-tinted skank, and the song still hits the spot with unnerving accuracy.
Later on, classical bits give the melting-pot a dollop of atmospheric beauty. A string quartet slows the meltdown during ‘Freely’ as Banhart urges us to release the tightly-clenched grip we have upon our sanity, whilst ‘I Remember’ is written around a drifting and delicate tinkling of the ivories that pulls you in along with the gravelly end of Banhart’s vocal range, hushed and whispering.....
‘Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon’ is a hand-on-heart corker of a record that changes direction at will as Banhart manages against all odds to create a new feel that mirrors some of pop’s finest moments. With so many roads leading in, there is a high chance that you’ll love this just as much as I do, wherever your music tastes may lie. Brilliant!
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