By Pete Donahue

I admit I am not too familiar with Devendra Banhart’s previous work. I have heard bits and pieces; when his last album, 2007’s Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon, was released, I sought it out not because I was intrigued by all the critical praise and blog hype, but because I read Nick Valensi of the Strokes provided guest vocals (in French) on a track called “Shabop Shalom.” I still can’t tell if I even hear

Valensi on the track, but the song was interesting enough for me to keep Banhart in the back of my brain. I figured he was capable of producing music I’d want to listen to, but I never really followed up on my mild interest. Even his Natalie Portman romance kind of flew off my radar.

As Banhart’s new LP, What Will We Be, was recently released, I started seeing his name again (and again) in music magazines and websites. Devendra Banhart, that weird guy with the huge beard and Cheshire Cat grin who used to date that one actress has a new album coming out. I can’t really figure out why exactly I decided the time was right to give Devendra’s music my full attention, but I knew that by skipping over his back catalogue, I would hear What Will We Be with a clear palate. Whatever he did (or didn’t) do up to this point means nothing to me. With preconceived notions gone, I thought I’d make an absolute conscious, unbiased effort to see what this guy has to offer. I had an inkling it would be at least halfway decent, but What Will We Be blew away my expectations (and then some) upon my initial listen and continues to win me over every time.

One of the many great things about the album is getting a bona fide knockout track two songs in. However, let us not overlook album opener “Can’t Help But Smiling.” Immediately drawing one in with its Latin-infused percussion, tingling percussion and laid back vibe, the song darts back and forth between reggae/samba with a plentiful amount of California sun for that 60’s pop feeling. Banhart musically sets the mood proper within the song, and with lyrics like “it’s so nice to think you’re alone/then to look up and see you’re home,” the album gets off to an incredibly inviting start.

As I previously mentioned, the second song is what reels me in and made me a Banhart devotee. “Angelika” is split into three parts, all doing their equal pull to make the song really work. The first part is a breezy little acoustic number about, well, Angelika. With a lovely choral backing repeating her name, the song fades into a sonic opposite. Transforming into a sort of psychedelic calypso romp,

Banhart sings in Spanish in front of a variety of Latin percussive pieces while the subject’s name is continually chanted. The way Banhart delivers the lyrics is borderline creepy, as if the singer is a shaman, ranting to anybody who will listen about Angelika. The annunciation is perfect and gives the song a completely

different feel from its first part. In what has become true Banhart fashion, the outro is more sparse than the song’s beginning, resorting to a lone acoustic guitar to go along with the singer’s “Angelika” plea. “Goin’ Back” is one of many tracks on the album that proudly display an obvious Grateful Dead influence, with its light-hearted demeanor laced with a solid lap steal accompaniment and acoustic guitar

shuffle. Fit for a summer campfire rag or road trip anthem, Banhart croons “goin’ back to the place where my lover and I met/I can give her all I got and she can wring by little neck/Just like old times” like there isn’t a care in the world. Carefree and seemingly effortless to listen to, the song could easily fool one unfamiliar to the Dead’s back catalogue that “Goin’ Back” is cover of one of the band’s finest tunes. It may not be the most original piece, but its execution is incredible because it makes me want to listen to more of the Dead’s early 70’s stuff. As such is the case, I applaud Banhart for sparking an uncovered musical interest within me.

The album’s tempo slows down considerably with the strapped back “First Song for B” and “Last Song for B.” Split into two songs, the first displays a more honest, truthful Banhart at a piano. “I take everything as a sign from God,” he explains, before the piano builds up to a more complex tickle before the singer pleads “please destroy me” over and over. Far from the good time aesthetic created by the album’s earlier tracks, “First Song for B” undeniably pulls listeners in. Is Banhart confessing or predicting? Pleading or joking? I find joy in not knowing the answer because the singer leaves it to my own imagination.

“Last Song for B” sees Banhart switch to acoustic guitar, where he offers a complex little finger picking pattern leading up to a puzzling lyrical offering: “I want to go holding you/unite us this lifetime as lovers for all time.” Whether his recent high-profiled relationship has become an influence or not lyrically, there is a running theme in the two “Songs for B” that gives the impression Banhart may hold his emotions close to his chest, but is willing to offer just enough of a peek to really sting you with its emotive flair. Such notion is just enough to make the album’s little moments like these two songs that much better.

Based on the little knowledge I have of Banhart’s previous work, it doesn’t seem like listeners should ever get too comfortable with his albums straying off towards one direction and ultimately staying there. Case in point: “Chin Chin and Muck Muck.” “When I was a young boy, I had a lot of young boys/and we taught each other dearly how to love,” Banhart laments. Again by the piano and accompanied by a brushed hi-hat and horn section, the song sounds like your favorite vintage Blue Note or Verve record, fit for a lazy Sunday morning. In typical Devendra fashion, the song abruptly changes into as close to the freak-folk label that Banhart has been given by journalists. A trippy, puzzling statement of “look at the neighbors with their long, blonde hair/making their money at a renaissance fair” leads the next part into the song into an acoustic folk ballad loaded with imagery fit for an acid-tripper and enough middle eastern percussion to make one thing the drug of choice might actually be opium. When I think of Banhart’s seemingly unshakable label of “freak-folk,” I think it’s fair to say

“Chin Chin and Muck Muck” offers just enough to whet those journalists’ label-tagging desires on an album otherwise devoid of such a genre. On “16th & Valencia, Roxy Music,” Banhart indulges in 70’s disco rock. Loaded with fat analog synthesizers and a rock-solid disco beat, Banhart and his choir yelp “Tonight, we’re gonna find our lovers/tonight, we’re gonna find our man!” As the title alludes to, there is a nod to Roxy Music’s arty sway and bop; Bryan Ferry would be right at home singing lead on the track. MGMT could cover the song and a lot of people would probably assume it was the latest, hottest MGMT single, tailor-made for Urban Outfitters’ in-store playlists across the globe. And we’re not out of the decade that gave us true classic rock and disco, yet, as the very next song, “Rats,” is a legitimate Led Zeppelin explosion. Pick any of your favorites from an assortment of late-60’s/early-70’s Zeppelin classics and you will find its influence in “Rats.” Coincidentally, I recently found myself listening to the song immediately after watching The Song Remains the Same and the song and movie to alarmingly well together. Big Les Paul guitars, bubbly bass lines and reverb-ladden vocals all come back together in the final minute to a good old-fashioned classic rock breakdown. Paying homage to disco, Roxy Music and Led Zeppelin in back-to-back songs seems like a feat fit for, say, the Flaming Lips, but Banhart pulls it off with nary a problem.

The albums next four tracks, “Maria Lionza,” “Brindo,” “Meet Me at Lookout Point” and “Walilamdzi” all tend to bleed into one, thus killing the momentum of the previous few songs. All featuring Banhart with an acoustic guitar, sometimes joined by a swirling electric guitar or lap steel cry, the songs are beautiful, but would be better suited apart from each other. I find “Brindo” the most enjoyable because Banhart once again sings in Spanish and his delivery so is relaxed and fluid that it almost shames listeners who cannot translate what he’s saying. With such a beautiful atmosphere created on a rather simple song, the lyrics are like a widely-celebrated classic painting. On the surface, one finds it beautiful, but the whole story is not there in plain view, thus leaving viewers to their own imaginations.

Finalizing the 14-song offering is an upbeat ska jam sounding right at home next to your favorite Specials record. “Foolin’” even sees Banhart finish off with a “one day, one day at a time” declaration itting right in place with the old-time ska aesthetic. Besides, after a plethora of sounds from folk to classic rock to various tastes of world music, “Foolin’” is a genuinely fine way to close out an album loaded with Banhart’s wild assortment of influences. As worldly as he appears to be, is it really that ridiculous to see him try his hand as a rude boy?

What Will We Be ultimately confirms my initial thoughts of Banhart as a musician. The album is a warm-sounding run around the globe, lead by the entertaining, engaging Captain Banhart. As co-producer (alongside A Band of Bees’ Paul Butler), Banhart recorded the album in a house in California with his usual cohorts, including Noah Georgeson, Greg Rogove, Luckey Remington and Rodrigo Amarante (of Little Joy). I’m sure good times were had by all because fun clearly bleeds through the album and I mean such in the best way possible. While Banhart touches an assortment of sounds, I do not find What Will We Be a distraction, but incredibly focused. Whatever Banhart did to get here is irrelevant because the album stands entirely on its own and I hope my time spent with his back catalogue is equally enjoyable.

Buy: Devendra Banhart – What Will We Be