Devendra Banhart has by no means shied away from the esoteric. On “Für Hildegard von Bingen,” from 2013’s Mala, he recast the eponymous Twelfth-century Christian mystic as a “VJ on rotation” over a playful disco-rock groove. “María Lionza,” from 2009’s What Will We Be, is a dreamlike guitar and saxophone instrumental that references the Venezuelan syncretic deity by identify. For Banhart’s eleventh album Flying Wig, the once-king of freak people softens his purview into one thing resembling a meditative peace chant. Produced by Welsh art-rock songwriter Cate Le Bon, the 10-track assortment tackles heartbreak, forgiveness, and melancholia. Taking inspiration from “This Dewdrop World,” a poem by Japanese lay Buddhist priest and “Nice 4” haiku grasp Kobayashi Issa, Banhart approaches somber themes with whimsy. Songs about shedding telephone chargers, or tales written from the angle of nuns on the run, tackle unexpectedly profound meanings.
Whereas Flying Wig does certainly ascend, it by no means fairly lands on stable floor—which seems like the entire level. Right here, the one-time king of freak people continues his avoidance of the campfire setting and acoustic instrumentation of his early work in favor of ethereal, synth-driven cuts and sleepy slacker rock. The give attention to synthesizers leads to a heat and pervasive hum, a floaty fantasia that threatens—in light, low whispers—to nod off at any second.
Banhart’s first solo report in 4 years is humorous and endearingly bizarre, even because it sings of life’s heaviness. The affect of Le Bon, who additionally performed synth, guitar, percussion, bass, and piano on the album, is palpable within the slow-thudding drum machines on “Fireflies” (which performs out like a Seaside Home B-side) and quietly anthemic single “Twin,” each bolstered by a droning synth. Banhart has praised Le Bon for pushing him to new heights, and you may hear what he means within the album’s delicate moments of transcendence. “Charger” wraps a young reflection of affection misplaced in a foolish, overarching metaphor (“It seems like I’ve misplaced my charger”) that provides technique to a heavenly choir. On the title observe, he assumes the angle of a wig hanging off a mic stand, describing himself as “alone/Dancing bare/On a watch/With no head.”
Banhart’s contemplative but easygoing method strikes a sort of surrealist gold. This levity isn’t new territory for him, nevertheless it permits Flying Wig’s unusual photographs and Morphean soundscapes to vibrate on the next airplane. He additionally tapped into the divine female, donning a sky-blue Issey Miyake robe and his grandmother’s pearls all through the recording course of. The costume has been current at current stay reveals, most notably final yr’s Caracas’ Cusica Pageant, his first-ever present in Venezuela. In press supplies, Banhart defined that writing and singing within the costume parallels experiences from his childhood, when he would don his mom’s robes: “It wasn’t about sexuality, simply connecting with my female aspect and feeling that I had permission…It felt like an influence. And that’s a really protected and comfy place for me.” In its enveloping consolation, Flying Wig mirrors that feeling of security.
Banhart has been drawing from queer aesthetics for years, a recognized follower of androgynous Haight-Ashbury ’60s collective the Cockettes who has set songs within the Castro district of San Francisco and written others as a femme. As he continues toying with gender, style, open-hearted expression, and a few of his most indirect songwriting but, maybe unintentionally, his work expounds on an important tenet of queerness: liberation in lightness and in unabashed optimism.
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