Flying Wig

Album review

After a pair of triumphs in 2019's breezy, wonderful Ma and 2021's ambient pandemic record Refuge, Devendra Banhart indulged himself in desolation. With help from producer Cate Le Bon (Wilco, Deerhunter), Flying Wig embodies Banhart's recent declaration of, "My whole life has been filled with sadness. Everything I do in life is to help cope with that sadness." Oddly enough Banhart has always been best on happier musical avenues like dream pop, psychedelic folksiness and bossa nova lite . And despite his determination to be downbeat on a record he recorded while wearing "an Issey Miyake dress the color of the spring sky—a gift from Le Bon's own wardrobe—and his grandmother's pearls," his melodic-ness comes out in "Fireflies." Floating along on his soft vocals and a mesmeric synth bed, Banhart eventually concludes, "When I said I wouldn't need it/ That's when I knew that I would need it."  Slow, methodic arrangements dampen the mood overall; the material is not as strong on either stylistically different previous album. "Charger" is almost hymn-like in its sluggish tempo. The title track, which ends with the image of Banhart dancing naked without a head, is also built on his characteristically quiet vocals and Le Bon's synths.  Fortunately, there is some lyrical muscle beneath the gauzy musical accompaniment: "Certainty's a number/ I'm starting to doubt/ Loving you/ Is all I'm certain about/ And if I have failed to live by promises made/ I give myself till nothing remains." The hypnotic "Twin" is a much-needed change of pace, with a focused melody and lots more going on instrumentally, highlighted by a jagged, razor-sharp guitar solo. Despite the overall glum tone and Banhart's inclination towards sadness, glimmers of meaning do break through in the song when he repeats, "And yet this precious thing/ At the heart of everything you've wanted." Flying Wig finds the multi-talented Banhart haunted to distraction in a quest to seek comfort in gloom. © Robert Baird/Qobuz