Wednesday 03/08/05 The Devendra Banhart Band, Espers @ City Variety, Leeds

At the tail-end of his set, Devendra Banhart steps back on stage and asks us outside. Bit odd that, considering the audience is currently showing their appreciation by hollering, whooping and stomping their feet with a ferocity that makes one fear for the time-worn foundations of the City Varieties. Turns out that the Texas-born odd-folk sensation has something far more pleasant than the bout of pugilism that customarily follows such invitations. With the curfew mere minutes away, the only route to continuing the gig is via what could well be dubbed a guerrilla encore... But we’re getting ahead of things. The first band treading the boards tonight is Philadelphian psych-folk sextet Espers. They're oddly sluggish - barring chatty singer/guitarist Greg Weeks, the group seems a few energy drinks short of full alertness. Sadly, the set falls disappointingly short of recreating the hypnotic spell cast by the intoxicating mixture of 1960’s bucolic psychedelia and drone-drenched, spooky songcraft on their self-titled debut. Only the bright, stunning harmonies of Weeks and Meg Baird on the traditional ‘Black is the Colour’ and the fuzztone-fuelled coda to 'Hearts & Daggers' offer respite from the stupor.

Perhaps to compensate for the lo-energy antics of Espers, Devendra Banhart positively bounces, boogies, shimmies and shakes his way through the gig in a manner suggesting a vastly overcharged and beamingly jolly Duracell bunny. Banhart's recorded output may veer erratically between great and grating, but on stage he's nothing short of a revelation. Backed by the excellent five-piece Hairy Fairies, whose camp name provides not only a perfect introduction to Banhart’s wacky world but also a handy description of the furry features of most band members - one of whom completes the Sixties throwback feel by sporting a kaftan. The set proceeds to turn Banhart's trademark whimsy into a virtue and injects a considerably funky dose of hipshaking groove to his usual blend of ancient folk, blues and country idioms, particularly so in the supercharged selections from the upcoming album 'Cripple Crow'.

 

The banter, several light years removed from the mundane mumblings of most onstage announcements, is also a treat. From extolling the virtues of scat singing when wrestling with mutinous gear, dedicating a song to all the dishes you've ever eaten, encouraging spontaneous outbreaks of poultry polka and inviting a somewhat terrified audience member on stage to celebrate his birthday by playing a tune to the near-capacity crowd, it's clear that Banhart's imagination is too vivacious to be contained by his songs alone. Not that their themes are exactly commonplace. The animal fable of ‘Little Yellow Spider’ is a particularly puzzling offering, although its portrayal of the offspring resulting from a union between man and pig is charged with the kind of warmth and charm most accounts of bestiality fail to achieve. On record it's a tad too cute for its own good, but live, with Banhart relishing each line of his bizarre creation, it's a hoot.     

 

It all ends with a heaving throng on the narrow alley in front of the venue. Little of the ensuing performance can be heard and even less seen, but you get the sense that the vast majority of those present would happily follow Banhart much further than this, such is his charm. "Like beamed down from another planet" is how a quote on the posters for the gig attempts to summarise Banhart's unique appeal. Wherever his home galaxy may be, on the basis of this brilliantly engaging evening it's obvious that its residents are well versed in putting on a cracking show.