Week 16: Devendra Banhart

Also included: Part 4 of The Book of Fables.

To Sebastian Moccasin Sinfin, illustrator extraordinaire.

I don’t know exactly why, but I feel like I must defend this week’s entry. From the little I know about Mr. Banhart, I get the feeling that he is quite conceited, and a lot of his persona communicates a sort of pop mysticism that seems more for show than anything else. He also seems to act like he is king of New Weird America, which I imagine annoys many of the new and old folk artists who like the land to remain royalty free. Sometimes, however, there is no accounting for even my own taste. And sometimes the music we like is found in the most unexpected places.

I am sure most of you have at least once in your lives experienced a piece of music that has enthralled and captivated you, even when it seems like it wouldn’t, like it shouldn’t, like it couldn’t. It’s happened to me before and I do hope it happens again because it can be a great surprise and sometimes it can open up whole worlds shielded from us by our own preconceptions. Before I ever knew anything about Mr. Banhart I saw the video embedded below, and the song immediately did it for me. The nylon string guitar was what initially caught my attention, but then the song knocked me out in such a way that even all the surrounding extras (the cape, the rug, candles, etc), which I would usually find annoying, seemed just perfect. If I had been fourteen I probably would’ve gone straight to the record store to buy the record. Instead, I listened to a few other songs I found here and there, and did some research about who this guy is. I found some interesting information, and some other interesting music (a few songs by Mr. Banhart and other songs by other artists), however, nothing yet to compare to that initial experience. It’s fun when I surprise myself like this, but then it’s not that much fun when everything that follows is all downhill. I haven’t completely given up on Mr. Banhart, and I still have some hope that this lead will pay off somewhere down the line with some truly magical music, but at this point I’m not sure Mr. Banhart will be involved in it. Though my excitement about Mr. Banhart and his music has waned considerably, watching this clip still does it for me every time.

And here’s part 4 of The Book of Fables:
THE BASEMENT HIPPIE CAMP

The DJ flew over fields, forests and towns, playing the songs she loved best. When she saw people below, she would circle above them for a few songs and then continue on her way, or swoop down and talk to them, telling stories about the music she had played. And people listened and rejoiced. But not everyone liked it.

The Hippies did not like it. The Hippies only liked music that was played live in front of them, preferably improvised in front of them by other Hippies. They equated pre-recorded and to a lesser extent, pre-written music with death, and the Hippies more than anything, wanted to live. Many moons ago, in their search for life, Hippie Pete and Hippie Maggie, now considered Father and Mother of all Hippies, and several of their Hippie friends had all moved into Hippie Pete’s mom’s basement. They figured that living there, they would be better able to control all the deathly influences of the world, and also, the rent was free. Hippie Pete’s mom wasn’t a Hippie, but she didn’t mind them living in her basement, and the day they moved in was the last time she saw them, which was fine with her because she never did like Hippies very much. After that, they never left the basement, and eventually Hippie Pete’s mom forgot they were even there and died alone in her house which now appeared as an old abandoned mansion.

What no one knew was that the Hippies had taken down all the walls of the basement, and like ants in a ant farm had carved tunnels that extended out from the basement and for miles and miles below the ground of the surrounding land. The tunnels led to rooms which led to more tunnels, and more rooms and more tunnels, and more rooms extending far under ground and into the distance. And all these rooms and tunnels where filled with Hippies. In some rooms Hippies were growing food, in others Hippies were reproducing, in others Hippies were sleeping, and in others yet they were playing music or working on new technology to keep out all the deathly influences of the world or repairing their complex ventilation and lighting systems that made the tunnels livable. And the Hippies were the healthiest people on the planet. So much so that they lived inordinately long lives which most Hippies eventually tired from and would chose to exit. And that’s what they called it, exiting. When someone exited, they would tell Father Pete and Mother Maggie, who would hug the exiting Hippie with deep love and affection, and give him or her a bag filled with eleven oranges and one lemon, then the exiting Hippie would walk in between two long rows of fellow Hippies on the way to the basement stairs. The flanking Hippies would spit on the exiting Hippie as he or she passed between them, until he or she was covered in saliva which they believed would offer them some protection against all the deathly influences of the world. Then the exiting Hippie would walk up the basement stairs open the door and quickly step out into the world. The lucky ones would immediately die upon exposure to the deathly influences of the world, but others would contract multiple deathly influences and suffer a long and agonizing death sometimes lasting many, many years.

While many had exited the Basement Hippie Camp, very few had entered it. Father Pete and Mother Maggie would not allow anyone into the basement, and the basement door was never opened to let anyone in, no matter how many times outsiders would knock. A few times outsiders had attempted to break down the door, but the Hippies had aimed their ventilation system right at the door and the stench had chased away the would-be intruders. After that, over the years and little by little the unseen influence of the Hippie Basement Camp influenced the people of the town to leave the town, until the whole town around the mansion was abandoned. Then one by one all the houses in the town collapsed upon their own failed foundations, and their materials were swallowed by the earth to be used by the Hippies in their rooms and tunnels. Finally, the whole area surrounding the Basement Hippie Camp was covered by a protective cloud of multiple noxious fumes which kept most people away. Most people stayed away, but not everybody.

María, one of the many granddaughters of Father Pete and Mother Maggie lay sleeping alone in a room when she was suddenly awakened by the most beautiful singing voice she had heard. The sound of the voice enchanted her in such a way that she could not help herself, but had to follow it. The singing seemed to be coming from above ground so she pulled up some pieces of roots and stones and climbed on top to get her ear closer to the singing. Just above her on the other side of the earth that separated them, a man was singing the sweetest song she had heard. She desperately started to dig her way out but quickly realized this would be impossible and the ceiling would collapse on top of her. So she ran, towards the basement stairs. She ran towards the exit door. She ran for what seemed like miles of tunnels and rooms, trying to memorize how many steps and in which direction she was running so she could retrace her steps once she was outside. And she ran all the way to the basement door, and without even turning to say goodbye to Father Pete and Mother Maggie, she burst out through the door and out of the basement, out of the house, orienting herself for a second and then running once more back to where she came from, running this time with the sun above beating down on her fair skin, running and retracing her steps through the wide open fields. But when she got to where she had calculated the singing was coming from there was nothing there but silence. She looked around confused, thinking she had miscounted, and then she noticed the dying fire a few steps away, and filled with sadness she collapsed and passed out.

When she awoke, the Folk Singer was holding her head up and giving her some water. “You’re awake,” he said. María smiled at him and asked, “Where you singing?” And he said yes, and for almost a year after that they traveled together through the land singing folk songs to anyone and no one. And it was the happiest year of their lives. But she started getting progressively sicker and sicker like Hippies do when exposed to the deathly influences of the world, and then they found out they were pregnant. So they decided that for the sake of their child and the health of María, they needed to go back to the Basement Hippie Camp. But they were not allowed in. Not to be deterred, they set up camp right outside the entrance to the basement, and every day they would ask to be let in. Everyday they would ask, and everyday they were told they would never be let in again. Until the day María went into labor. On that day, and almost immediately after her first contraction, a Hippie opened the basement door and helped them in. Several hours later, María gave birth to a strong baby girl, but the effort of giving birth combined with the growing deathly influences which had taken hold of her, was too much for María and she died. Immediately a group of Hippies grabbed the Folk Singer and threw him out of the Basement Hippie Camp like he had been thrown out of so many bars before, except this time it hurt, it really hurt.

And filled with sadness, the Folk Singer walked away. He had never been much of a fighter and he felt he could never take his child away from the Hippies, so he walked away and went back to singing folk songs, though those who heard him would say that his songs were now filled with a sadness that wasn’t there before.

And his daughter grew up in the Basement Hippie Camp living the normal Hippie life that children in all hippie camps live. Until she turned twelve and became The Teenager.

Moral: Don’t go running after the first song that catches your ear, the singer might not have the voice to carry the tune all the way to the end.