In the early 2000s, as a new wave of folk music captured a broader audience, Devendra Banhart emerged as a defining voice. His work touched the psychedelic fringe of the scene, with songs that often bypassed traditional structures to become almost meditative mantras. His voice carried a distinctive rasp, paired with playful, surreal lyrics that hinted at deeper spiritual undercurrents. Albums like Happiness in Hands and Red Boy or Crippled Crow were labeled as weird folk, a tag Banhart rejected despite the hippie-inspired vibe that surrounded him. His look—long hair and a bohemian aesthetic—became part of the image that people associated with that era. His personal life, including a relationship with Natalie Portman during that period, helped cement a sense of star power around his evolving career.
As the years passed, the artist redefined his persona and musical approach. He shed some of the impulsive, carefree styling for a more controlled, stylish presentation. Hair length shortened, jackets shifted to plaid shirts, and a cooler, more deliberate image emerged. Even after a serious injury, Banhart remained active, finding ways to stay connected to his art and daily life. He spoke with regional publications from a home studio that captures the bright energy of Echo Park in Los Angeles, a place where the sun shines on creative minds. He communicates fluently in Spanish with a Caribbean cadence, a nod to his Caracas upbringing, where a father from the United States and a free-spirited Venezuelan mother helped shape his worldview. The name by which he is known carries echoes of those early spiritual influences that colored his childhood.
Curiously, his new music did not lean into Spanish-language lyrics, a departure that surprised some fans as Latin music was globally ascendant. “Because I’m a snob,” he quips, joking about norms he prefers to resist. This playful defiance pairs with an ambitious sonic shift: a move away from guitar-driven tunes toward synthesizers and atmospheric textures, produced in collaboration with Cate LeBon, a fellow American artist whose own experimental temperament complements Banhart’s evolving sound.
“My entire aesthetic and sense of beauty has been defined by George Michael since I was a little girl in Venezuela.”
Describing his collaboration with LeBon, the artist explains that their shared sensibilities grew from a long friendship and a mutual curiosity about the sounds of the 1980s. They collectively explored bands from that era, pulling inspiration from Crowded House, Talk Talk, and Prefab Sprout, while acknowledging George Michael’s influence on his own aesthetic. The result is a sound that nods to The Blue Nile and other synth-driven acts, yet remains distinctly Banhart’s own, an organic meeting point of analog warmth and modern production with a dreamlike atmosphere.
a flying wig
Even with the heavy presence of synthesizers, the new album is not a live-recorded throwback. It carries a somber, introspective mood, even as it offers a thread of hope. The title Flying Wig hints at whimsy and personal symbolism, honoring a home staple because the artist simply has impeccable hair rather than a practical need for a wig. The project follows his lifelong habit of travel and exploration, both musically and geographically.
Live shows tied to the album’s release span Madrid, Valencia, and Barcelona, signaling a concert circuit that emphasizes intimate venues where philosophy and emotion meet performance. The lyrics confront the paradox of existence: love and luck coexist with unavoidable pain. The artist comments that art can serve as a therapeutic outlet, yet he frames his approach as more expansive than simple healing. He seeks insight and keeps a brace ready for the human condition—curiosity as a guiding force through uncertainty.
In one track, a line reflects a moment of gravity: singing is not merely for pleasure but also a protective practice. Yet the artist stresses that joy remains central; the act of singing has evolved, combining ritual with a different level of age-aware perception. The voice has grown deeper and more nuanced, moving away from earlier explosive energy toward a restrained, expressive timbre. The shift mirrors a broader journey: as he matures, the music embraces subtlety and texture while retaining its emotional intensity.
My trans friends live in a world that is not safe for them. They cannot live without fear.
A notable onstage and in-studio choice is his use of a striking Issey Miyake blue dress, worn as a symbolic amulet. The artist has long spoken about gender expression and the tension around traditional norms, even while identifying as a heterosexual cis man. He emphasizes empathy for those who navigate gender expectations, underscoring the importance of safety and acceptance for all who challenge norms. This stance remains integral to his public persona and his creative output.
Beyond personal identity, he comments on the global music landscape. The rise of Spanish-language reggaeton and the broader Latin urban scene offers a beacon of hope for linguistic diversity in popular music. He notes how global audiences are absorbing languages and cultures in new ways, from Korean-influenced trends to Spanish-language artistry, and he expresses a hopeful outlook on how such cross-cultural exchange can broaden emotional connections in music. This perspective frames his work within a global conversation about language, style, and identity.