“The beard,” he says all the way from L.A in a caffeinated, sing-song voice, “is anvil shaped at the moment. It’s a display of power.”
According to some Devendra Banhart is “the sexy-folk Jesus”: the dazzlingly brilliant avatar at the head of a loose movement of kindred creative spirits that contains such intriguingly twilight-lit figures as Antony Hegarty, Joanna Newsome and Vashti Bunyan. Others, meanwhile, view him as a mercurial solo performer whose brave, unclassifiable records initially lure listeners into Fred Neill comparisons and then slouch off on a Syd Barrett kick before returning with an unexpected Marc Bolan swagger. A few see him as an irritating hippy.
The Venezuelan-born singer, though, is clearly used to inspiring extreme reactions.
As you would imagine of someone who finds that even laying off the razor for a day or two can result in police intervention.
“I was thrown in jail a few years back because the NYPD thought I looked like a Muslim terrorist,” he reveals. “I wasn’t given shit by the inmates, ironically enough, but I was given a whole load of shit by the cops. It was a very troubling time and common sense tended to go out the window. Lots of cops and firemen were killed on September 11 and they took that out on people who they perceived to look like the guys that had murdered their buddies.”
If you imagine that this event would scare Banhart into toning down his look, his decision to regularly turn up at U.S airports sporting a turban would suggest otherwise. But for someone who cites the liberationist Brazilian musical movement Tropicalismo as a forming influence, it was an understandable gesture of solidarity.
“I get vibes in airports,” he admits. “And I have been getting a lot of sweat because of that. My family and friends keep telling me to quit it but I do it to prove a point that’s real important to me. You shouldn’t judge people by how they look. Trust me, you can’t spot a fundamentalist by what he has on his head. I lived in North Morocco and lived in very devout Muslim communities and every stereotype that has been inflicted on those people is wrong. I’m not saying I was hanging out with terrorists – no, just living with ordinary people, who were deeply religious in many cases, but who loved their families in the same way we do, who worried about money.”
Providing he gets through security, Devendra is looking forward to taking his place at the Electric Picnic.
“Festivals are festive,” he states. “I’m not one of these people who gives a shit where we’re positioned on the bill or what fucking time we’re coming on – I don’t give a shit. All we need to know is that our rider is sorted out and the rest will take care of itself.”
What should we expect?
“Don’t even go there, man. You won’t know what to expect because we won’t know what to expect. Other bands have a responsibility to be musically tight, we have a duty to practice once in the morning and then go onstage and see what we can conjure up. It’s a heavy burden, man.”
But one he wears well.