I used to go to a lot of concerts. In 2019, just a few months before the pandemic started, I saw Jenny Lewis and Vampire Weekend just days apart from each other. But, partly because of large crowds, and partly because of the rising costs— and probably a little bit because I’m not in my 20s anymore—I haven’t managed to keep up my pace of concert-going.
A couple weeks ago, I’m not sure why, my partner and I were discussing Devendra Banhart. “He has a new album out this year,” I said. A few days later, I got an email from a local venue that he was playing in my city in a few days and tickets were still available. I texted my partner and he responded, “Always down to clown with Devendra.”
So, on a Saturday evening, we rolled into the Howard Theater to see Devendra Banhart tour for his new record Flying Wig.
Devendra Banhart is a Venezuelan-American singer-songwriter. Banhart’s first record was released in 2002, but I started listening to Banhart in about 2009. I’m pretty sure I got an album or two of his during a group music exchange in college. The kind where you sit around a table and put tons of music you owned onto a thumb drive and handed it off to someone to copy onto their computer—the early 00s method of music discovery.
Since then, I’ve been listening to his music pretty steadily over the years. Once, in about 2012 or 2013, Banhart played once on my college campus at the university art museum. I can’t remember if I had made it in time to catch a bit of the concert or just catch a glimpse of the man himself.
During the show in Washington, DC, Banhart aroused a similar kind of wistfulness in me, that nostalgic pang you get when you look up and realize that maybe you aren’t as cool as you once were, maybe you’ve gotten a little old.
Banhart played songs off of the new album, but also explored his 20-year discography. After he announced that he was taking requests, audience members shouted their favorite tunes in hopes that he would play them.
Banhart has 3 criteria for what requests the band would take:
Any song he wrote
Any song that had ever been written
Or any song that had yet to be written
He playfully inserted snippets of past music throughout the set, often forgetting chords or lyrics to songs he said he hadn’t played in ages. He made up silly ditties on the spot, singing about leather jackets, or whatever else passed through his mind.
Flying Wig itself is rather sedate, and to be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the show. I anticipated a rather dreary and somber, albeit still lovely, evening. But I found myself unexpectedly charmed by the frontman’s goofiness. Banhart was light, silly, and eager to let the audience be part of the experience.
My personal favorite moment of the show came when he performed a cumbia cover of Aaliyah’s Try Again. It was mostly cumbia with the lines “If at first you don’t succeed, pick yourself up and try again,” repeated over and over again.
In the end, Banhart gave us the decision on how to end his set—somber, slow, sad, relevant to the state of the world, or a disco party. We all chose the disco.
I recommend listening to Flying Wig, when you’re in a soothing, meditative mood.
I also highly recommend listening to his 2013 album Mala, which has many of my favorite songs of his.