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Devendra Banhart + Disaster Plan Gershwin Room, Melbourne, Sat 27 Nov This review comes in two parts. Part 1 is pre-Devendra. It begins in sticky hot Melbourne... I have gotten to the point where even if I don't trust my girlfriend's directions, I don't care anymore. She is a Melbournite; she probably knows better than I do. We arrive at the Gershwin Room and lucky us, we're not on the door list. 20 minutes later we get in, only to find all of the plastic seats at the front of the room are occupied. We stand awkwardly. It's boiling in here, in this seaside rock venue dressed up as a theatre. Melbourne band Disaster Plan strolls onstage. Tonight it is a five-piece. Singer Richard Moffat, with his strapless guitar snaked around his long frame and guitarist Michael Ruff joined by a drummer, bassist and cellist. I have seen Disaster Plan once before, at the Grace Emily, and enjoyed its records. Tonight the boys didn't have much spark. The drums were all together too loud, too big and rocking, the memorable moments were scant. Musically, the quintet was sound. Dynamically, there was little sense of urgency. They were boring; we were bored. Part 2: Devendra hits the stage. He is tall and thin and handsome. He wears a feather in his hat. As soon as he sits down, his amp starts crackling. Later, his microphone and guitar scream with feedback. But the boy wonder plays on. He begins solo, his long fingers plucking beautiful figures from his heavily reverbed acoustic. I can't remember what he played even though I've got all of his records. 'Rejoicing in the Hands' and 'Nino Rojo' are among two of the best I have heard this year. Slowly, Andy Cabic (Vetiver) and Noah Georgeson (The Pleased) join Banhart on acoustic and electric guitars. Cabic is the perfect partner for Banhart; their voices are milk and honey on At The Hop and Neil Young's Pardon My Heart. Georgeson meanwhile, looks spaced out, cross-legged with a golden guitar, his glowing mane like a halo. His guitar playing is similarly stoned; sometimes he plays a lick, sings a tune, stares into the void. With Be Kind he leads the slowed-down procession, Devendra wailing, bouncing Bob Marley-like, hand drum pumping. The atmosphere is hazy, jubilant. We are swaying. During Will Is My Friend the trio stops playing and sings about wine, ad nauseum. It reeks of premeditation. I don't care. By now it is uncomfortably sticky and more and more beer is getting spilled around me. The band walks away and Devendra stays to play Little Yellow Spider. People are giggling at the lyrics, even when he gets them wrong. He exits. The encore consists of new versions of Roots and Michigan State, both originally from his debut record. The former is undeniably insane. Two chords played over and over, part war whoop, part gonzo garble, all gold. The new version of Michigan State is not a touch as joyous as the original. It closes the set and the night with a tinge of melancholy. Tonight made me realise Devendra Banhart is not a saviour, but a smart young kid with a wealth of talent and personality. He mirrors the young Marc Bolan, who made four amazing folk records before becoming the glam poster boy for which he shall be remembered. Cabic is Devendra's Steve Peregrine Took, the quiet, essential cohort. I'd like to think that Part 1 of the story didn't influence my appreciation for Part 2 but tonight I walked away from the Espy, the stink of St. Kilda beach in my nostrils, a little underwhelmed.  |
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