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Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon

by

Devendra Banhart

 
Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon
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Avg: 4.0 (166 ratings)

A bong-friendly world apart.

  • We Say...

    Review by James McNair

    An eclectic love letter to the kind of popular music that predominated in the late 1960's and early '70's, Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon is pretty much everything the Sex Pistols railed against. It boasts freedom chimes and geese calls, a 72-minute running time, wig-out solos and delicate songs about folks named Cristobal. I hear the Allman Brothers, but I also hear Marc Bolan gone Tropicália, Bread, the Band, Sly Stone, and fun curios such as “Shabop Shalom,” a tale of a young man’s fancy for a rabbi’s daughter. Most of all, I hear Banhart and Co. doing exactly as they please — and, given time, their complete indifference to the zeitgeist is hugely seductive.

    Like 2005’s Cripple Crow before it, Smokey finds the Texas-born, Venezuela-raised Banhart in expansive, genre-hopping mood. In part, the record laments his split with CocoRosie’s Bianca Casady, but as the buoyant “Samba Vexillographica” and cutely wistful “So Long Old Bean” underline, life goes on. This being Devendra, moreover, we’re talking a life less ordinary. When he and his patchouli-scented coterie of beardies the Hairy Fairies settled on the bohemian enclave of Topanga, California, as recording location, it was reportedly on the back of a consultation with a Tarot card reader.

    The view afforded them by the album’s eponymous canyon clearly proved inspirational. Banhart, aka Smokey, leads English- and/or Spanish-language-sung sorties into sticky funk (“Lover”), Hammond organ-driven gospel (“Gospel”), crazed, tripped-out rock (“Tonada Yanomaminista”) and ballads that ache as gently as long-lost friendships (“Freely,” “I Remember”). Best of all, perhaps, is “Seahorse,” which begins in tumbleweed-dreamy country mode, then morphs via a change of time signature into something reminiscent of both Dave Brubeck and the Doors. The aptly titled Smokey is a bong-friendly world apart.

  • They Say...

    Review by John Bush, All Music Guide

    In the early days of Devendra Banhart's career, his ghostly voice singing down the phone and captured on four track was more than enough to lend the eerie mysticism required for his nonsensical material (of course, it didn't hurt that his voice was bewitching no matter the lyrical content). As he gradually acquired confederates and the ability to record in studios, the clear problem was going to be retaining that same ghostly personality that made his early recordings so special. Decamped to a woodsy compound nestled in Topanga Canyon, and an enterprising home studio built within, manned by early champion Noah Georgeson, Banhart has weathered the storm of accessibility very well. Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon is many things -- perhaps too many things, but its successes outnumber its failures, and it essentially solves the problems inherent in confining a free-form singer to time signatures and arrangements and rhythms imposed by outsiders. It's also a success in that it finds him more comfortable within those confines than 2005's Cripple Crow, his first full-band record. Of the many things Smokey Rolls is, first of all it's his White Album, as he marshals his many influences into a mural of closely drawn portraits, whether it's Victor Jara on the opener, "Cristobal," Gilberto Gil on the deep polyrhythms of "Samba Vexillographica," Jewish wedding music and Borscht Belt comedy in equal measure on "Shabop Shalom," or, in the oddest combination, Dave Brubeck and Grand Funk (separately, not together) on the eight-minute "Sea Horse" (with backing vocals from another influence, the winsome Vashti Bunyan). The album is also his Blue -- Joni Mitchell's Blue, that is -- with several songs dedicated to the destruction of a relationship, with poignant lyrics ("Mama, I ain't waiting but I'm still holdin on"). As an aside, given the cast of "bearded bums" present, Smokey Rolls is also his Absolutely Free and, given his representation by Neil Young manager Elliot Roberts, it must be his After the Gold Rush. Certainly, his surreal life continues to yield more material -- consider the inspiration of becoming lost with friends in the Orinoco basin until a stork lands and immediately leads them far into the jungle to a tribe of yopo-snorters ("Tonada Yanomaminista"). And, amid the trippy songs and confessional singer/songwriter material, there's yet more evidence of Banhart's continuing musical idiosyncrasies: "Saved," which comes complete with a gospel choir, has the production mark of the late '70s (but not in a good way), while "Lover" is a surprisingly funky fusion of soul and pop, like Jackson 5 with a backing group of Archie Bell & the Drells plus the Manson Family on vocals. Continually beguiling and fascinating, even as he leaves his four-track days farther behind, it's clear that Devendra Banhart has much more ground to plow.

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