Devendra Banhart

While he was first considered a figurehead of the "freak-folk" movement, Devendra Banhart has quickly become one of the most mind-boggling, impossible-to-pin-down eccentrics in all of indie rock. Period. Early recordings like Rejoicing In the Hands and his mesmerizing breakthrough, 2002's Oh Me Oh My…, were spooky and spare affairs — the sound of a multitalented artist finding his way through unfiltered lyrics and the steady-handed strum of an acoustic guitar. Beginning with Cripple Crow, however, Banhart's worked with a full band, fleshing out his wildest dreams with hints of Motown-siphoning soul ("Lover"), Spanish-tinged psych ("Carmensita"), and shock-treated riffs ("Long Haired Child"). Banhart's story only gets stranger in our Next Steps, as we bring fan favorites and EP cuts into the fold.

A quick look at the Sgt. Pepper's-esque sleeve of Devendra Banhart's Cripple Crow album brings one question immediately to mind: Just who does he think he is, a flower child stuck in a never-ending Summer of Love? Not exactly — Banhart's music reveals a rich world of his own making, one in which he talks to animals in snow-dusted forests ("Wake Up, Little Sparrow") and sprawling mountainsides ("Hey Mama Wolf"), alternates between lust ("Insect Eyes") and loss ("Bad Girl"), and holds his own with a voice as haunting and wholly unique as Antony Hegarty's ("Spiraling," a piano-led stunner that ranks up there with the very best songs of both artists).

To give you an idea of the staggering growth in Devendra Banhart's career, it took him only five years to segue from a lo-fi protégé position alongside former Swans frontman Michael Gira to having the same manager as Joni Mitchell and Neil Young. An otherworldly image — one so genuine it made him a reluctant godfather of the emerging "New Weird America" scene — certainly helped make this happen, but there's much more to Banhart than a Christ-like beard and clothes only Jim Morrison could pull off. Scan the man's catalog and you'll hear the ever-evolving voice of a true visionary, someone who can pull off protest songs ("Cripple Crow," "Heard Somebody Say") in one breath and free-associative poetry in the next ("Little Yellow Spider," "Long Haired Child," and, well, bits of just about everything he's ever written).