Jana Hunter

Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom

(Gnomonsong)

Record Review by Adam McKibbin

Devendra Banhart, poor soul, has an affliction.  Whenever faced with a “what are you listening to?” question, he is compelled to really answer, instead of obeying the unwritten musician-interview rule of picking one hot band you just “discovered,” one obscure band you’re touring with, and one old classic (i.e. “I’ve been jamming the new Wolf Parade, this great little electroclash band that we're playing some shows with called Nectarine Paradise, and, uh, I’ve actually been listening to a lot of Dylan lately.”)

Take his enthusiastic fandom—which tilts heavily toward the obscure and the forgotten—and couple it with his own success as a pioneer in what folks like to call the “freak-folk,” and it’s only natural that Mr. Banhart would be adding “label head” to his business cards.  He is joined in this endeavor, as in many endeavors, by Vetiver head Andy Cabic.  For fans of the two, listening to the first release on their new label will be a complete non-surprise; Jana Hunter fits seamlessly into their eccentric, lo-fi folk world, playing music that is emotionally affecting but also somewhat inscrutable.

Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom wasn’t necessarily a long time in the making, but it was a long time in making its way to us.  Some of the songs have been around long enough to nearly be teenagers.  Production-wise, they have the feel of “Hey, you got anything handy that will record me?  I have a song or two I wanna get down.”  Indeed, for such a hodgepodge collection pulled from such a large timeframe, the album has a surprising cohesion. 

Hunter’s songs ache with a muted Americana loneliness, acoustic pop songs with pretty melodies deliberately obscured by distortion and rough-edged production.  Her voice can sound one-note when relegated to background listening, an illusion that is furthered by the relatively simple accompaniments, but deeper immersion reveals a colorful spectrum ranging from ethereal spook to earthy warmth. 

One downside will be for those who loved “Farm, CA,” which is included here after previously appearing on the Banhart-helmed Golden Apples of the Sun.  Anyone who fell in love with that song should resign themselves to having it remain one of their favorites; few, if any, of its neighbors on Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom match the combination of its easy charm and lingering melancholy.