Corporations nebulously define the word 'goodwill' as the value of a company not captured by its measurable assets: customer lists, public perception, iPhone pics of a rival CEO in women's lingerie. Just like most other assets, goodwill decreases over time, and to many, so too has Devendra Banhart's. "Fuck Enron," Banhart sings on Surfing, his new collaboration with Priestbird's Greg Rogove; it'd be funnier if his public reputation hadn't taken a similar nosedive.
Banhart also sings "Fuck Abe Lincoln" moments later during "A Gun on His Hip and a Rose on his Chest", and follows that song with an "Earth Angel"-style slowdown titled "Chicken Titz", so some of the skepticism here might be warranted. Surfing falls firmly in the "screwing around" category of side projects, with the duo unleashing all manner of styled silliness: "Duck People Duck Man" muses about Trader Joe's hummus; "Adam and Steve" knowingly bites the Strokes' "Hard to Explain" and Wham!'s "Careless Whisper"; "Hamman" vamps rudely about the availability of...ham. "Gun on His Hip" is a sloppy Xerox of "Bo Diddley" and the most likely to offend: In addition to aforementioned gems about Enron and Abe Lincoln, we're treated to "Fuck the president/ Iiiiiiin his asshole."
Whether this sounds stupid will likely depend on your feelings toward Banhart, but regardless, it's more compelling to hear him err on the side of nonsense than hard art: Toss-off "Duck People" can be a decent tune and a bad joke or the reverse, but it's easier to take than last year's "Sea Horse", an eight-minute, multi-part suite about, among other things, sea horses. In fact, SoCal goof fits Banhart pretty well: Think Frank Zappa with (way) less musical chops.
The record does offer some genuine treats. The vaguely Brit-poppy "Theme From Hollywood" seems like a play on Banhart's semi-recent run of publicity, with a chorus that minces up "Too much fun in Hollywood" with "Too much fucking Hollywood." Opener "Crop Circle Jerk '94" offers a loping guitar riff and a sighing chorus, and, importantly, doesn't seem to have much to do with its title. "Lavender Blimp"'s thin, trebly guitars blanket a gallant chorus. "Hamman" is alternately forceful and beguiling. The title track is a drawn-out paean to escapism and rehab ("Surfing/ Never alone/ Surfing/ Your mind is blown"), but its undulating piano chords seem like a hearty nod to Animal Collective.
Alas, Surfing troublingly ends with three plodding failures (including the seven-minute "Sayulita") that feel at odds with the record's fuck-all spirit. Too much of Banhart's bothersome wordplay-- "eat your yeast infection," "chode-alicious"-- falls far south of "having a good time." What Surfing does do well is present a more relaxed Banhart-- a let-the-tapes-roll collaborator with bad-in-jokes and sly pop instincts. Megapuss has the feel of a short-lived side project, but it may ultimately prove a blueprint for the type of left-field, anti-hero path for which Banhart seems suited.
