Pitchfork

This 10-minute track seems designed to taunt anyone suspicious that the whole Banhart deal is a case of the emperor's few clothes. After a metal blast-Ñ "operatic" as in Phantom of theÑ- listeners are treated to an interval of wannabe seductive scaffolding in the intriguing/exotic soundtrack vein. As with most product that approximates generic mysticality, role-playing seems to be encouraged: Are you at Pier 1 Imports looking for the perfect catshit-negating candle set, or are you Indiana Jones searching the caves where the early Christians got their tiptoe on?

By the five-and-a-half minute mark though, Banhart gets to trill-shrieking and the Tarantulans get to thundering, and the classic sixties psych flashbacks get to strobing, and damn if a white rabbit hasnÕt painted itself black. A.D. are groping grandeur pretty coyly, but if your inner cynic Talibanned similar hefty nonsense (Sigur Ros, say), you will spurn this effort, preferring to let it be at the local Mediterranean restaurant, used to get rid of the supine hookah-jocks pretending they're in an opium den that takes Discover cards.

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