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"Flying Wig" is an album of recurrent dualities; a can of paradoxes, a box of worms. The pine-surrounded cabin studio where Banhart was constantly listening to The Grateful Dead somehow birthed something slick, city pop-adjacent and eno-esque. Its the actualisation of a precious friendship with producer Cate Le Bon - a coming together prophesied by the mirror-image titles of their early solo albums (Banharts Oh Me Oh My / Le Bons Me Oh My), a tenderness built on crude haircuts (we finally met, soon after she was cutting my hair with a fork and that was that) and home-made tattoos.

"Flying Wig" is an album of recurrent dualities; a can of paradoxes, a box of worms. The pine-surrounded cabin studio where Banhart was constantly listening to The Grateful Dead somehow birthed something slick, city pop-adjacent and eno-esque. Its the actualisation of a precious friendship with producer Cate Le Bon - a coming together prophesied by the mirror-image titles of their early solo albums (Banharts Oh Me Oh My / Le Bons Me Oh My), a tenderness built on crude haircuts (we finally met, soon after she was cutting my hair with a fork and that was that) and home-made tattoos.
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"Flying Wig" is an album of recurrent dualities; a can of paradoxes, a box of worms. The pine-surrounded cabin studio where Banhart was constantly listening to The Grateful Dead somehow birthed something slick, city pop-adjacent and eno-esque. Its the actualisation of a precious friendship with producer Cate Le Bon - a coming together prophesied by the mirror-image titles of their early solo albums (Banharts Oh Me Oh My / Le Bons Me Oh My), a tenderness built on crude haircuts (we finally met, soon after she was cutting my hair with a fork and that was that) and home-made tattoos.

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