Devendra Banhart’s music has been described as ‘alt. folk’, ‘freak-folk’ and (teehee) ‘avant-folk’: none of these descriptions quite do the American-Venezuelan’s oeuvre justice. And there’s more bad news for those OCD types who sort their record collections by genre – Banhart’s eighth studio album Mala is just as eclectic as its predecessors.

For a start, Banhart has produced Mala (with longtime collaborator Noah Georgeson) using borrowed equipment and a vintage recorder, bought in a pawn shop. “Knowing my songs are not hip-hop whatsoever,” he explained, “we thought it would be interesting to see how these kinds of songs would sound on equipment that was used to record our favourite rap.”

They sound, may we say, pretty darn good. Album opener ‘Golden Girls’ is eerie and distorted, clocking in at under two minutes, seemingly setting the tone for a dark and downtempo body of work. Not so! ‘Never Seen Such Good Things’ is a ‘60s doowop-inspired ode to heartache, with tongue-in-cheek lyrics like, “if we ever make sweet love again / I’m sure that it would be quite disgusting.” On Spanish-language ‘Mi Negrita’, he’s into hip-swivelling Salsa territory, then back to the loveliest of ‘60s pop on ‘Your Fine Petting Duck’. Here, he duets with fiancée, Ana Kras, casting an imaginary eye back over a failed relationship. “If he doesn’t try his best,” Banhart cheerfully croons, “Please remember that I didn’t try at all.”

There’s darkness too, mind. On ‘A Gain’, you feel as if you’ve walked in on an Oedipal exchange between the artist and his psychotherapist. Freud would have a field-day listening to Banhart as he whispers, “Mama had such high hopes for me / Now I don’t know where those hopes go” over an eerie production. But moments later, we’re back to Sugarland, with ‘Won’t You Come Over’ – the most uplifting track on the album, complete with catchy, poppy, singalong chorus. Mala is a very enjoyable listen indeed.