It’s difficult to talk about Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom, the first full-length CD by Texan singer/songwriter Jana Hunter, without making at least passing mention to Devendra Banhart, that legendarily whiskered manchild guru of “freak folk” whose extracurricular activities since his 2004 breakthrough have suggested a Prince-styled love for musical mentorship. In fact, Banhart’s stamp is all over Hunter’s solo career: not only is Hands of Doom the first record to be released on Banhart’s label, Gnomonsong, but recent years have also seen Jana Hunter tracks appearing on the Devendra-curated Golden Apples of the Sun compilation and on a self-titled split LP with the impish one himself. Combine this shared history with a similarly bizarre voice – not just androgynous, but downright alien – and it should come as no surprise that Jana Hunter sounds more than a little like her oddball patron saint; the resemblance is so striking, in fact, that on first listen I half suspected Devendra of pulling a Camille on us and recording a solo album as an imaginary feminine alter ego.

But Jana Hunter isn’t Banhart’s heretofore undiscovered drag act, nor is she entirely the Morris Day to his lo-fi Paisley Park. She’s actually a veteran of the Elephant 6-related Houston quartet Matty & Mossy, who plays live shows with the Castanets and, despite first impressions, possesses a musical vision and sensibility that is all her own. She is, in other words, a flesh-and-blood human being, and Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom is a flesh-and-blood album: some ten years’ worth of mesmerizing home recordings under one idiosyncratic roof, with all the occasional foibles suggested by that description and all the joy of new discovery as well.

And the best songs here are joyful discoveries indeed. The lazy acoustic strum and mournful violin of “Farm, CA.” sounds less like “freak folk” and more like a gorgeous amalgamation of disparate “real” folk traditions; dozens of thin, spidery wisps of music brought to loose attention by Hunter’s smoke-filled voice. “Have You Got My Money” opens with those heavy Americana guitar chords – the kind that drop like lead to the pit of your stomach and threaten to take the E-string with them – while Hunter’s voice climbs soft crescendoes of truly affecting regret. Meanwhile, “Laughing & Crying” (Heirs of Doom‘s most obviously Devendra-esque track) sounds positively joyful with its handclaps and double-tracked a capella vocals, even if the image of “tearing at something/with claws you can’t see” suggests a darker undercurrent. Finally, Hunter saves her album’s biggest surprise for last with closing track “K”: a toy keyboard and drum machine-driven, bona fide pop song with lyrics (“I’d be your favorite cartoon”) on just the sweet side of sexy. It’s moments like these when Hunter comes into her own as a truly new and unique voice…and these moments alone are worth the admission price of the album.

The other moments? They’re consistent; surprisingly so, considering the aforementioned vintage of a few of the tracks. As a matter of fact, if Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom can be accused of any crime, it’s that the album is simply too consistent: there’s nothing wrong with dread-filled dirges like “Christmas” and the Radiohead-meets-Cat Power “Untitled (Hanging Around),” but less patient listeners might find themselves asking why the bulk of the record is populated by such plodding (if menacing) beasts.

Those listeners are advised to enter at their own risk. Heirs of Doom is, in general, not for the short of attention span. The songs aren’t always welcoming – some require a few listens to really sink in – and if there’s a more offputting side one, track one than “All the Best Wishes” on an otherwise stunning album, then I have yet to find it. This isn’t even to speak of production values, which vary wildly from “Restless” (studio quality) to the aforementioned “Best Wishes” (dictaphone quality). But given her proper due, Jana Hunter has the potential to become an acquired taste every bit as beloved as the Cripple Crow himself. Now let’s just hope she doesn’t take ten more years to give us more songs as strange and intoxicating as these.

Reviewed by Zach Hoskins