he recent release (and rapid disappearance) of 1,000 copies of Devendra Banhart’s freak-folk sampler Golden Apples of The Sun, did its part in effectively pigeonholing twenty acts of said indie subgenre—splicing tracks from Joanna Newsom’s Milk-Eyed Mender and Iron and Wine’s Our Endless Numbered Days, among others, to culminate in an unquestionably folkish (though debatably freakish) end product. It’s safe to say that, fortunately, Banhart’s Golden Apples… isn’t just an hour-long freak show (however cool that might’ve been). Banhart’s own brand of freak-folk is considerably freakier than, say, Sam Beam’s; Six Organs of Admittance don’t exactly conform to the same musical mold as CocoRosie. Geography aside (many reach us by way of San Francisco), today’s neo-folk acts are a wide, varied and mostly remarkable bunch. Vetiver, brainchild of San Francisco’s Andy Cabic, heads the lineup with “Angel’s Share”—and with good reason. Banhart, who joined the band as guitarist and background vocalist in 2003, knows quality music when he hears it. And fortunately for the contemporary folk scene at large, Vetiver’s 2004 self-titled debut is precisely that.

“Oh Papa”, the album’s first track, bears more than a passing resemblance to Iron and Wine’s “Upward Over the Mountain,” from 2002’s Creek Drank the Cradle. Juxtaposed, the two emerge distinct (and stunning) for different reasons: set against similar acoustic guitar down strokes, Sam Beam’s voice is hushed and gorgeous, barely above a whisper; Cabic’s is bluesy and, at times, throaty—gorgeous in its own right. And though Beam’s “mother, don’t worry,” and Cabic’s “Oh Papa…don’t worry ‘bout me,” are initially identical (both are songs about leaving home), Iron and Wine’s rendition involves a mother who’s sorry to see her son go, and a son who says, in essence, that things will be better without him. Vetiver’s account, for all we know, might just be about what it claims it’s about—borrowing a car from your dad and promising to bring it back. Still, this whole melancholy deal—the dejected fiddle, the “oh-please-care-about-me” voice—suggests that it’s more of a realization or sigh (his father really won’t mind him missing at all), than a teenager’s lame excuse. Cabic’s ability to do all of this in the album’s first two and a half minutes, though, is rare and exciting, yadda yadda yadda, and forces you to cross your fingers and hope that the rest of this sucker is equally perfect.

Before the “but” gets hauled in here, let it be known that this album is impressive throughout. “Without a Song” is positioned perfectly after “Oh Papa”, and gets brownie points for a seamless Dylan reference that makes Cabic sound like he was first to stake the claim on “tangled up in blue.” Hope Sandoval of Mazzy Star adds a lovely dimension to “Angel’s Share, and My Bloody Valentine drummer Colm O'Ciosoig does the same in the case of “Luna Sea” (incredible, by the way) and “On a Nerve.” Kindred soul Joanna Newsom does her thing sans vocals (no objections there) on “Amerile.” And let’s face it: Devendra Banhart’s presence, though more muted than his solo efforts, keeps Vetiver at a healthy level of bizarre. Take “Amour Fou,” for instance. Co-written by Banhart (or should we say, re-written?), it’s Van Morrison’s “Crazy Love,” if Van Morrison’s “Crazy Love” were believably crazier, and is one of the album’s highlights.

What keeps Vetiver’s debut from being more compelling, however, is not so much the absence of good music. That’s present in spades. Still, the album feels like it’s missing something—a rousing crescendo, perhaps. And maybe it’s the same sparseness, sans gimmicks, that works both for and against Cabic. As it is, his efforts appear to be lacking whatever rendered his contemporaries’ endeavors (see also Rejoicing in the Hands and/or Milk-Eyed Mender) breathtaking (excessive weirdness, perhaps?). Regardless, Vetiver’s debut should be regarded accordingly—as pleasant, no doubt, but flanked with room to grow in all the right directions.