Devendra Banhart speaks of foreign lands and grander plans as we sit in the office of record store-turned-venue for the night.

He plans to move to the south of France and hopes to play flamenco music accompanying bullfights.

He has an unusual tattoo of four red horizontal lines on each of his forearms.

He claims he ate $50 worth of ribs yesterday.

He speaks harshly of Scientologists, of their predictions that blue men from outer space will take over the world and the only ones left will be the famous actors.

With his full beard and moustache that just barely falls over his lips, one thing is for certain.

Devendra Banhart is the reason cults exist.

As I watch a packed room with every available eye on him, kids staring with rapt attention, whispering as to not disturb the master, it became all too clear. He obviously bears a strong resemblance to Charles Manson. With his delicate, deft, almost effortless fingerpicking and whispery warble, he's 10 times the musician Charlie ever was. But he ends the night with a "family" jam, and the tour rides in a converted Baptist church bus. When asked about his spirituality, he admits that he follows no conventional dogma, instead claiming to be "new age" with an air of humor about it.

Devendra has the troops mobilized. The youth of today are desperately searching for a young spokesmodel to adore and idolize. Nary a magazine crosses the table without a mention of his name (and it is, admittedly, such an eloquent, beautiful name… translating to "King of Gods"). My interview with Devendra was preceded by e-mails from his publicist warning that Banhart is somewhat wary and sick of all the press and attention. That's just what cult leaders want you to think…couldn't be farther from the truth.

All he needs to do is drop his hand and let the revolution begin. As I stood at the back of the room, I couldn't help but think, "Yeah, this guy is alright, good songs, great voice…I wouldn't mind my girlfriend sleeping with him." Next thing you know, I'm all helter skelter and shit, blood on the walls, Julia Roberts' pregnant, lifeless corpse next to me, wondering where my copy of The White Album went, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

Devendra is charming and soft-spoken and lets you into his world very quickly. He speaks intelligently and looks you in the eyes with an almost Rasputinous gaze. During his sound check in Detroit, he decided to just play his entire set a few hours before he was scheduled to (on a tour he's headlining) for the mere reason that "people said I should keep playing."

As he sat in with tour-openers Vetiver, they pulled out an unexpected version of the Supremes' "Where Did Our Love Go?" Not something you'd ever have guessed from the "faux" folkies (as some are calling Banhart and tour partner Joanna Newsome). But everyone was caught off-guard. I'm sure that's just the way Banhart likes it. You have been warned.