For French pop duo Herman Dune, the biggest break has come in
puppet form. Their puppeted likenesses—originally designed by the
band themselves for their “1-2-3/Apple Tree” video—guest starred
alongside a puppet Kanye West in his cuddly, Olympics-themed video for
Graduation‘s “Champion.” But, alas, there is no “Kanye bump” in
units sold when you’re assembled from felt and gluesticks, and as Lamb
Chop (the hand-puppet, not the band) can attest, there’s more to life
than fame attained through puppetry.
The history of Herman Dune—the skin-and-bones version—is
this: Their discography is a loose assemblage of five official albums,
along with countless CD-R recordings. They were formerly a trio but are
now a duo; all members use Herman Dune as a surname (à la the
Ramones); they once had an umlaut in their name; and the late John Peel
was their biggest fan. Much like seemingly every tale involving the
saintly Peel, it was the DJ’s golden touch that plucked the band from
promo bin obscurity and guided them to their current position atop the
anti-folk heap.
“John Peel was everything for us when we first started,” explains
singer/guitarist David-Ivar Herman Dune from his Toronto hotel room.
“He picked up our 7-inch, the first one, started playing it on the
radio, and invited us for a Peel Session.” It turned out to be one of
many, and the band eventually rolled tape on a staggering double-digit
collection of Peel Sessions throughout the years, along the way forging
a close friendship with music’s most respected tastemaker.
The years that followed Peel’s death found the band—the
aforementioned David-Ivar and drummer/percussionist Neman Herman
Dune—releasing a slew of recordings seldom heard outside of Paris
or their adopted home on New York’s Lower East Side. Alongside the
likes of pal Jeffrey Lewis and the Juno-approved Kimya Dawson,
Herman Dune carved out a niche for penning playful—nearly
childlike—love songs that rely on simplistic structure and
David-Ivar’s wounded vocal delivery. He is more Jonathan Richman than
the original Modern Lover has been in years, a lovestruck troubadour
with the keen ability to reel off miles of material from the austere
pains of a wounded heart.
It’s only on their latest, the ambitious Next Year in Zion,
that the music of Herman Dune has been widely discovered stateside,
thanks to new label Everloving (home to Cornelius,
and—gasp—the original barefooted stomping grounds of
bromeister Jack Johnson). “On a Saturday” has a syrupy sweet hook and
whimsical structure—right down to the polite blasts of
horns—that come together like a pair of lovers’ interlocked
hands. David-Ivar’s gift for penning lyrics that skirt the fine line
between clever and pretentious might explain the band’s
not-so-surprisingly youthful following. Kids—yes, literally
little humans in single-digit age groups—love Herman Dune. And
while the band’s off-the-charts adorability might flirt with the murky
mire that is children’s music, this is definitely not the soundtrack of
Raffists. (What? Isn’t that what Raffi fans are called?) Herman Dune
might be steeped in whimsy, but this is music for adults.
Well, sort of.
“I recently played a show for kids, in the afternoon before our
show,” explains David-Ivar. “I thought it was going to be small, but
200 kids showed up and I noticed that their attention span doesn’t last
a long time. They love the rhymes; it’s not really about the topics,
because most of my songs are love songs, so when you are five or six,
that’s not really up your alley.”