Words by Sean Moeller and Johnnie Cluney//Illustration by Johnnie Cluney
There’s very little fun in Evan Dando’s world. The band’s first new studio album since 1996, this self-titled release is a glimpse into a man who took a long time to write and record songs that essentially focus on his superhuman quality of making the least of moments and giving himself completely over to the belief that he’s a pawn and working hard at something might just get you in trouble. It’s what the quicksand wants you to do – struggle and fight against it so that downward pull can work faster. He’s a poster boy for a belief system that observes – frighteningly it feels—the same protocol as someone who’s just encountered a black bear in the middle of the open forest at Arcadia National Park – just lie there, play dead and hope it goes away. While this may not work in real life – one with deadlines, alarm clocks and day jobs – it’s gone okay for a man who, despite his low amount of output since the time when Chris Meadows was a new cast member on Saturday Night Live and Chris Sabo was winning the National League Rookie of the Year award as a Cincinnati Red, can probably still afford to rise mid-afternoon and begin drinking beer immediately with no regrets.

The Lemonheads are the band behind Evan Dando. The band has and probably always will be as random as the many moods of the Lemonheads. And that’s the Lemonheads—the biggest band in the world for a week at a time, Evan as the hunkiest dude you’d ever run upon in a teen magazine and a buzz clip on MTV.

Known for his soap opera-cut hairstyle (very pretty; Jack Deveraux of “Days of Our Lives,” but three times as long and with more of a Kurt Cobain unwashed treatment) and his incredibly precise penchant for retaining his title as the mayor of Slacker Town, Dando still was able to harness enough drive in the mid-90s to write, record and release two albums (1992’s “It’s A Shame About Ray” and 1993’s “Come On Feel The Lemonheads” – an album name that brought Quiet Riot back into social, conversational circles) that went onto gold status in the United States. “The Lemonheads” again explores the value of taking a load off and patiently letting things come your way. The difference between when Dando does this and when, say, Jack Johnson or Jimmy Buffet does this, is that Dando seems to invite bad days and figurative broken bones. His is not a world where things take care of themselves. His is a world where, when left to their own design, they go to hell in a handbasket – a phrase he’s welcome to use as his next world tour slogan as it’s not mine.

Dando probably feels alive when things are troublesome and on the ropes. It’s a feeling that gets to a lot of people. He sings, “Let’s just laugh/We can never do anything about anything/Anyway,” and it’s funny how if you try really hard to splash more twang and tag a southern drawl onto his aloof voice you’d have yourself a country and western album that would win a CMA for album of the year. The subject matter is hit-quality for country radio (you know, hypothetically if those things we talked about were changed), but at times is hit-or-miss as a rock album. There’s some vitality to it, but for the most part it’s just a batch of songs we waited too long for.

It seems like something might be missing. Maybe it’s the stumbling “filler” songs that appeared on the earlier two full-lengths. Maybe it’s the signature acoustic songs that could move their way through piles and piles of modest pop gems.
The Lemonheads have done it, you’ll think. They’ve created the flawless pop album. All the hooks are there, the trusty ballad “No Backbone” is there, but maybe that’s the problem with it. The Lemonheads didn’t used to make great pop albums. They made great pop songs, great quirky songs, silly acoustic songs, Rick James-style soul songs. You could go on forever and you might have to because “The Lemonheads” leaves a lot to be desired.