Evan Dando doesn’t really perform so much as unravel, gloriously, at his own pace. Tonight at the Enmore Theatre, with a mop of hair hanging in his face, he leads The Lemonheads through a double-dose of ’90s alt-pop melancholia – It’s a Shame About Ray and Come On Feel the Lemonheads – played in full and in order, like he’s flipping through a photo album he’s only just remembered he had.
Before the main event, Crocodylus come out swinging. Their alt-rock is dialled up to gut-rattling levels—distorted basslines, thumping drums, and a glorious wall of noise. They’re brash, sweaty and impossible to ignore, and deserve a proper shout-out for being a band that manages to make so much racket and keep a saxophone in the mix without losing the plot.
When the Lemonheads hit the stage I realise that these aren’t just records. They’re emotional time capsules – unapologetically messy, half-stoned, bruised but glittering with hooks. Dando’s voice is still sun-dazed and syrupy, sometimes cracking, sometimes sublime. “Confetti” floats by in a haze. “My Drug Buddy” hits like a whispered confession.
There’s a looseness to it all – songs bleed into one another, but no one’s complaining. Because when it all clicks – like on “It’s a Shame About Ray” or “Big Gay Heart” – you remember exactly why these songs burrowed so deep in the first place. They weren’t built to impress. They were built to feel.
Dando remains a beautiful contradiction: elusive but present, shambolic but sharp. He’ll never be the loudest guy in the room, but he might just be the most honest.
The Lemonheads will visit Adelaide and Perth next – tickets HERE.
Images Deb Pelser
Left before he’d even finished the Shame About Ray album. Songs all sounded the same, no light and shade, just all shade. Evan using the same distortion on every song coupled with bludgeoning drums makes for an unpleasant night. Bum notes everywhere. Very lazy effort. Such a disservice to great songs.