The Lemonheads were one of the first artists to take on the ‘Don’t Look Back’ series/notion all the way back in 2005. Teased back into reformation, they tackled their 1992 breakthrough album; It’s a Shame About Ray. Speaking to Dando in 2009, he spoke to me of the fun he had doing the two London shows, but how it only served as a one off performance. Six years down the line and they are touring the same album, again. After releasing Varshons, a slightly sporadic but enjoyable covers record, and a rather mediocre self-titled effort in 2006, this sees the Lemonheads touring with only one album of fresh material since 1996 and frankly, it shows.
Evan Dando bumbles out onto stage quietly. Still the raging embodiment of adolescence, from the ever-youthful face and flowing hair, to the hoodie and t-shirt that would suit the 18-year-old him. If ever there was a pro-drugs advertisement, Evan Dando is a walking, talking reason to get high all the time – seemingly unaffected, almost to the point of his benefit. He starts solo, his electric guitar the only accompaniment to the gorgeous yet playful ‘Being Around’ and ‘The Outdoor Type’ – the versions are short, sweet, the vocals cloudy but saccharine. Dando’s eyes forever on a rampant voyage to meet anything but the audience’s stare. What initially translates as humility soon transpires to be apathy.
“We’ve got an album to play,” he murmurs, before sinking into the opening lick of ‘Rockin Stroll’. The three-piece then continue to burst through the album, in its running order, with almost bored precision. When there is room for a solo, improvisation or any form of experimentation outside of the simple confines of the album, Dando and co. go beyond sticking to the rules and instead continue to strip the album even further to its bare bones, so much so you can almost feel the hunks of flesh flying off the stage and hurling past your head. This is not so much It’s A Shame About Ray but It’s A Shame About Ray as soon as they can physically do it and get it out the way. While enjoyable to hear, it soon becomes very apparent that this is not something that band are overly keen on doing. Coupled with the fact they are doing this for the second time, it seems the motives behind this event are ones beyond simple nostalgia.
The sense of apathy and disinterest reaches its peak on the rendition of ‘Bit Part’, a song normally introduced by the manic and devilish cry of “I just want a bit part in your life… I JUST WANT A BIT PART IN YOUR LIFE!” instead - for some unbeknown reason - Dando incoherently murmurs the words in such a fashion that he may as well be holding a middle finger to the crowd. It seems that every opportunity to trim both time and effort from the show is mercilessly taken. Ironically, there is a real dichotomy in action here - while Dando exudes nothing but indifference and impatience, as he continues to play it becomes blisteringly apparent just how delightful, rudimentary and primitive these songs are, thus displaying how little they actually require to sound good. Take the sublime ‘Rudderluss’ or ‘My Drug Buddy’ as prime examples – stripped of all their studio shine and instrument-accompanying glow, they still resonate deeply, for the simple fact that they are truly wonderful pop songs, even when performed by somebody who would clearly rather be anywhere else. The most frustrating element of the recital (if you will) is how elementarily enjoyable it is - the simple, unadulterated experience of hearing great pop songs is unquestionable. However, both the delivery and motives have to be questioned here.
The album itself clocks in at only thirty minutes, so we are given a brief interlude of (again) very brief versions of some solo material via ‘All My Life’ and ‘Why Do You Do This To Yourself?’ before we get a few other Lemonheads numbers, again all carved out with bored workmanship. It must be pointed out that Dando’s inability (or refusal) to communicate with the audience is not a primary or even elementary reason for the frustration expressed – I saw the Lemonheads play two years ago and he was the same, but at the same time he exuded a feeling of gusto that at least suggested a degree of interest.
The closing number of the brief encore is ‘Style’ lifted from Come On Feel The Lemonheads - a fun, rambunctious, if slightly fleeting, take on drug addiction. While it was once performed with the savage discord of an addict seeking his angry fix, it is now replaced with the lethargic ennui of a stoner reaching for the remote control. If they sound this good when they don’t give a shit, just imagine how great they could be if they tried.