Some bands fade into the background of memory. The Lemonheads never will. Their records from the ’90s remain untouchable, jangly pop songs dressed in alt-rock grit, and I’ve played them until the grooves wore thin. Which is why I’ll show up for Evan Dando whenever he rolls through town.
This isn’t the model-handsome Dando of thirty years ago. Life has roughed him up, and he has never hidden it. That history walks into the room with him. What matters is the music. And when it landed, it was fucking magical. Opening with “The Great Big No” and diving headfirst into Come on Feel the Lemonheads for its 30th anniversary was pure electricity.
For many of us, the band’s peak lives in that one-two punch of It’s a Shame About Ray and Come on Feel the Lemonheads. The first gave them their breakthrough, alt pop sharpened into gold. The second blew the doors open. Come on Feel is, for me, perfection from start to finish.
Hearing it live in 2025 was a reminder of just how deep that record runs. “Down About It” hit with fresh weight. “Big Gay Heart” was gorgeous, cracked and soulful in all the right places. “Paid to Smile” and “Into Your Arms” sounded timeless. It was a celebration of one of the most celebrated albums of the ’90s, a record that proved the Lemonheads were more than the flavour of the month.
The rest of the set was gloriously unpredictable. “Another One Bites the Dust” from Queen came out of nowhere and felt like a dare. A wobbly keyboard detour veered into chaos. Then came a disarmingly vulnerable moment with an a cappella “Frank Mills” sung from the middle of the crowd. It was loose, strange, and completely Dando.
And then, right when the room needed it, the classics: “My Drug Buddy,” “Bit Part,” “It’s a Shame About Ray.” Nearly everything you could hope for. No “Mrs. Robinson” though. That would’ve been the cherry. Still, when those songs hit, the Ballroom shook with voices that have been carrying them for decades.
The Electric Ballroom jam packed. This was sold out night number two with a mixed crowd of lifers, curious newcomers, and people who looked like they hadn’t missed a Lemonheads London gig in thirty years. Everyone knew they were watching a songwriter who once balanced MTV fame with indie credibility, and who now plays with nothing left to prove.
Evan looked loose, smiling, and in the mood to play. He wandered, joked, and let the set sprawl where it wanted to. That gave it a ragged charm. The new song was a highlight too, showing he still has plenty left to give. Imperfections aside, the songs remain bulletproof and so does the songwriter. The Lemonheads were never meant to be spotless, and that is part of their magic.
Legends don’t need polishing. They just need a stage.
