Going to a Lemonheads concert is never about indulging in a carefully curated pageant or corporate rock ritual. You will not get a neat sequence of the latest single, a handful of classics, and a built-in encore. Their live shows feel like a frenzied and exhilarating map of Evan Dando’s brain, bursting with creativity and overflowing with too many songs and too many ideas. The result can be unruly and shambolic, and on the right night it becomes almost magical. Tonight at Café de la Danse that magic came from two central forces: the songs themselves, fantastic compositions delivered with full commitment by Dando and his current touring band, and Dando’s uncompromising and endearing personality, the spark that keeps everything alive even when it seems about to fly apart.
After taking the stage to the tune of Ozzy Osbourne's "Mr. Crowley," Dando and company start with a seductive but ferocious version of "Hospital" from Car Button Cloth. The set is centered around Come On Feel The Lemonheads for no apparent reason, as it's not a particularly notable anniversary... and the rest of the show is a hodgepodge of familiar tunes, deep cuts and odd covers, seemingly chosen on the spot without a written list or even a loose template. The best way to approach it is to arrive free of expectation, especially the expectation of hearing the hits. Like tonight, Dando might throw in “My Drug Buddy,” or “My Big Gay Heart” yet he is just as likely to sing a Whitney Houston number (it's happened before) or revive a B-side from an old solo single. Even seasoned followers can find themselves hearing songs they have never encountered. That unpredictability is part of the appeal. The show feels alive, evolving and responsive. Dando gives as much as he receives, and the crowd must stay present and engaged. This spirit runs counter to the tightly scripted norms that dominate the concert industry and have only hardened in the age of social media.
And of course, Dando’s wild, spastic yet tender onstage presence is a major part of the draw. Even when his voice slips far off pitch, his commitment, humor, generosity and unabashed strangeness make the songs shine brighter. With Farley Glavin on bass and John Kent on drums, a rhythm section attuned to when to hold back and when to surge with his impulses, the unassuming yet magnetic alternative rock figure seemed to be having a blast, and the audience shared that delight.
Perfection is a sham. In music as in life, true beauty is not found in predictability but in the fleeting, ephemeral. And in kick-ass power chords.
