The Lemonheads concert was Monday night and it was…a strange experience. Here’s a recap:
After an unremarkable opening band and a long break, the Lemonheads appear. Evan Dando looks
exactly the way he looked in 1993. He comes out wearing a knit hat pulled way down over longish shaggy hair. He takes the hat off a couple of songs into the set, revealing a good chunk of hair cut off at about nose level and hiding his eyes, although from what I can tell he doesn’t raise them above microphone level all night. When the tentative crowd finally closes in on the stage, I happily take up position at the corner just a few feet away from him. I start to feel a surreal mix of self-conscious amusement at the ridiculousness of it all and girlish giddiness, and that winning combo of emotions lasts pretty much all night.
I wonder if, through that Cousin It hairdo, he is checking out the crowd. There are 40 of us, 50 max, including sound check guys and bartenders, and we are a somewhat bizarre crowd. Does he see the guys with the sleeve tattoos and motorcycle shirts? How about the grungesters in matching knit caps and shaggy hair? Does he see the woman (not me) standing in front, staring earnestly (and a bit studiously) up at him, not smiling or dancing, but determinedly holding a camera in both hands, occasionally taking a picture, but mostly just looking on? Does he see me, singing along?
It is not the best concert I’ve ever been to. I console myself with the thought that if I had seen this concert at age 16, it would have been the very best concert I had ever seen in my entire life. (OK, the only one I'd ever seen, but who's going to nitpick at 14-year-old details?) The music is pretty good and they play lots of familiar old tunes, but they run through them as if by rote. The most disappointing part, though, is the complete and utter lack of audience interaction. There's no banter, no jokes, no conversation, no funny stories...nothing. Not even a greeting--they just come up on stage and go right into the first song. No "this one's from our new album", no introducing the band...nada.
Noteworthy moment #1: they sing "Drug Buddy". The song is an ode to going out to buy pot with your friend. It’s a great song. One of the stagehands comes up to the stage, and bam! an intense odor of marijuana fills the air. He isn't smoking, he just seems to exude the scent, from his pores or perhaps his green army-navy-store jacket. When he walks by me at the end of the song, I swear I could get high just from the fumes! But now here’s the key detail: later, the same guy walks by twice more, and there is
no odor whatsoever. I conclude that his presence was an orchestrated event, planned to bring greater dimension to the meaning of the song—to make it an olfactory experience. It is highly amusing, but definitely odd.
Noteworthy moment #2: Evan Dando throws me his guitar pick. I like to think that through the curtain of hair and the visual effects of whatever combination of substances he ingested pre-concert, Evan Dando sees me, senses that I am getting a kick out of the whole experience, knows that I had his poster on my wall freshman year of college, and rewards me with a little souvenir. So what if the pick landed
near me; so what if it’s not even clear if he actually threw it or if it accidentally flew out of his hand during an awkward guitar change. The pick flies, it lands a couple of feet away and I casually (I’m cool after all, not some groupie loser) lean over and pick it up.
Noteworthy moment #3: After an hour or a little more, it appears the band is going to wrap up soon. Evan Dando turns to the band, then turns back with an air of this-will-be-the-last-song. But no: lips back to the microphone, he mutters: "Good night" and takes off his guitar. Understandably, we protest--mostly out of confusion, since to be fair, they had played a full set. He puts down his guitar, pulls on his hat, walks off the stage, ignores a guy trying to give a high-five, walks through the crowd and out the door. After a few minutes of confusion, during which the roadies start unplugging all the equipment and the lights came on, we realize that there will be no encore. It's over. Which is fine with me. It's past my bedtime.
A quick Google search today showed me that this kind of experience is
not so unusual. (All of those stories, and particularly the last one, demonstrate that he is a bit of a space cadet, but none so much as
this one). And while I'm in a linking mood,
here is a hilarious story about a woman who failed in her attempt to sing onstage with Evan Dando. That’s a lot of links, but those are some pretty hilarious sites if you’ve got the time.
Anyway, to sum up a long post, it was a fun concert despite the oddness of it all. In a strange way it brought me back to age 16, when I was discovering new bands and setting myself up for a lifetime of interest in music. It was fun for a while to remember what it was like to be fascinated with a rock star. But at the same time I was happy to be grown up--to find his crazy antics and bizarreness amusing instead of becoming disillusioned by them.
And I did get a photo. You can see just how close I was. You can't see the bangs, but you might notice the wedding ring. Apparently he's married to some British model. I wish her all the luck in the world.
