Review of Live At The Brattle Theatre/Griffith Sunset EP
by John Harris
From Mojo Magazine 2002
Last February, Evan Dando crash-landed
in central London, bearing only an acoustic guitar and the faintly glowing
embers of his artistic reputation. It had been five years since Car Button
Cloth, the Lemonheads' muted farewell; almost a decade since he was feted
as both a college-rock sex symbol and a compositional genius, before the
inevitable link between success and excess smothered him. His nadir, looking
back, was a momentary stint as Oasis's in-house baboon and tambourine player,
an episode which looked like a revival of one of rock's more pathetic archetypes.
He was a classically doomed camp-follower: picked up like a gas-station novelty,
chucked out of the van once the joke wore thin. Frankly, he deserved better.
The London show, thankfully, served
as a reminder of just how gleaming a repertoire Dando had amassed. In his
straight-ahead readings of the best Lemonheads songs, one got the sense of
being party to his creative essence.
The fuzztoned ramalama of alt rock - and let's forget about that godawful
cover of Mrs Robinson, once and for all - never suited him; as proved by his
Gram Parsons fixation, he always aspired to deal in a more intimate, eternal
vocabulary.
And so it proves with Live At The Brattle Theatre, recorded seven months later. Its 11 songs represent something of a connoisseurs' selection: there's no Rudderless, It's A Shame About Ray or Big Gay Heart and three songs are taken from Lovey, the last Lemonheads album before 'crossover success' became the in phrase and fame began to corrode Dando's soul. Close up, his voice possesses a new, lived-in kind of authority, as proved by an exquisite reading of My Drug Buddy: when he sings songs rooted in the doe-eyed experience of youth he sounds like someone recounting the memory and acknowledging his mistakes.
There is one new tune, The Same Thing You Thought Hard About Is The Same Thing I Can't Live Without, co-written with sometime Grand Royal protege Ben Lee and Dando's ongoing collaborator Tom Morgan. Like so many Dando songs, it's a song of lovelorn, wee-hours regret, which sits perfectly in such company. Indeed, the idea that 10 years separate that song and 1990's Ride With Me - whose fragile update may be the surprise high point-almost beggars belief.
The Griffith Sunset EP, meanwhile,
serves notice of where Dando has lately chosen to root himself, a point re-emphasised
by his appearance at the Beyond Nashville bunfight. He covers the likes of
Fred Neil (Ba-De- Da), Tim Hardin (Tribute To Hank Williams) and the Louvins
(My Baby's Gone) respectfully, adding the subtlest hints of gothic spookiness,
and hinting that upon his imminent return with a new album proper, he'd quite
like us to forget about such far-flung phrases as "the grunge sex kitten"
and allow him to perch next to The Handsome Family and Gillian Welch.
Only the meanest of hearts wouldn't allow him a seat.