It was anyone’s guess as to how the night would play out. Though the Massachusetts-bred band currently operate as a trio, it’s no mystery that lead vocalist Evan Dando stands at the helm of the Lemonheads’ perennial existence. After all, it’s Dando’s relaxed vocal style and sharp, soundbite-like songwriting that catapulted It’s A Shame About Ray into the mainstream. However, it’s also Dando’s erratic live behaviour that was the smoking gun of my caution heading into the experience. This pattern of conduct, unfortunately, has been the spectre by Dando’s side for the past three decades, originating infamously with his tardiness at Glastonbury ‘95, wherein he missed the band’s scheduled slot due to the influence of drugs and alcohol. Though Dando later made an appearance for an acoustic set, his disheveled state and poor showmanship abetted a poor crowd response.
Despite the band’s less-than-perfect attendance score, the thought of a bad night did not seem to be even a twinkle in the eye of the chiliad of people in attendance. Below my bird’s-eye view on the mezzanine sprawled a sea of loyal, eager fans in decades-old merch, enjoying a serenade from the ever-brilliant opener Willy Mason. One, clearly donning an arm cast from a recent injury, had arrived early for a front row spot. Thus, when the headliners placidly took to stage in front of a projected recording of Bruce Robinson’s Withnail and I, the response was as raucous as expected.
It seems fitting, really, the decision to tie Robinson’s 1987 classic to this tour. Like Dando, Withnail and Marwood are often disenfranchised by the artistic life they lead: the two live in a squalid Camden flat, drinking and smoking, getting by on the dole. Whilst Withnail and Marwood are resentful of the hapless existence of being failing actors, Dando is resentful of succeeding, for it is extreme media saturation and the expectation to keep up appearances at the root of his volatility. Withnail is, in many ways, the self-destructive devil on Marwood’s shoulder, enticing him towards cheap, futile pleasures and away from his destiny. As the film’s denouement sees Marwood succeed, he cannot do so without detaching himself from Withnail’s baggage. Similarly, February 2026 saw Dando step out of the spotlight and enter treatment for his poor mental health, completing a two-month stay to get himself back on track; this tour seems to be his turn towards a new leaf.
Friday night’s set was less than flawless: at times, Dando had to peer down at the several large pieces of card laid out for him by a stagehand, each containing sprawling, handwritten lyrics. A couple of separate moments saw him apologising for forgetting the words to a song. But — pivotally — this was all in good jest. When Dando waved a calloused hand in apology, the crowd cheered in encouragement; when he took his fingers off the frets for a few moments due to cramping, they paid no mind; and when the show drew to close, it was just him and an acoustic guitar. Perhaps this was what he always wanted — to connect with others through his music alone, with no added pretence, bells or whistles. If this was Dando’s wish, it has certainly been granted.
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Review and photography by Sarina Maloy
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