The Lemonheads: Love Chant

(Fire)

Vinyl | CD | DL available at Sister Ray

Out now

“Never forever is a long time”, winks Evan Dando on The Lemonheads’ first collection of originals for nearly twenty years. It’s worth the wait – Sam Lambeth reviews a restless, adventurous album full of Dando’s loose, untamed charm.

The Lemonheads’ frontman Evan Dando is certainly the kind of chap who could lose twenty years behind the back of the sofa. It’s been a long time since the band’s last collection of original music, the punk-tinged blitzkrieg of their self-titled eighth studio album. Since then, the group’s shaggy-haired stalwart dissolved into decades of aborted albums (and a few cover ones), intermittent drug dependency and, natch, the odd anniversary tour of high water mark It’s A Shame About Ray. 

But the Boston native has always been a mercurial spirit. Long pigeonholed as a Gram Parsons scion capable of only crafting campfire strums, The Lemonheads’ last two covers albums demonstrated a weirder, capricious and compelling side. On Love Chant, Dando’s first collection of original tunes since 2006, this exuberant and furtive exploration of sounds is there in abundance.

First, though, we’re eased in gently on suitably brisk opener 58 Second Song. Buoyed by bittersweet, boy/girl harmonies and breezy, shrugging melodies, it’s Love Chant’s closest relative to the slacker pop that defined The Lemonheads’ fertile ‘90s era. 

On that note, there’s a whiff of ‘reunion special’ in the ensemble cast that come together for Deep End – Juliana Hatfield on backing vocals, J Mascis spooling out tumultuous solos, long time conspirator Tom Morgan on co-writing duties – as Dando weaves weary tales of cigarettes and comas in his docile burr. However, there’s fresh energy contained within the track’s grungy energy, not least in a delightfully ramshackle riff that feels like it’s forever threatening to teeter off the edge.

Likewise, the sun-tinged torpor of The Key of Victory is a strong entry into Dando’s canon of stripped-back country, its swathes of hazy reverb and knotty arpeggios keeping it on the right side of weird.

Props must go to producer Apollo Nove, who helps bring out more experimental flavours in the scuzzy reflections of Togetherness Is All I’m After and the stomping Britpop of Cell Phone Blues (which, again, is elevated by some sweet Hatfield harmonies). Equally, what could have been brawny, straight-ahead rockers in Wild Thing and In the Margin are animated and scrappy. The latter is the musical equivalent of going crazy in an adult colouring book – riffs upon riffs, tumbling out and frenetically embellishing the song’s urgent kiss off to an ex-lover. 

This sonic expansion runs through Love Chant’s second half. The title track looks to NEU! in its motorik beat, a suitably psychedelic manifesto that erupts into a propulsive chorus. Marauders is spindly and hypnotic, while the closing Roky juggles contemplative acoustics with swirls of aching, plangent guitar riffs. “I don’t know anymore,” Dando sighs over swirls of brooding instrumentation. Delicate, mournful but wry and knowing, he saves his strongest vocal performance til last. 

“Baby, don’t blow it,” Dando coos at one point. Fortunately, he hasn’t. Love Chant is an invigorating, colourful record that seamlessly blends Dando’s dishevelled charm with spaced out, ambitious overtones. Now, let’s not leave it another two decades, eh?

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All words by Sam Lambeth. Sam is a journalist and musician. More of his work for Louder Than War is available on his archive. You can find his music on Spotify.