Interview: Evan Dando

This story first appeared in issue 9, December 2006. Buy here

Don’t get me wrong, I entered into this interview with Evan Dando sincerely wanting to like him; to talk through his latest album, The Lemonheads; to tweeze out the odd anecdote or two about his drug highs and lows; to filter through his stormy relationships with grunge starlets; to explore his music collaborations; and just plain old get to know what sort of guy he really is. But what we want and what we get are two very different things.

For those that don’t know, The Lemonheads have gone through some sort of a renaissance this year, reforming after a considerable hiatus and releasing a whole new long-player. But the fact that most live reviews of their recent UK tour have cited Karl Alvarez and Bill Stevenson of seminal punk band Descendents as making up the current line-up is pretty indicting — of the state of current music criticism, and of the opinion held of The Lemonheads in general.

Actually, Devon Ashley and Vess Ruhtenberg from The Pieces have been filling in on drumming and bass duties. But what does that matter when The Lemonheads’ recent ‘reformation’ is just another expansion of the Evan Dando franchise. Since he formed the group with high school friends Ben Deily and Jesse Peretz, he’s changed the line-up almost as often as Mark E. Smith has with The Fall. Both are egotists that know what they like and who they don’t (not necessarily a bad thing, considering the choice music they’ve produced with their bands), but there is a difference: Smith pretty much stands by what he says and has probably never apologised to a journalist. It’s a testament to his sense of conviction. Dando, on the other hand, has constantly proved himself to be both thoroughly disagreeable in interview situations (again, no bad thing — if he wishes to get stoned and not talk, that’s his prerogative) and something of a flake. Or cunt. I’ve not decided yet, and I’m not alone in railing against Dando. In the past there have been fanzines dedicated to hating him (Jeff Fox’s Die, Evan Dando, Die! being a case in point), and at Glastonbury ’95 he was booed for turning up hours late for his set.

My acrimonious meeting with the one-time luminary of nineties grunge after a gig at Bristol Academy was followed up the next day with a call from his PR proclaiming how “worried” Mr Dando was about our encounter. I bet he was. But I guess this had less to do with his obnoxious behaviour towards someone who’d travelled nearly 200 miles to meet him and more to do with the fact the ageing rock star had let his tongue wag rather frivolously. And about all the wrong subjects, too. Naughty Evan.

It turned out that Dando wanted to have another chat — to set a few things straight. But before we get to that, let’s have a look at the exchange of words between Dando, Ashley, Ruhtenberg, Dando’s wife Elizabeth Moses (for a model, her face is pretty fucking greasy), some strange snotty girl called Kath (who blagged her way backstage because she’d met Evan at Glastonbury some time ago, aged 11, when her dad was a doctor there), my friend Tom and me. If it sounds absurd, it’s because it was.

The interview was supposed to take place earlier in the day. But when push came to shove, Dando and Co. were nowhere to be seen. Phone enquiries from tour manager Hugo revealed that Evan was still at his hotel. The Novotel in Bristol. “He was supposed to be at the venue two hours ago,” Hugo told me. Apparently he couldn’t find a taxi. Having lived in Bristol for three years, I know that every other bastard car on the road is a cab. And according to the AA’s route finder, the hotel is exactly 1.1 miles away. You can walk it in less than 20 minutes.

I was told the interview would take place after the show. Fine. So I watched Dando on stage safe in the knowledge that I’d been guaranteed a meet. He seemed in good spirits. Banter was limited, but the smile on his face was evident. Songs old and new were churned out pleasantly enough and sing-alongs among the crowd were frequent. His temperament boded well for our interview. Or so I thought.

Evan Dando: “Hey, sorry for earlier. I couldn’t find a cab.”

Stool Pigeon: “That’s cool.”

ED: “Hey, do we have to do this now? Can we do a phoner or something?”

SP: “Well, I’ve come a long way for this interview…”

ED: “Okay, but make it quick.”

Alarm bells start ringing. Dando seems more interested in playing with his wife’s iPod than talking. But Ashley and Ruhtenberg were more than accommodating — charming, even.

SP: “What’s it like having the band together?”

ED: “It’s great. It’s really fun. It’s like, er, we’re gonna be on the road from December 17, so you know something’s gonna happen, you know? It’s really fun. I went down to Indiana and we practised for a week.”

Devon Ashley: “We practised straight for two weeks. It was like boot camp or something. Rock’n’roll boot camp.”

SP: “Was it like being a teenager again?”

ED: “Yeah, definitely. Who has a cigarette? Okay, let’s finish this interview. Put the timer on. Put the timer on!”

SP: “How long have you been in the UK?”

ED: “We’ve had a good time.”

SP: “I asked how long.”

ED: “Three weeks.”

SP: “Where are you based now?”

ED [looking at Vess Ruhtenberg]: “Oh, you’re interviewing me and I’m just being a total pain in the ass by trying to bring in the rest of the band into the whole thing.”

SP: “I’d like to know about the others, but I asked you first.”

ED: “I dunno, you guys just write what you want. I dunno how to help you. I really don’t. I’m tired.”

SP: “Are you happy with the new album?”

ED: “Not particularly, actually.”

SP: “Why?”

Dando doesn’t answer the question and instead goes off on an unsolicited, lengthy and boring rant about his record label. At the end of his monologue I say, “You sound bitter,” to which he replies, “Okay, it’s done. The interview’s done.”

“Do you really object to doing an interview?”

“Not at all. It’s just the timing was off. That’s all.”

And that was all. Despite Dando waking up the next morning deeply concerned about what he may or may not have said about the hands that feed him, emails batted back and forth to his PR over the course of a week trying to sort out a follow-up interview revealed that he’d done a Lord Lucan. Pity. I would have enjoyed telling him he was an utterly vile and spineless moron (fancy getting someone else to try and cover up your mistakes), but I’d also have liked to mention that he’s really made a comeback album to be proud of (even if the better songs were written by Bill Stevenson and Tom Morgan).

P.S. Dear Evan, I feel sorry for you, because you’re a fool, and have only neglected to mention certain aspects of our rather drab conversation out of some lingering respect for your achievements. For any future interviews you intend to carry out, might I suggest that you ensure your wife keeps her trap shut, even when she thinks the dictaphone isn’t on. Ta ra.

Related: