Love Chant: Evan Dando Burns the Past and Reinvents the Future

 

It’s been nearly twenty years. Two decades since The Lemonheads gave us a new record. Evan Dando, the wandering poet of pop punk, vanished like someone dodging a trap: he got married, moved to Brazil, turned his back on fame. Now, with Love Chant, he returns, not with a whimper, but with a weathered, defiant album that spits in the face of expectations. This isn’t nostalgic rehash or a solo record that’ll fade unnoticed. It’s The Lemonheads, raw, real, proving they still matter in a world that’s forgotten how to listen.

Dando never chased glory. He’s too restless, too honest. Like a modern Neil Young, he records when the muse calls, not when the market demands. Love Chant isn’t It’s a Shame About Ray or Come on Feel the Lemonheads, those accidental beacons of ‘90s alt rock that made Dando an icon. Those were lightning bolts, this is a slow burn. It doesn’t try to relive the past but does what Dando does best: crafts songs that feel eternal, like they’re scrawled on the walls of a bar where Hüsker Dü and Big Star share the jukebox.

The album kicks off with 58 Seconds, Dando’s voice, now deeper, marked by time, riding a wave of electric and acoustic guitars. The track moves with urgency, a pop punk pulse that could’ve come from a Replacements session or a Dinosaur Jr. outtake. It’s Dando at his purest: unpolished, unpretentious, seams exposed. Deep End follows, a visceral gut punch with echoes of weird, immediate, raw grunge, like Nirvana without the posturing. It’s not just music, it’s a confession, a late night voicemail you didn’t mean to leave.

In the Margin channels Hüsker Dü’s melodic chaos but with a pop grandeur that winks at Kiss at their peak. It’s ambitious yet natural, the kind of song that makes you wonder why no one writes like this anymore. Wild Thing toys with The Troggs’ classic but twists it into pure Dando: familiar yet strange, like a memory you can’t place. That’s his genius, taking the everyday, the ordinary, and making it profound. You don’t just hear these songs, you feel them in your bones, like they’ve always been part of your life.

Be-In is where Dando gets playful, brushing against Wilco’s cosmic Americana but keeping it light, effortless. It’s a reminder of why he’s a cornerstone of pop punk and alt-country, a genre alchemist who makes it look easy. Togetherness Is All I’m After blends fiery guitars with a carefree calm, capturing Dando’s duality: the guy who sets a stage ablaze then spends hours staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Marauders is a haymaker, a song so good it demands to know why Dando doesn’t do this more often. It’s not just a track; it’s a reason to believe in him again.

The closer, Roky, is a haunting tribute to Roky Erickson, the psychedelic rock legend whose raw soul resonates with Dando’s. The title track echoes Neu!’s hypnotic pulse here, a nod to the weird and wild there. It’s a perfect ending, proof that Dando isn’t just a survivor but a wizard who turns pain and time into something beautiful. Love Chant isn’t perfect, and that’s the point. It’s human, flawed, fiercely alive.

This is what we waited for. Not a triumphant comeback, but a reckoning. Love Chant doesn’t compete with algorithms or TikTok playlists, it’s for those who still believe music can mean something. It’s for the misfits who wore out their Ray cassette in ’92, for the dreamers who know life’s too chaotic for pop stardom but too beautiful to quit. Dando doesn’t ask for approval, he just hands us a match and dares us to light the fuse. The twenty years were worth it. Let’s not wait another twenty.