Evan Dando Shares on Drug Use: 'Some People Were Meant to Take Drugs – and One of Them'
Evan Dando rolls up a sleeve and indicates a series of faint marks along his arm, faint scars from years of opioid use. “It requires so long to get noticeable track marks,” he remarks. “You inject for years and you believe: I can’t stop yet. Maybe my complexion is particularly resilient, but you can hardly notice it now. What was it all for, eh?” He grins and emits a raspy laugh. “Only joking!”
Dando, one-time indie pin-up and key figure of 90s alt-rock band his band, looks in reasonable nick for a man who has taken numerous substances available from the time of 14. The songwriter responsible for such exalted songs as My Drug Buddy, he is also recognized as the music industry's famous casualty, a celebrity who seemingly achieved success and squandered it. He is warm, goofily charismatic and completely candid. Our interview takes place at lunchtime at a publishing company in Clerkenwell, where he questions if we should move the conversation to a bar. In the end, he orders for two pints of cider, which he then forgets to drink. Frequently drifting off topic, he is apt to go off on wild tangents. It's understandable he has stopped using a smartphone: “I can’t deal with online content, man. My thoughts is extremely scattered. I desire to read all information at the same time.”
He and his wife Antonia Teixeira, whom he wed last year, have traveled from São Paulo, Brazil, where they live and where Dando now has three adult stepchildren. “I’m trying to be the backbone of this new family. I avoided family much in my existence, but I'm prepared to make an effort. I'm managing pretty good up to now.” At 58 years old, he says he has quit hard drugs, though this turns out to be a loose concept: “I occasionally use LSD sometimes, perhaps mushrooms and I consume pot.”
Sober to him means not doing opiates, which he has abstained from in almost a few years. He concluded it was time to quit after a disastrous gig at Hollywood Forever Cemetery in 2021 where he could scarcely play a note. “I thought: ‘This is unacceptable. My reputation will not bear this type of conduct.’” He acknowledges his wife for assisting him to cease, though he has no remorse about his drug use. “I think certain individuals were supposed to take drugs and one of them was me.”
One advantage of his comparative clean living is that it has made him productive. “During addiction to heroin, you’re all: ‘Forget about that, and this, and that,’” he says. But currently he is preparing to launch Love Chant, his debut record of original band material in almost two decades, which contains glimpses of the songwriting and catchy tunes that elevated them to the indie big league. “I’ve never really known about this kind of dormancy period in a career,” he says. “This is some lengthy sleep situation. I do have integrity about what I put out. I didn't feel prepared to create fresh work before the time was right, and now I am.”
Dando is also releasing his first memoir, titled stories about his death; the title is a nod to the rumors that fitfully circulated in the 90s about his early passing. It’s a wry, heady, fitfully eye-watering narrative of his experiences as a musician and user. “I authored the first four chapters. That’s me,” he declares. For the rest, he worked with co-writer his collaborator, whom one can assume had his hands full given his haphazard way of speaking. The writing process, he says, was “difficult, but I was psyched to secure a reputable company. And it gets me out there as someone who has written a book, and that is everything I desired to accomplish since I was a kid. At school I admired James Joyce and Flaubert.”
He – the last-born of an attorney and a former fashion model – talks fondly about school, maybe because it symbolizes a time prior to existence got complicated by drugs and fame. He attended the city's prestigious private academy, a liberal institution that, he says now, “was the best. It had few restrictions except no rollerskating in the hallways. Essentially, avoid being an jerk.” It was there, in bible class, that he met Jesse Peretz and Jesse Peretz and formed a band in 1986. His band started out as a rock group, in thrall to the Minutemen and Ramones; they agreed to the Boston label their first contract, with whom they put out three albums. After band members left, the group effectively became a solo project, he hiring and firing bandmates at his discretion.
During the 90s, the band signed to a large company, Atlantic, and reduced the squall in favour of a more melodic and accessible folk-inspired style. This was “because the band's iconic album came out in ’91 and they perfected the sound”, Dando says. “If you listen to our early records – a song like Mad, which was laid down the following we finished school – you can hear we were attempting to emulate their approach but my vocal wasn't suitable. But I realized my voice could cut through quieter music.” The shift, waggishly labeled by reviewers as “bubblegrunge”, would propel the band into the mainstream. In the early 90s they released the album It’s a Shame About Ray, an flawless demonstration for his writing and his melancholic croon. The name was derived from a news story in which a clergyman lamented a individual called Ray who had strayed from the path.
The subject was not the only one. At that stage, the singer was consuming heroin and had acquired a liking for cocaine, as well. Financially secure, he eagerly embraced the celebrity lifestyle, becoming friends with Hollywood stars, shooting a music clip with Angelina Jolie and dating supermodels and film personalities. People magazine anointed him among the 50 sexiest people alive. He good-naturedly rebuffs the notion that his song, in which he voiced “I'm overly self-involved, I wanna be a different person”, was a cry for assistance. He was enjoying a great deal of enjoyment.
However, the drug use got out of control. In the book, he delivers a blow-by-blow description of the significant festival no-show in 1995 when he did not manage to turn up for the Lemonheads’ scheduled performance after two women proposed he come back to their accommodation. When he finally showing up, he delivered an impromptu acoustic set to a unfriendly audience who booed and hurled objects. But this was minor compared to the events in Australia shortly afterwards. The trip was meant as a respite from {drugs|substances
