“got me watching your eyes watching things go by outside, out the window of a train.”
If you can name this lyric, you may be able to answer the question I am posing in this entry—where in the world is Evan Dando? I just happened to blow the dust off of my Lemonheads “It’s a Shame About Ray” album, and listening to it, I’ve found myself dealing with a deluge of memories from my freshman year of college (yep, I’m that old) and listening to the album in my friend Jenn’s room across the hall. I believe, under a massive poster of Jim Morrison. Yep, we’re THAT generation.
Anyway—what ever happened to Evan Dando?
Last I heard, he was (rather embarrassingly) chasing Oasis around the world, he loved them so. I think he’s friends with Johnny Depp, so maybe he will re-emerge in the South of France somewhere. For those of you not familiar with Evan Dando, he was a beautiful stoner songwriter, with a really good smooth voice oozing of Gen-X angst and insight that only those born between before 1980 can capture. So, thinking about Evan this Sunday, I started to think about how different my life was last time I listened to this album. For instance, Kurt Cobain had just killed himself and that was a damn big deal, and I still had a lazy amount of school years lying ahead of me, I was in Boston, and from what I can remember all we used to do was talk until 3am, make fun of Eurotrash, contemplate the riot grrrl factor on our campus, and, sit on Jenn’s bed listening to music (she has a fantastic album collection).
This was also around the same time in my life that a friend of a friend mentioned that I looked like “a rock star’s girlfriend” and I was kind of flattered and offended at the same time. When I think of Rock Star Girlfriend I think of a kind of typical but pretty looking girl with long hair who has spent the better part of her life organizing her Rock Star Husband and spending sleepless nights while he is on the road (ala that Journey song I can’t remember) hoping he doesn’t get drunk and lonely in a hotel in the middle of Ohio, and succomb to the pressures of groupie-dom. At the same time, I still was young enough to believe that it would be really fantastic to date a rock star. Who doesn’t want a song written about them? I blame that silly belief being planted in my head by Sassy magazine that always featured some sensitive rocker boy on its cover, posing him as a feasible boyfriend alternative. I, like millions of others of my generation, bought it hook, line and sinker. They were artistic, and sensitive and soooo cute with that guitar on stage. Who doesn’t want the boy everyone is looking at?
Fast Forward to 2004: No one I know dates a rock star. I know there have been many musicians to pass through the hallowed halls of our early 20s, but from what I know, no one I know has a sustainable relationship with one.
And, before I get a deluge of emails about musician boyfriends I have overlooked—I am talking about the typical “rock star,” think someone who has “a crib” --not the perfectly sane and nice guys I know who play in bands. Indie Rock does not count on this front. Unless you are dating Beck or something, and I don’t think I know you if you are.
Okay, back to waxing poetic—where is Evan Dando? I know he was from Boston, so maybe he’s still wandering around there getting stoned. I seem to remember a friend of mine getting hit on by him in Harvard Square and he (gasp!) asked her to share a joint with him in an alleyway. That, my friends, was about as good as it got with the Gen-X rockers. Come to think of it, I think
Okay, so I’m probably somewhere, deep inside, jealous of the rock stars and their lives on the road. I mean, who doesn’t want thousands/millions of adoring fans? Before I go off on a long tangent about how the most powerful stage presences of late seem to be women (let’s exclude Prince, any and all hip-hop/rappers, Mick Jagger, etc.). I am talking ROCK STAR quality. And, I do not accept Jack White as an answer—mostly, because I don’t like to look at him for too long. The way I see it, true rock stars can make you overlook their weird looks—let’s be honest--with the exception of a precious few, most of them aren’t much to look at. I will make a cursory list:
Radiohead—Great stage presence, but Thom Yorke?
Coldplay—Chris Martin is too nice
White Stripes—nope. And the red pants thing is soooo 2001.
Hives—maybe. But they are too wannabe Rolling Stones.
You get the picture.
I want my gossip! - 2005-08-17
Goodbye, BGT! - 2005-08-08
hell hath no fury like a awriting workshop - 2005-08-01
My Love Don't Cost a Thing - 2005-07-14
Kiss My Grits! - 2005-07-06
