Evan Dando’s Sweet, Melancholy Masterpiece: The Story Behind “Come On Feel The Lemonheads”
The year was 1993. Woolworths in Blackwood, Wales.
The store felt like a crossroads of worlds—its aisles cluttered with everything from plastic toys to kitchenware, and, most importantly, a small but sacred section of CDs. It was here, flipping through those plastic cases under fluorescent lights, that I first saw Come On Feel The Lemonheads.
Woolworths in Blackwood, Wales. Photo by John Grayson, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons. Uprezed by RIOT.
The cover was hypnotic—a mosaic of faces, Evan Dando’s at the center with his long hair and distant gaze, flanked by the other two band members. Together, their expressions told a story of laid-back cool mixed with a quiet intensity. There was an enigma in the design, a kind of fragmented honesty that hinted at lives lived in pieces. I didn’t know who they were or what they sounded like, but that didn’t matter. The image had already hooked me, pulling me into a story I didn’t yet know. I handed over the cash, slipped the CD into my bag, and walked out holding something that would quietly, profoundly shape my world.
Album cover for Come On Feel The Lemonheads by The Lemonheads. Image sourced from Wikipedia.
Over the next few years, Come On Feel The Lemonheads became the unofficial soundtrack of my teenage life. It was there in the background during stolen moments of joy and heartbreak, late-night drives through narrow Welsh lanes, and those hazy afternoons that stretched on forever. The jangly guitars and Dando’s effortless voice were an understanding. A reminder that feeling fragile and lost was part of growing up. Every song felt like a scene from a movie I didn’t even realize I was living, its melodies carving memories into my teenage soul.
Fast forward to 2017. Los Angeles. My ’91 Corvette hummed through sunlit streets, the roof down, and The Lemonheads poured through the speakers like a long-lost friend. My lady sat beside me as I explained how this was my favorite Californian band. We laughed about it later when we discovered the truth together—they weren’t Californian at all. They were Boston through and through, much like her. It made them hers as much as mine, and somehow, it only deepened my love for the band.
But The Lemonheads defy geography. Their music doesn’t belong to a single place—it belongs to wherever life feels most vivid. For me, it’s been the sound of Blackwood, LA, and every moment I’ve lived in between. Come On Feel The Lemonheads is a memory I keep revisiting, a safe space I never want to leave.
A Fresh Sound in a Heavy Moment
The early ‘90s had just ignited. Grunge had just started its reign, its raw, distorted guitars and defiant lyrics ripping open a space for something heavier, something visceral. The world needed it. Those sounds—Nirvana’s defiant roar, Pearl Jam’s aching howls, Soundgarden’s crushing walls of noise—felt like a lifeline to a generation searching for meaning in chaos. And yet, in the middle of that storm, The Lemonheads appeared, carrying something entirely their own.
Custom Lemonheads artwork created by MUG5.
Come On Feel The Lemonheads didn’t fight grunge—it stood beside it, offering a different kind of catharsis. The album was bright and jangly, bittersweet and immediate. Evan Dando’s voice wasn’t a scream—it was a sigh, a grin, a shrug. Somehow, it worked in the same moment that needed all of it. Heavy and light. Loud and quiet.
When “Into Your Arms” hit the airwaves, it bloomed. Its gentle chords and intimate lyrics earned attention. Tracks like “Great Big No” carried an easy energy, while “Big Gay Heart” dug deep into unspoken truths and longing. The Lemonheads proved that vulnerability didn’t have to be shouted to be heard—it could be sung, strummed, and felt.
This was surrender. It was a soundtrack for those moments where life felt both heavy and hopeful. It was proof that in the chaos of rebellion and angst there is room for both noise and open melody.
Evan Dando: The Beautiful Mess at the Center
It’s impossible to talk about Come On Feel The Lemonheads without talking about Evan Dando. At the heart of the band was a man who could capture a moment with a guitar, a lyric, and a voice that felt like it belonged to a close friend you hadn’t seen in years.
Dando was a frontman and a paradox. Equal parts golden boy and brooding artist, he seemed to embody the effortless cool of the ‘90s while carrying a fragility that gave his music depth. His lyrics weren’t grandiose or overwrought—they were snapshots, fragments of feelings that felt unpolished and real. Dando could make you laugh with his wit, break your heart with his honesty, and leave you wondering if he was singing about you or himself.
On Come On Feel The Lemonheads, Dando’s range as a songwriter was on full display. “Being Around” was playful, almost goofy in its simplicity, but somehow still heartfelt. And then there was “Big Gay Heart”, a track that carried a raw, aching beauty, balancing between confession and yearning.
“We wrote Big Gay Heart on a doily when we were on speed. It started as a joke, like a lot of good, serious songs.”
But Dando’s charisma was in his presence. He had the kind of star power that didn’t need to be shouted. His interviews were a mix of self-deprecation and charm, his live performances felt both relaxed and electric. He was the kind of artist who could make you feel like you were in on the joke. In many ways, Dando was the perfect face for an album like Come On Feel The Lemonheads. His contradictions mirrored the album’s own—light but weighty, simple yet profound. And in the middle of it all, he made you feel like you were right there with him, a passenger on his beautifully messy ride.
It’s About Time: The Juliana Hatfield Connection
Behind every great record lies the invisible magic of collaboration. On Come On Feel The Lemonheads, that magic came from Juliana Hatfield—but her connection to Evan Dando and the album goes far deeper than merely guest vocals.
Before her acclaimed solo career, Hatfield fronted the alt-rock trio Blake Babies, a cornerstone of the late ‘80s college radio scene. During a pivotal moment in the band’s history, Dando stepped in as a temporary bassist and backing vocalist on their 1989 Slow Learner EP. It was the beginning of a creative partnership that would shape both of their musical legacies.
The chemistry between Dando and Hatfield was undeniable. Their shared love of jangly guitars, emotionally direct lyrics, and bittersweet melodies created something special that extended beyond Blake Babies. Their earlier collaborations laid the foundation for Hatfield’s seamless integration into Come On Feel The Lemonheads, where her vocals became essential to the record’s emotional core.
“Evan had a pretty clear idea of the bass lines he wanted. But there was room for spontaneity, and that’s where the magic happened.”
Her voice intertwines with Dando’s like they were meant to be together. On tracks like “It’s About Time”, Hatfield’s crystalline harmonies softened Dando’s ragged edges, making the song both tender and defiant. Then there’s “Down About It”, a slow-burning anthem dripping with melancholy and introspection. Hatfield’s influence is etched into every winding note, turning vulnerability into power.
But her influence was more than sonic. Hatfield’s presence elevated the entire project, bringing an authenticity that made the record feel less like a calculated studio effort and more like a lived-in, deeply personal diary. It was this duality—the rough and the refined—that makes Come On Feel The Lemonheads timeless.
Looking back, the title “It’s About Time” feels almost prophetic. Timing, chemistry, and a shared creative spirit brought Dando and Hatfield together at just the right moment. Together, they captured lightning in a bottle.
The Making of a Masterpiece
The creation of Come On Feel The Lemonheads was a moment suspended in time. Recorded in 1993, at the height of the alt-rock boom, the sessions brought together an ever-shifting lineup of collaborators, anchored by Evan Dando’s singular vision. His knack for blending tender balladry with driving rock riffs defined the record, making it a snapshot of longing, freedom, and chaos.
The album came together in studios across the U.S., including Boston, where The Lemonheads’ roots still held strong. Dando worked with longtime producer Robb Brothers, crafting songs that felt lived-in yet immediate. The process was famously loose, with tracks coming together in bursts of inspiration fueled by late-night writing sessions and spontaneous studio jams.
One of the most iconic tracks, “Into Your Arms”, wasn’t even written by Dando. Originally by Aussie band Love Positions, Dando’s stripped-down, heart-on-sleeve rendition turned the song into an alt-rock classic. His vocals, raw and intimate, gave the track an authenticity that hit like a love letter whispered from a car window on a summer night.
“Come On Feel The Lemonheads is shaping up to be a big, bold, assured record, and one that sees me coming more and more to terms with the mantle of Significant Singer-Songwriter.”
Then there’s “Big Gay Heart”, a track that walks the razor-thin line between confession and catharsis. It’s one of Dando’s most emotionally charged performances, carrying a restless ache beneath its laid-back, strummed guitar lines. It’s a song that feels like remembering something beautiful and painful all at once.
The recording process wasn’t without its chaotic moments. Dando’s reputation for unpredictability followed him into the studio, where long stretches of creative brilliance would collide with exhaustion and distraction. But somehow, that same unpredictability became the secret ingredient that made Come On Feel The Lemonheads resonate. It wasn’t polished or overproduced—it was alive, flawed, and utterly human.
“Style” and “Rick James Style”: A Happy Accident
Among the surprises on Come On Feel The Lemonheads, few are as unexpected—or iconic—as the existence of two versions of “Style”. There’s the original—a punchy, alt-rock jam—and then there’s “Rick James Style”, a funk-inspired rework featuring the legendary Rick James himself on backing vocals.
The story goes that after recording the original take of “Style”, the band kept riffing, loosening the structure and letting the song stretch into something completely different. As they layered in funk-inspired grooves, someone jokingly labeled the session tape “Rick James Style”—a perfect nod to the song’s new, swaggering personality.
“We were just messing around in the studio, and it turned into this funky jam. Someone joked, ‘This is our Rick James style,’ and the name stuck.”
The session’s freewheeling energy caught fire when Rick James himself laid down soulful backing vocals, adding an unmistakable swagger to the track. It was an unlikely collaboration that somehow worked perfectly, merging alternative rock’s raw edge with funk’s signature groove.
Then there’s the moment that sealed the track’s place in Lemonheads lore: as the music fades, Evan Dando mutters “I don’t know.” Was it a throwaway line? A shrug at the song’s unpredictable journey from alt-rock punch to funk-driven jam? Maybe it was both—a perfectly unplanned sign-off that captured the spirit of “Come On Feel The Lemonheads”: loose, spontaneous, and utterly unforgettable.
In the end, “Rick James Style” feels like a document of creative freedom. It wasn’t meant to happen, and that’s exactly why it works. It’s proof that sometimes the best moments come when you stop chasing perfection and let the unexpected lead the way.
Legacy & Lasting Impact
Three decades after its release, Come On Feel The Lemonheads remains a cornerstone of alternative rock—a record that defined its moment while transcending time. Its blend of vulnerability, humor, and unvarnished emotion still resonates with new listeners discovering it for the first time and longtime fans who’ve carried its melodies like cherished memories.
The album’s emotional honesty helped pave the way for countless indie and alt-rock acts that followed. You can hear its DNA in the confessional lyricism of Elliott Smith, the jangly guitars of Phoebe Bridgers, and the melodic ease of Mac DeMarco. Its ability to balance heartache with warmth made it a touchstone for anyone searching for sincerity in music.
Tracks like “Into Your Arms” have become mixtape staples, soundtracking late-night drives, indie film montages, and cover versions by artists who felt the song’s magnetic pull. The simplicity of its chords and the directness of its lyrics make it timeless—proof that the most personal songs can become universal.
“I was out of my mind for a while there… and then it got worse.”
But it’s the deep cuts that reveal the album’s true emotional core. Take “Favorite T”, a wistful track that feels like a conversation with a long-lost friend. Dando’s delivery is disarmingly intimate, turning a seemingly mundane memory into something profoundly human—a snapshot of love, nostalgia, and the things we can’t let go of.
Then there’s “You Can Take It With You”, where Juliana Hatfield introduces the song before Dando’s voice wraps around the song like a warm embrace. It’s a perfect blend of vulnerability and resilience—a reminder that even when life strips away everything else, the memories and emotions we carry are ours forever. The chemistry is deeply felt.
The album’s staying power goes beyond nostalgia—it’s emotionally resonant. In an era when authenticity is lacking, Come On Feel The Lemonheads is unguarded and real. Its imperfections are its strength. It’s a reminder that music can be messy, unscripted, and deeply human.
Today, Come On Feel The Lemonheads is a soundtrack for anyone navigating life’s chaos, searching for connection, or finding comfort in beautifully imperfect art. It’s an album you will live and love forever.
Critical Reception & Cultural Legacy
Upon its release in 1993, Come On Feel The Lemonheads faced a divided critical reception. Some praised its blend of pop hooks and alt-rock grit, while others struggled to categorize it in a grunge-dominated world. Was it too soft? Too quirky? Too honest? The Lemonheads never fit neatly into a genre, and that refusal to conform is exactly what gave the album its lasting impact.
Though chart success came through radio-friendly hits, the album’s true influence simmered beneath the surface. It became a cult classic, living in the hearts of music lovers who found something real between its jangly chords and tender confessions. Rolling Stone would later credit Evan Dando as “alt-rock’s reluctant golden boy,” recognizing the album’s enduring legacy in redefining vulnerability in rock music.
What makes Come On Feel The Lemonheads timeless is its humanity. The songs aren’t airtight or overproduced; they’re alive, unpredictable, and honest. This openness, this embrace of flaws, is where its magic lies. It’s music that meets you wherever you are and stays with you long after the last note fades.
At RIOT, this spirit resonates deeply. Creativity isn’t about polish or predictability—it’s about capturing something real, raw, and unforgettable. Like Dando’s unguarded “I don’t know” on “Rick James Style”, the most iconic creative moments happen when we let go of perfection and trust the process. The same ethos that makes Come On Feel The Lemonheads timeless drives RIOT’s creative mission: embracing the unexpected, championing authenticity, and making work that connects on a human level.
Just like the album that first pulled me in from a CD rack in a small Welsh town, great art finds you when you least expect it—and if you’re lucky, it stays with you forever.
