After nearly two decades without a full album of original material, ‘Love Chant’ arrives as a quietly confident return from The Lemonheads, neither nostalgic exercise nor forced reinvention. Instead, it unfolds as a thoughtful reckoning with time, identity, and persistence, guided by Evan Dando’s unmistakable melodic instincts and sharpened by the presence of musicians who understand both the band’s legacy and its elasticity. This is a record that listens to itself as much as it sings, attentive to where it has been while remaining open to what still lies ahead.
The opening “58 Second Song” announces this intent with disarming brevity, its concision functioning less as a throwaway and more as a thesis statement: economy, humor, and emotional suggestion matter more than grand gestures. That sense of momentum carries into “Deep End,” where buoyant energy meets lyrical restlessness, driven by muscular guitar work that lends urgency without overwhelming Dando’s voice. There is a sense here of leaping forward without fully knowing where one might land, a recurring theme throughout the album.
“In The Margin” sharpens the focus, pairing brisk riffs with an almost defiant sense of emotional displacement. It feels intentionally unsettled, a song about existing just outside the frame, made potent by its refusal to overstate its case. “Wild Thing” pivots stylistically, loosening into a sun-bleached groove that flirts with country rock while retaining a distinctly Lemonheads sensibility. Its casual swagger masks a deeper tension between freedom and responsibility, a balance the band has always explored with deceptive lightness.
The album’s middle stretch deepens its emotional palette. “Be In” carries a restless undercurrent, its structure subtly shifting as if mirroring the lyric’s search for presence and belonging. “Cell Phone Blues” injects nervous humor and modern malaise, its jittery cadence capturing the fractured rhythms of contemporary communication without slipping into gimmickry. The song’s strength lies in how naturally it folds present-day anxiety into the band’s long-standing emotional vocabulary.
“Togetherness Is All I’m After” stands as one of the album’s most affecting moments, stripping things back to reveal a core longing that feels both earnest and hard-earned. The interplay of voices and guitars gives the song a communal warmth, reinforcing its message without sentimentality. “Marauders” follows with a more expansive feel, its layered arrangement suggesting both forward motion and the weight of accumulated experience, a reminder that survival itself can be an act of quiet defiance.
“Love Chant,” pulses with hypnotic insistence, less a declaration than a meditation. It feels ritualistic, built on repetition and mood, inviting the listener to sit with its ambiguities rather than resolve them. “The Key Of Victory” offers a moment of reflection, its gentler pace and melodic clarity conveying a sense of acceptance that feels earned rather than resigned. The album closes with “Roky,” a fittingly introspective farewell that leans into psychedelic hues and understated melancholy, leaving the record suspended rather than neatly concluded.
Much of the record’s resonance comes from its collaborative spirit. Guided by the steady hand of Brazilian multi-instrumentalist Apollo Nove, ‘Love Chant’ brings together a striking blend of long-time collaborators and unexpected voices. Familiar figures such as J Mascis, Juliana Hatfield, and Tom Morgan return, joined by producer Bryce Goggin, whose background lends a subtle textural depth. The circle widens further with contributions from Nashville songwriter Erin Rae, John Strohm of Blake Babies, and Nick Saloman of The Bevis Frond. Adding another twist, Adam Green of The Moldy Peaches lends his pen to “Wild Thing,” shaping the track’s relaxed country inflection into one of the album’s most playful departures.
The musicians involved bring texture and dimension without crowding the songs, enhancing Dando’s writing through restraint rather than excess. The guitars are expressive but purposeful, the harmonies supportive rather than ornamental, and the production favors warmth and clarity over polish. It all contributes to a sense of cohesion that feels lived-in rather than manufactured.
Ultimately, ‘Love Chant’ works because it refuses to chase either relevance or revisionism. It trusts the intelligence of its listeners and the durability of its own voice. Thought-provoking without being heavy-handed, melodic without being complacent, the album affirms that The Lemonheads remain most compelling when they allow vulnerability, wit, and craft to coexist. This is not a comeback record in the traditional sense; it is a continuation, and a quietly persuasive one at that.
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