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The musician pushes back a sleeve and points to a series of faint marks running down his arm, subtle traces from decades of heroin abuse. “It takes so much time to develop decent injection scars,” he says. “You do it for years and you think: I can’t stop yet. Perhaps my skin is particularly tough, but you can barely notice it today. What was it all for, eh?” He smiles and emits a raspy chuckle. “Just kidding!”

Dando, former indie pin-up and leading light of 1990s alternative group the Lemonheads, appears in decent shape for a person who has used numerous substances going from the age of his teens. The songwriter responsible for such acclaimed tracks as It’s a Shame About Ray, he is also recognized as the music industry's famous casualty, a celebrity who apparently achieved success and threw it away. He is warm, goofily charismatic and completely unfiltered. Our interview takes place at lunchtime at a publishing company in Clerkenwell, where he wonders if it's better to relocate the conversation to the pub. In the end, he sends out for two pints of apple drink, which he then neglects to drink. Frequently drifting off topic, he is likely to veer into random digressions. No wonder he has stopped using a smartphone: “I can’t deal with online content, man. My mind is extremely all over the place. I desire to absorb everything at the same time.”

He and his wife Antonia Teixeira, whom he married last year, have traveled from São Paulo, Brazil, where they reside and where Dando now has three adult stepchildren. “I’m trying to be the foundation of this new family. I avoided domestic life often in my existence, but I'm prepared to make an effort. I'm managing quite well so far.” Now 58, he states he is clean, though this turns out to be a flexible definition: “I’ll take LSD occasionally, maybe psychedelics and I’ll smoke pot.”

Clean to him means avoiding heroin, which he hasn’t touched in almost a few years. He decided it was time to quit after a catastrophic performance at Hollywood Forever Cemetery in 2021 where he could scarcely play a note. “I realized: ‘This is not good. The legacy will not tolerate this kind of conduct.’” He credits his wife for assisting him to stop, though he has no regrets about his drug use. “I think some people were supposed to take drugs and I was among them was me.”

A benefit of his relative sobriety is that it has made him productive. “During addiction to smack, you’re like: ‘Oh fuck that, and this, and that,’” he says. But now he is preparing to launch Love Chant, his debut record of new Lemonheads music in almost two decades, which contains glimpses of the lyricism and melodic smarts that propelled them to the indie big league. “I haven't truly known about this sort of hiatus between albums,” he comments. “This is some lengthy sleep situation. I maintain integrity about my releases. I didn't feel prepared to create fresh work before the time was right, and at present I'm prepared.”

The artist is also publishing his first memoir, named Rumours of My Demise; the title is a nod to the rumors that intermittently spread in the 90s about his early passing. It’s a wry, intense, occasionally eye-watering account of his adventures as a performer and addict. “I wrote the initial sections. It's my story,” he says. For the rest, he collaborated with ghostwriter Jim Ruland, whom one can assume had his work cut out considering Dando’s haphazard way of speaking. The composition, he says, was “challenging, but I felt excited to secure a reputable company. And it gets me out there as someone who has authored a memoir, and that’s all I wanted to accomplish since I was a kid. At school I was obsessed with James Joyce and Flaubert.”

He – the youngest child of an lawyer and a ex- fashion model – speaks warmly about his education, perhaps because it symbolizes a time before existence got complicated by drugs and fame. He went to Boston’s prestigious private academy, a liberal establishment that, he says now, “was the best. There were few restrictions aside from no skating in the corridors. Essentially, don’t be an jerk.” It was there, in religious studies, that he met Ben Deily and Jesse Peretz and started a group in 1986. The Lemonheads began life as a rock group, in awe to Dead Kennedys and punk icons; they signed to the local record company their first contract, with whom they released multiple records. Once Deily and Peretz left, the Lemonheads largely turned into a solo project, Dando recruiting and dismissing musicians at his discretion.

During the 90s, the group signed to a large company, Atlantic, and reduced the noise in favour of a increasingly languid and accessible folk-inspired style. This was “since the band's Nevermind was released in 1991 and they perfected the sound”, Dando says. “If you listen to our initial albums – a track like Mad, which was recorded the following we graduated high school – you can hear we were trying to do what Nirvana did but my voice wasn't suitable. But I knew my singing could cut through softer arrangements.” This new sound, waggishly labeled by critics as “a hybrid genre”, would propel the act into the popularity. In 1992 they issued the LP their breakthrough record, an flawless showcase for Dando’s writing and his melancholic vocal style. The name was derived from a news story in which a priest lamented a young man called the subject who had gone off the rails.

The subject was not the sole case. At that stage, Dando was using hard drugs and had developed a liking for cocaine, as well. With money, he enthusiastically embraced the celebrity lifestyle, becoming friends with Johnny Depp, filming a video with actresses and seeing supermodels and film personalities. A publication declared him one of the 50 sexiest people living. He cheerfully rebuffs the notion that his song, in which he voiced “I’m too much with myself, I desire to become a different person”, was a cry for assistance. He was enjoying too much enjoyment.

However, the drug use became excessive. His memoir, he provides a blow-by-blow description of the significant Glastonbury incident in the mid-90s when he failed to turn up for the Lemonheads’ scheduled performance after acquaintances suggested he accompany them to their accommodation. When he finally showing up, he delivered an impromptu live performance to a hostile crowd who booed and threw objects. But that proved small beer next to the events in Australia soon after. The trip was meant as a respite from {drugs|substances