Tagged: the Clouds

The Clouds/Falling Joys, The Triffid 5 February 2018

Back at the beginning of the 1990s, two mixed-gender Australian bands looked set to have long and successful careers ahead of them. Falling Joys and the Clouds shared many things: most often stages, including at festivals, but also management and female singer-songwriters – two, in Clouds’ case – with unique voices and visions. Both peaked early with classic debut albums, but were unable to sustain their momentum.

Now both are back, on a joint tour (delayed halfway through by a bout of food poisoning suffered by the Clouds’ Tricia Young) that’s all but sold out. There’s clear affection for both bands – the Triffid is full when Falling Joys take the stage just before 8.30pm – but there’s also some cobwebs to be shaken off: the power-pop gem Shelter lurches to a premature conclusion, and Puppy Drink has a false start before the band realises they’re in the wrong key.

Not that anyone minds too much. The crowd – mostly peers of the band, though a few parents have brought their teenage offspring along – is just happy to have them back. As we should be: Suzie Higgie’s songs still exude warmth and depth, and while the songs from 1990’s Wish List still shine brightest (Shot In Europe; Jennifer), the selections from the following albums Psychohum and Aerial underline how much her voice has been missed.

But none so much as their beloved single Lock It, which elicits a cheer that brings a clearly moved Higgie to a momentary pause. It’s a timeless, life-affirming song that captures the vulnerability of love’s first consummation with big open chords in the chorus and lyrics that act as a sort of female complement, or counterpoint, to Hunters & Collectors’ Throw Your Arms Around Me. Like that song, it wasn’t a hit, but it feels like a standard now.

The Clouds are less reliant on nostalgia. There’s a new single, Beautiful Nothingness, following a EP from last year, Zaffre. And from the moment they hit the stage, they’re tight, precise and muscular: the combined voices and harmonies of Jodi Phillis and Young have lost nothing, Dave Easton is one of Australia’s more unassuming guitar heroes (though Phillis has more than a few tricks up her sleeve, too) and Raph Whittingham is a powerhouse on drums.

When they first appeared, the Clouds occasionally suffered from unflattering and unfair comparisons to the Pixies. There were superficial similarities, but with Phillis and Young out front, the literary and psychological bent of Phillis’ lyrics especially, and the unusual, shifting time signatures of their songs, the band had more in common with that band’s Boston contemporaries Throwing Muses, and with Australia’s Go-Betweens.

It would be easy for them to rely on songs from Penny Century, released in October 1991, but we only get a few tracks from that album: Wednesday Night, Foxes Wedding and the closing Hieronymus. The rest of the set spans the remainder of their underrated later career, opening with the rapid-fire smash and grab of Here Now, from their overlooked 1996 album Futura.

“This song isn’t about dicks,” Young says by way of introduction to Bower Of Bliss, which is actually about, well, the exact opposite: where Lock It is all sweetness, Phillis challenges a lover to “come and slip downstream to the root of your fears”. On one hand, it’s a surprise the song achieved moderate Triple J airplay, on the other it’s a shame its magnificent glam-rock strut wasn’t a huge hit, and it’s the highlight of the set.

The Hummingbirds’ Simon Holmes, 1962-2017

The tragic news that Simon Holmes, founding singer and guitarist of Sydney band the Hummingbirds, passed away a week ago broke on Wednesday night, via the band’s Facebook page and a beautiful tribute by his friend, writer and fellow musician Tim Byron. Byron recalled that one of Holmes’ favourite sayings was “hurry up and wait”, a line Byron said he took from Brian Eno, but also was a key lyric in the chorus of Blondie’s hit Sunday Girl.

“Hurry up and wait” is a military phrase, meaning that a soldier has to hurry to arrive at a given destination only to then wait around for hours or days for something to happen. A lot of rock & roll is like that. An Australian band on tour in the 1980s could drive all day, flat out, to get to a venue in time for soundcheck before waiting the rest of the night to play.

The Hummingbirds’ career was true to their name and their sound; like a blur. They were here and they were gone, leaving just two albums and a clutch of glorious singles behind. They were flushed with early success, and in the years since spent a lot of time waiting to be rediscovered: a rare reformation show at Newtown Social Club a year ago with their contemporaries the Falling Joys quickly sold out.

The Hummingbirds were on the cusp of the so-called alternative music explosion, but Australian rock historian Ian McFarlane quotes the band’s stated aim was to be “the ultimate pop band”. From their first single Alimony, released by independent label Phantom in July 1987, they got pretty close. The Hummingbirds loved nothing more than harmony on top of melody on top of guitars.

They could be slightly ramshackle live, but the songs were great, even if early on they sometimes struggled to get from one end of them to the other. Still, they were a breath of fresh air, not least due to the presence of guitarist Alannah Russack and bass player Robyn St Clare, Holmes’ former partner and mother to his son Milo. The mixed-gender group stood out in a suffocatingly macho rock scene.

Their first album LoveBUZZ, released in late 1989, was named after a Nirvana single originally recorded by Shocking Blue (who were better known for their song Venus, which itself is better known for Bananarama’s version). Recorded by Mitch Easter, famous for his work with R.E.M., the album crossed over from the alternative charts to the mainstream thanks to the single Blush, which peaked at No. 19.

That might not sound like much now. But in Australia at the time it was a harbinger of what was to come, paving the way for Ratcat and, later, the Clouds and Falling Joys, all of them before Nirvana’s Nevermind rewrote the radio playbook for the rest of the 1990s. The Hummingbirds were hurried up into recording a follow-up album, va va voom, which bombed. A couple of EPs later, they broke up.

Before that, they supported INXS on a run of stadium gigs and toured Europe and North America, which in themselves added up to a lifetime’s worth of stories. Holmes wasn’t a music snob: Byron recounts his love of Yes, whose albums (along with the Beatles and Led Zeppelin’s) he once ruined by trailing them behind him on a bicycle after hearing the Sex Pistols, only to live to regret it later.

Holmes remained involved in music throughout his life, via production work with other 1990s acts including the Fauves and Custard, working at Sydney record store Half a Cow, playing in many other part-time bands, and via a weekly radio show on Sydney station 2SER, which he co-presented with son Milo.

Holmes was just 55 when he died, and there are simply no words for that. He is survived by his partner Justine and their daughter Maisie, as well as Robyn and Milo, and won’t be forgotten by anyone who loved, lived and breathed music as he played it.

First published in The Guardian, 21 July 2017