The last time the Bay area saw a performance by former original-music scene champions Helium Bomb was about five years ago. Out on tour from their new home base of Chicago and featuring a new bass player named Dave Koots in a goofy Jamiroquai hat, the Bomb packed the State Theatre with old friends, old fans and new scenesters for a triumphant hometown show. Former bassist and founding member Bill Umberto joined his mates onstage for a joyous rendition of set staple "Weedon," providing symbolic closure for the quartet's Florida days while approving the dawn of the new years ahead. The Chicago years.
Huzzah! The sky's the limit!
Then, back in Chicago, they broke up.
"We all had jobs in different parts of the city, and we all sort of found ourselves getting into these different circles," says drummer Bryce Johnson. "We were brothers, but we started living separate lives."
Vocalist/trumpeter Todd Tedder believes the root of Helium Bomb's breakdown lies a little closer to home, both figuratively and literally:
"The biggest frustration was that we could not fill Bill (Umberto's) spot," he says. "We found bass players that were good, we found bass players who could play, but when it came to the heart and soul, the brotherhood that we were used to … it just wasn't there."
Formed in 1993, Helium Bomb rode the crest of our scene's last heyday for more than three years on the strength of originality, galvanizing live sets and an undeniable chemistry. The songs were good — crashing, hypnotic, mildly psychotic and utterly unclassifiable passages that incorporated everything from world beats to a patented anthemic tidal surge.
But the shows were better, driven equally by Tedder's mesmerizing, volatile presence, Johnson's inventive bombast, Umberto's anchoring throb and guitarist Dan LaJoy's penchant for iconoclastic riffage. They did more than get up and rock out, they created an atmosphere, a compelling vibe whose dependency on the band members' unique interplay was obvious.
A raw, hastily tracked full-length disc was released in 1995. A year later, the decision was made to set up shop in a bigger market, one to which constant touring was a bit more conducive. Umberto, who had recently purchased a business doing high-end furniture installations (where several Pinellas musicians have found work over the years, incidentally), was unable to relocate. The split was amicable, but many who saw Helium Bomb's tribal dynamic as the cornerstone of their sound were shocked.
"There was no animosity at all. I couldn't be mad at these guys," says Umberto, who, at the time, was certain that he and the Bomb were done for good. "I never imagined, when the guys left, that I would see them any more than when they came back on vacation."
Without their former solidarity, Johnson, LaJoy and Tedder found themselves drifting apart after a couple of years. LaJoy, who had a wife in Dunedin and had moved solely for the band, decided to return home in the face of shifting priorities and the inability to find that key fourth member.
"That was the hardest thing I ever did," he says. "But in the end … that's why we got back together, because I did leave."
Johnson remained in Chicago; Tedder drifted west to Colorado for a while. But none of them got Helium Bomb out of their systems. In the equivalent of a post-relationship late-night hookup ("all right, but this is, seriously, the last time"), Umberto and LaJoy used their 2000 vacation time for a Windy City reunion show. Naturally, Johnson eventually called Tedder, who was getting ready to relocate to Portland, Ore., with his fiancee, and voiced the idea of doing another record.
"I said, "Well, I can't. I've got these plans.' And I hung up the phone, and I think it was five minutes later, I called him back and said "OK, I'm in,'" Tedder says.
Johnson immediately returned to St. Pete. Always an enthusiastic scene supporter, he briefly managed Ybor City's Orpheum before opening his own bar, the Corey Hideaway, on St. Pete Beach. Though the Hideaway's tenure was short-lived, it hosted original live music of all stripes every Friday and Saturday night of its existence. Tedder made his way south last fall, and the Bomb has been writing ever since.
Discussions (read: near-fights) ensued about all the usual "next phase" stuff. The one about playing old material eventually reached a compromise: They're not shelving it completely, but they're not trotting it out anytime soon.
"I thought we needed to do old material, but when we started working on new stuff, I was easily won over," LaJoy says.
"In playing these old songs just during practice, I don't feel it at the same level as I do the new stuff," adds Tedder. "I can't put myself in that state of mind I was in when we were writing and performing it."
The name issue was a bit touchier ("That one was almost a throw-down," half-jokes Umberto); certain parties were adamant about a new one. With the same lineup and no real image to change beyond the music itself, however, the four friends agreed to disagree and simply let the notion die on the vine.
"I just didn't want to be "formerly Helium Bomb' forever," says LaJoy succinctly.
The quartet's new tuneage seems less scattered, and a bit less pummeling, than the pre-breakup songs. It's still adept at sending trance-inducing slow burns off of a cliff to see if they can fly but manages to feel more cohesive without losing its urgent spontaneity.
"We're not really settling so much for what comes easy," says Umberto. "We're really trying to push ourselves more to make things a little more musical, as opposed to playing a simpler part."
As always, they sound like no one else. They're not too worried about settling back into one of the Bay's many original-music cliques — they're more interested in carving their own niche, and for Helium Bomb, alliances have always been more about similar attitudes than similar sounds, anyway. For the time being, it's enough to enjoy coming together again to create.
"I'm just thrilled to be writing again with these guys. I want the music to always be special, so I don't think we'll be playing out as much and I'm not disappointed in that," Tedder says. "I think that the music we're making is important, it has important emotions to share, and I just want as many people as possible to hear that."
"I don't think any one of us can deny the fact that as players, as musicians, we get by all right," adds Umberto. "But the truth of the matter is, in terms of this band's context, the sum is greater than its parts."
Music critic Scott Harrell can be reached at 813-248-8888, ext. 109, or e-mail him at scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Sep 4-10, 2002.