(...) Helium were a different story; their dark, melodic pop drew more interest from the crowd, including myself. Though they started out a little on the slow side (this was incredibly problematic, due to my aforementioned tiredness), they eventually kicked in and broke out into a few of their stronger numbers. The crowd, though attuned, still weren't really into it, however, which can be a real drag when you're stuck behind a hoard of immobile tall people; this response may also have had something to do with the fact that some freak puked across the middle of the floor. A real distracter. Helium played on and managed to put on an above decent show, and hearing Mary Timony (now blonde) made me remember how some girls just have beautiful voices. In fact, I had really gone to the show to check them out and found them to be far from disappointing.

-from tweekitten.com


   We planned to catch the latter two of three acts. I had forgotten that the reason I unexpectedly ran into Susan at a Helium show a few years ago was that their daughter's 2nd grade teacher was the mother of lead guitarist/singer Mary Timony. Mentioning that might sound like the kind of cliquish name dropping that annoys the piss out of me, but I was impressed by the different generations who turned out for these shows - something I would have missed on my own.

This was the third time I had the opportunity to see Helium. They had barely registered for me in the past. Two years ago, the few songs I tried paying attention to only made me more impatient for the band to follow them: Pavement. This summer at Lollapalooza, they played a sidestage; I listened a little longer, but was still not espcially moved. Helium had a video appear on Beavis and Butthead, and my response was similar to theirs at a nightgowned Mary Timony power chording as she straddled an escalator landing: I, like Beavis, did not really know what to think.

This time, a balcony view combined with a new Mary look to really puttheir ethereal power trio over for me.

She was decked out like Johnny Cash was a redhaired waif; and though it may have just been my deteriorating night vision projecting God knows what onto the nightclub tableau, the black belt that held black jeans upagainst black shirt looked like it was studded with ammo. Oh YEAH. This sure beat the waif in a nightgown look. The Waif In Black saddled up inher smoky voice and bursts of feedback and rode over the punk-popantiphony of noise and melody, ending the set with a version of T. Rex'"Children of the revolution". Even if her voice didn't quite carry the song's defiance home, the unadorned trio crunched a hell of a set closer.

-Pat Padua; taken from allmusic list-serv