Floodlights Bring Visceral Emotion to New Freshwater Venue

“Apparently someone was going to get married to this song.”

Floodlights frontman Louis Parsons made this statement matter-of-factly while tuning his guitar between songs at Bombies last Friday, November 28. Without a pause – the significance of these words hanging in the air – the Melbourne band then eased into a powerful rendition of 2023’s Things You Do.

During this song, a couple before me were brought to tears. Turning to each other, they embraced. And until the final note – tears streaking their cheeks – they did not look away from the other’s eyes.

This love, for both a person and for music, perfectly summarises the effect Floodlights had on the audience that night.

It was the second-last stop of the beloved band’s regional Australian tour, though as they admitted, Freshwater is hardly regional.

From the Sydney CBD it took forty minutes via public transport to reach Bombies, the brand-new venue on the second floor of the locally loved Harbord Hotel. Yet, with a balcony view of quiet streets, a large open park, and picturesque Freshwater beach on the horizon, it felt we were miles from Sydney.

Of course, this is something residents of the northern beaches regularly feel as they make the journey into the city. Forty minutes may not sound like much, but when living in a major capital, this is a significant distance to be forced to cover for any high-profile live music. To now have a local venue providing a solution to this problem is something to be celebrated.

Tonight, that celebration was in full swing. The sold-out room – only slightly larger than the small stage – was so full it felt there was a person tucked into every corner. You couldn’t move without rubbing shoulders with another grinning audience member. And as the brilliant Newcastle-based support act Horse concluded their set, this feeling of claustrophobia only grew. Fans pressed forward, eagerly finding a place where they could safely see the coming spectacle. And after thirty minutes, to roars of applause, Floodlights wove through the tides of shoulders and took the stage.

Drummer Archie Shannon clambered to the back, wedging himself behind his kit. Meanwhile the rest of the band, finding their places at keys, bass, guitars, and a box of glinting harmonicas, paused. A hush spread through the room and, calling her bandmates to arms, Sarah Hellyer’s mournful trumpet sounded through the space. Joined by broad chords, an ever-building kick, and Parsons’ distinct unapologetically Australian voice, Floodlights began to play.

To call the music that filled the room ‘euphoric’ would be taking away from the immense grief and anger bound to Parsons’ lyrics. Yet, as the band delivered songs from their ever-evolving catalogue, despite how anguished the frontman appeared, the end of each number would reliably leave the audience revelling in hope, love, and joy.

The euphoria came from the band’s ability to create and release tension ­– guitar refrains, trumpet calls, bass riffs, and steady drums reliably growing with energy throughout each track. At times the music resembled an animal about to be let free to the wild. With increasing urgency, it waited. Then – with crashing cymbals and a dramatic statement from Parsons – it would leap forward into a watershed chorus.

Here, the entire room would erupt with chorused lyrics. Strangers would embrace and arms would fly into the air. It was clear – by the grins and shouts of joy at the end of each song – that the opportunity to release such pent-up emotion was elating. And, like that couple crying to Things You Do, it was also clear that every person filling the room in some manner loved the person dancing beside them.

Because that person too loved Floodlights.