Pillow Queens
Name Your Sorrow
ROYAL MOUNTAIN
On their third album Name Your Sorrow, Pillow Queens are painfully aware of our bodies’ emotional responsibility. “Let’s just see how long I can do it / Just a kiss here / And a bruise there / I’m a cool girl,” Pamela Connolly sings softly on opener “February 8” as she attempts to ignore the weight of each action that gets absorbed into her being. When the chorus comes, it’s all taken a toll: “Tell me how I’m gonna dissolve this body quicker.” Her voice is tired, teetering between resolve and hopelessness. Rachel Lyons’ drums sound as if they’re going to battle, marching alongside halogen guitar buzzing. It’s an indicator that Name Your Sorrow bears pain differently than the previous releases from the Dublin-based quartet. Their sound is darker, thornier, and bolder here as their songs outline their own shadows.
Name Your Sorrow is embedded in tragedy. There are nods to Greek mythology throughout; “So Kind” references the doomed love story of Orpheus and Eurydice, while “Like a Lesson” invokes the ill-fated romance of Hero and Leander. On “Love II” we’re confronted with an “encore of Sisyphus sighs.” Connolly stealthily weaves in these ancient tales to emphasize the delusional human desire to use every bodily fiber to make relationships work. Love becomes laborsome, which is felt in the drills of electric guitar, hammering bass, and Connolly’s sweat-soaked wails.
Moreover, this album captures the kinetic chaos that results from eros’ intangible enigmas, such as lust or an unresponsive partner. “Your silence burns us to the ground,” Connolly cries on “Blew Up the World” before the track becomes consumed by cathartic harmonies and an inflamed guitar solo. It’s one of the album’s more potent moments, a charged combination of slow-burning song structure and upfront, vulnerable lyricism about a dissolving relationship. It feels a bit premature in the album’s tracking—like a climactic moment that gets wasted before the album reaches a peak.
Even though Pillow Queens sometimes get lost in the shadows on Name Your Sorrow, it feels like their most realized project to date. The band finds their stride when they let the grittiness absorb their aches. At first it feels like heartache is the biggest anguish the Dublin-based quartet carry. But closer “Notes on Worth” clarifies it’s the newfound loneliness reminding them of the body’s new lone grief: “I can feel my body beating / Hated it all my life / I don’t want to go home alone this weekend.” Even though there’s still discomfort in our corporeal reality, Connolly has a healing revelation: “I’m worth the time,” she declares. It’s the album’s final sentiment, choosing oneself—grief and all—above all else.
