Pillow Queens
NCH, Dublin
★★★☆☆
The lights rise in a wash of pink and blue, the colours of the bisexual flag, and the crowd cheers as Pillow Queens step on to the stage of the National Concert Hall. Five years after In Waiting, the album that made them one of Ireland’s most vital indie bands, they are here to play it in full. It is an anniversary show, a celebration, and an intriguing experiment: what happens when songs born in small, sweaty rooms are reimagined for the grandeur of a concert hall?
The stage banter is warm and genuine. “Thank you for feeling it and for making it happen,” says Pamela Connolly, beaming. When they begin Holy Show, a reverent hush settles over the hall. “I’m still a baby if you’re still waiting outside,” she sings, her voice rising with that familiar mix of grit and tenderness. The harmonies bloom around her, full and resonant, the hall’s acoustics giving new weight and clarity to the song’s rough-edged beauty.
Guest performers appear occasionally, including Bridie Monds-Watson of Soak, adding texture and subtle variation to the arrangements. But for the most part, the band deliver a faithful run-through of the album. They play it straight, and it is easy to remember why In Waiting became such a touchstone: ragged, soaring melodies and layered, evocative lyrics. This is music rooted in Dublin, both critical of and devoted to the city that shaped it. A Dog’s Life still bristles with frustration at the housing crisis, while Liffey remains dark, sensual, and romantic, an ode to the self-annihilation of loving a city too much. “Spread me over the Liffey and sing me off to sleep / I wanna take you with me to wash and dry your feet.”
Their stunning rendition of Donaghmede closes the album set. A few newer songs follow, including the incandescent love song Be By Your Side from Leave the Light On, but tonight belongs to the debut.
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Pillow Queens make songs that catch fire when a crowd shouts them back. Their music surges and crashes with raw emotion, white-hot teenage intensity, a spirit of anarchy and true romance. The songs are performed brilliantly. And yet, I can’t help wishing we were somewhere grubbier. The crowd here is too well behaved. In Waiting belongs to half-lit bars, beer-sticky floors, and the roar of a crowd that knows every word. They were made for spaces where they can be felt and sung back by the people who first discovered themselves inside them. Here, in the ordered perfection of the National Concert Hall, it feels a little too stately, too serious. The band play beautifully, but the messy, communal ache at the heart of the music is missing.
