Pillow
Flowing Seasons

Pillow presents a sonic texture reminiscent of drones, be they guitar layers, accordions, or vocal overlays, recalling that Northern European scene that made the specialized press buzz a few years ago. It does so with the skill of an advertiser, fueling the creative furor of citations, suggestions, and subtle priming effects connected to the voice of Thom Yorke, to Mùm, and the fantastic whisperer in Sigur Ròs.
In doing so, Pillow, like Coca Cola and its subliminal inserts, knows that the well-disposed indie crowd will appreciate it and feel the need to quench their thirst even when exposed to musical fractions measurable in milliseconds. It also knows how to deal with people like me, those who drink non-alcoholic dark drinks daily while feeling the need to express the different experience inherent in every sip, dodging my (alleged) critical eye, and leaving me unconsciously with a smirk of approval immediately upon first listen.

Pillow is an experienced musician, one who knows his tastes well, those of the market segment he covers, as well as psychoacoustics. In his album, there isn't much experimentation, I believe his pieces are born with the idea of sounding this way from the start, and as long as he makes records like this, I can only applaud. Moderately, but with satisfaction.
Certainly lacking is the random stroke of genius, that "quid" that makes me consider Richard D. James' work a benchmark even after having listened to "Classics", but all in all perhaps it's better this way, especially in a genre whose task is neither to express romantic emotional visceralness nor cold analyticity.
Pillow speaks with everyday words, those of the trusted baker, the sanitation worker, and the best friend, words close to the norm of all those who, at least once in their lives, have wished one morning to stay in a warm bed, embraced by someone, watching yet another rerun of Family Ties on a local channel.