Hayley Williams: No More Music for the Masses

By Sarah Fournell

Flowers for Vases/descansos, released February 5th, reads as Hayley William’s personal diary, a collection of memories and mourning. It’s a raw, personal coming to terms with her reality. She moves away from the pop-punk-turned-synth-funk vibe of  her debut solo album, Petals for Armor, towards a modest and intimate singer-songwriter style. Whereas Petals for Armor was in part written and performed by her Paramore band members and collaborators, Flowers for Vases/descansos was her first time recording fully alone. Her sophomore album feels more intimate this way, just Williams and her music. 

The album is aptly named Flowers for Vases/descansos as an in memoriam to the person Williams used to be. The songs stand still, transfixed in time like flowers left at a gravesite, in remembrance of a love lost. The second name “descansos” is the Spanish name for memorial crosses placed at death sites. The album serves as a tribute to the grief that ensued after a divorce from her partner, Chad Gilbert of New Found Glory, as well as the growing feelings of isolation during the pandemic. She builds homes for her grief to live in while growing as a solo lyricist. The somber tones that embody the tracks help tie in the themes of loss and struggle. The subtle, acoustic nature of the album makes it feel deeply personal; the music is just Williams, her guitar, and her emotions. 

Opening with “First Thing to Go,” she sings about hindsight and the self-manipulation of memory. It serves as a bittersweet ode to nostalgia, asking “why do memories glow/ the way that real moments don’t?” She interweaves her voice with the solo strumming of an acoustic guitar, like gentle timid brushstrokes starting off the beginning of a mural. She moves from this soft lament to an upbeat track, “My Limb,” although still heavy hitting and somber. It is one of the few tracks on the album to feature more electronic sounding beats.

Throughout the album she refers to how isolation left her bereft and how difficult it is to keep moving forward. “Asystole” refers to the sound of a flatline, as Williams sings about not being able to let go, begging her lost love to “revive your love in me”.“Trigger” is about her past and the toxic relationships she had little control in. She reflects on the tribulations and red flags, singing that “the pain had a purpose.” 

“Over Those Hills” starts off simple, with a muted practice of the riff, reminding us that she performed this from home. It’s one of the more lively tracks on the album, in which she wonders how her partner is doing. Although she channels her feelings about the negative relationship throughout the album, there’s an overwhelming need to know how her former partner is doing. She revisits this idea again in “HYD,” asking “I wonder how... how you’re doing now?” She uses her voice as a vessel for her sadness, like a soft weep in conjunction with the sad strumming and lonely piano. 

In a quiet testimony to mourning and its physical effects, “Good Grief” speaks to the fact there is “no such thing as good grief.” Williams captures the consumption of loss, describing how it left her as just “just skeleton and melody,” which is how the album comes across visually.  The songs seem to fit into each other like vertebrates in the spine of a revenant but trembling mourner. Each track fills up the empty rib cage of a grief-sunken chest. 

The closing track on the album, “Just a Lover” telescopes the essence of the album as a whole. “No more music for the masses,” she sings; With this line, her intentions with this album are made clear. She is turning away from the idea of profit and success and producing music for the sake of feeling, of release. The song starts off quietly then builds into a crescendo of emotions. She breaks out of the quiet lamentations of a heartbroken lover and back into “one last chorus” where she flashes her original pop-punk sound. 

Williams’ sophomore album is a lyrically poignant collection of effortlessly realized emotions. She perfectly encapsulates the ubiquitous feeling of loneliness produced by isolation and hands it to us like a fistful of wilted flowers to fill our empty vases.