by Matty McPherson (@ghostplanetmatt)
There is no greater understatement in 2020 indie than, “Wendy Eisenberg is a musician that makes indie pop.” Yes, the lead single from Auto, “Futures,” featured the kind of diary introspection that would fit on Double Double Whammy, but it was caught at the intersection of Gastr del Sol type riff-fuckery and production quips. Their reputation as a fixture within overarching New England DIY from the punk-adjacent Birthing Hips to hip compositions for the guitar and banjo have enshrined them with a singular maverick quality that has been sorely missing in music this year. Auto makes good on all those pieces, coalescing them into a dense sonic universe that you could fill a book about its pieces (and Wendy did!)
Now that is not to say that Auto is a solo endeavor. It features huge contributions from upwards of three Nicks: one that plays bass, another that offers perfect percussion, and perhaps the most important, Zanca, whose production lends the album its most notable sonic touchstone, an airy, hushed sound that harkens to late-era Mark Hollis (just listen to the intro of “The Moon” for a good sense). This is a communal affair and every bit works to spotlight Eisenberg and their impeccable compositions.
On tracks like “Centreville” and “Futures,” every element is akin to a rollercoaster. Moments build-up with sudden yet precise jitters and turns that can tumble and twist on a dime, like the best moments of Louisville twang that indie rock seems to have dissociated from. Yet do not take these to be mere rickety affairs. A deep listen of their guitar reveals the kind of skill that would require years of practice just to even FC in Guitar Hero. Meanwhile, incredible lounge efforts like “AOB” and “Urge” are less rollercoaster and more atmospheric spaces of modernity, like a blackened highway of a film noir. Making up a bulk of the album, they contemplate and spotlight hints of an auto-narrative, as the press release implies and a Tone Glow interview further explores.
Lyrically, that auto-narrative too has those touches of a noir protagonist. “Can the part of me that scorched the earth feel satisfied?” from “Happier” is the kind of half-muttered quip expected of the detective waiting. In many of these tracks, Eisenberg is that detective, always delivered in scansion, waiting for a shoe to drop, while going through a modus operandi of their perceptions of what led them to this moment. Even “Genre Fiction” practically offers a meta-commentary on their woes and grievances in the current archetype they find themselves held in. All the while, Zanca’s production adds little abstract electronic flourishes that parallel Eisenberg’s state, which in a song like “The Star,” can shift fast and loose or in “AOB” take on the scope of a foggy city night.
While written and composed before the stealth release of the equally reflexive (and twice as minimal!) Dehiscence, both share that desire to split and move from one chapter of their life to another. The past is the past, and when you atone for it, Auto reveals a deep-seeded healing quality inside of it. Perhaps it is one that comes from time spent in purposeful solitude. At least it explains why the album ends with the slow, self-assured closer “Hurt People.” With just their guitar, Eisenberg assures us “When I win, I win a lot. When I lose, I lose alone. But now I don’t hurt people quite as much.” They have stated they have no clue what they’ll write next, but whatever comes of it, it can only be further assured as they drive gazing into the future.