Wendy Eisenberg contains multitudes. You would be hard pressed to find formal commonalities between the deconstructed bedroom folk of Time Machine (2017), the tender improvisations of Auto (2020), or the banjo freakouts of Bent Ring (2021). Sure, there is that same brightness of the vocals; the felicitousness of the cadences; the centrality of the strings. Yet all of this seems to serve new functions every time, and every time to impose a turn in their way of composing that was previously impossible to predict as a listener . . .
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