Wendy Eisenberg's "Viewfinder"

Writing record reviews can be excruciating, but once in awhile, a piece of work comes along that's so engaging that I know I'm going to be spending a lot of time with it, and so I want to get out of the way as quickly as I can the part of my relationship with it where I have to listen analytically. Wendy Eisenberg's Viewfinder -- which arrived unexpectedly yesterday, although I wasn't expecting it until mid-September -- is one such recording.

The Brooklyn-based guitarist-singer-composer has been working on this "song cycle for improvisers" (originally titled Eye Music) for a couple of years, inspired by the Lasik surgery she underwent in 2021, facilitated by a 2022 commission and 2023 residency at Roulette Intermedium. Her concern here is "[that] strange, faintly colonial relationship between seeing something and thinking you understand it, believing that you own it, in a way, because you can see it."

To these feedback-scorched ears, after the first couple of spins, Viewfinder seems to be a step forward for Eisenberg on all fronts. It's the largest ensemble she's recorded with to date: a septet including another chordal instrument (Andrew Links' piano) and a two-horn front line; all the musicians except Eisenberg and the bassist (Carmen Q. Rothwell on the live-recorded "After Image," Tyrone Allen II everywhere else) play electronics as well as their primary instruments. I'll admit to having a particular affinity for trombones (hat tip to TSgt Shabazz from the bomb dump, Big Marcus Brunt, Patrick Crossland, and James Hall), but Zekereyya el-Magharbel is a particularly strong asset here, as is trumpeter Chris Williams. The wider sonic palette adds new depth and dimension to Eisenberg's songs.

Two of Eisenberg's musical signatures have been the vulnerability of her voice and the elegance of her guitar technique, even when playing noisy free improv at volume. On Viewfinder, Michael Coleman's recording (mixed by longtime Eisenberg collaborator Nick Zanca, mastered by Denton's own Andrew Weathers) captures the tactile immediacy of Eisenberg's sound in higher resolution than any of her other recordings to date. What one hears is a new strength and confidence in her voice -- as in the acapella openings to "Set A Course" and "If An Artist," or the album closing "In the Pines" (no, not the Leadbelly tune Cobain covered, but a candidate to replace Auto's "Give It A Year" as my favorite Eisenberg song), where she dares to explore the low end of her vocal range.

As a guitarist, Eisenberg has always exemplified the antithesis of jazz-school music as athletic event. She's technically adept, but always in service of expression. On the aforementioned "Set A Course," her solo, spiked with edgy dissonance, builds slowly to an intensity, then overlaps with Williams' trumpet ride over Booker Stardrum's thunderous percussive power. The result is a complexity that doesn't feel overly busy. 

On "If An Artist," a dissonant bossa nova gives way to electronic hyperspace, while the title track boasts a hypnotic distorted guitar riff (following a pensive intro that features wordless vocals with trumpet and electronics). "In the Pines" opens with a gorgeous, Charlie Haden-esque bass solo from Allen before Eisenberg ventures as close to a blues as she's ever come (still skirting Leadbelly). When she deadpans "I'm charred to the core by the vastness of my anger," you get the feeling she means it. Like a good European film, the song ends without resolving, which incites the attentive listener to start over again from Side A. You all go ahead on; I'll be here for awhile.