Will Epstein: Wendy Album Review

Around the release of his debut EP, The Beautiful Moon, New York songwriter Will Epstein (then known as High Water) described his changing relationship with Bob Dylan’s music. A lifelong fan, Epstein didn’t really pay attention to what Dylan was singing until adulthood. “The lyrics act like a spell, to summon the spirit,” he said in 2013. “He uses these words to summon this emotion, and I as a listener can experience the spirit without knowing the spell.” The composer, multi-instrumentalist, and longtime collaborator of Nicolás Jaar, has since referred to his own songs as incantations, their circular structures mutating with each rotation. On his new album, Wendy, Epstein leads a cast of contributors through an imaginative blend of cosmic jazz, psych, and 1970s soft rock, but his songwriting doesn’t always stand up to the detailed arrangements.

This is Epstein’s sharpest solo work, following a pair of more hemmed-in releases. His 2016 full-length Crush and last year’s Whims sounded somewhat compressed and coated in a lo-fi haze, the grainy production obscuring Epstein’s arrangements like VHS static. The songs were expanding toward something unique, but they never quite got there. On Wendy, Epstein and co-producer Michael Coleman render every instrument in high-definition, sculpting and sanding each sound as if trying to coax it into a three-dimensional form. The result feels like Eptein crossing over from the fuzzy black-and-white of his past work to full blown technicolor.

In “Will the Morning Come,” a distant clatter scratches at the surface, stirring an otherwise soft and simple piano ballad. The small disturbance—like a wind-rattled porch door—places you in the room with Epstein. It swells into a dry ripple, contrasting his clean falsetto and enriching the song with texture. On “Golden,” multi-instrumentalist Shahzad Ismaily spins bright, brittle webs from his guitar, tangling with Epstein’s saxophone at the song’s climax.

These unexpected details and scene-stealing guest appearances embolden Epstein’s melodies, which can be repetitive and a bit unadventurous. Across most of Wendy’s songs, you’ll hear inventive instrumental flourishes, rarely played the same way twice. Yet Epstein’s vocals loop the same course, without traveling anywhere unexpected. “Oyster Bay” is one of the sleepier examples; Epstein crafts a sparkling plane of prepared piano, body percussion, keyboards, and soprano sax. But his gauzy voice, recalling “powdered glass from cities past,” wears thin. On an album bursting with dynamic instrumental performances, the vocals feel structurally basic.