E.G. Phillips crafts a cinematic gem with EP, "Tricks of the Light"
E.G. Phillips has always felt like an artist born from another era — one where music wasn’t just a soundtrack to life, but a carefully composed narrative thread connecting myth, memory, and meaning. With his latest EP, Tricks of the Light, Phillips delivers a masterclass in lyric-driven, chamber-infused songwriting that feels at once timeless and startlingly modern. It’s an elegant and emotionally rich collection that not only confirms his strengths as a wordsmith but reveals a newfound depth as a sonic architect.
Produced by two-time Grammy winner Nahuel Bronzini — whose work with Fantastic Negrito made him one of the most sought-after studio minds in the Bay Area — alongside multi-instrumentalist Felipe Ubeda, Tricks of the Light is a work of rare grace. It unfolds like a film score for a movie that doesn’t exist. The instrumentation is breathtaking: Omree Gal-Oz’s delicate piano lines glide like morning mist, Chloe Mendola’s cello swoons and sighs with melancholic precision, Curtis Aikens’ upright bass grounds each passage with warm resonance, and the occasional sparkle of Daniel Riera’s flute and Sarah Bonomo’s clarinet add a rare, woodsy intimacy.
What elevates this record beyond its already remarkable sonic beauty is Phillips’ commitment to storytelling. His lyrics are dense with references — mythology, literature, historical oddities, and modern digital phenomena like the strange parasocial landscapes of reaction content. Yet for us, we did feel like a lot of the content could be generalized in order for you to apply your meanings.
The entire EP operates as a suite, a seamless 6-song cycle that explores the slippery ways we construct meaning from flickers and fragments. The title feels especially apt — Tricks of the Light captures the notion of chasing illusions, reflections, and fleeting moments of clarity before they dissolve. Musically, it’s an exercise in restraint and subtle drama. The chamber arrangements swell and recede, creating waves of tension and release without ever feeling overblown. There’s an intimacy to the performances that makes the record feel like a private recital, yet its emotional scope is vast.
The record is producing something that recalls the romanticism of Nick Drake, the precision of Sufjan Stevens, and the narrative depth of Leonard Cohen, while never feeling derivative. Every note and word feels intentional, yet organic, as if conjured by instinct rather than calculation.
Tricks of the Light isn’t a record made for background listening. It demands attention — not in a bombastic, attention-seeking way, but through the sheer quiet power of its composition. It’s music for long walks, solitary evenings, or the moments just before sleep when memory, myth, and meaning swirl together.
We’ve reviewed him in the past, and with works like this, we’ll continue to do so in the future just for how his music makes us feel emotionally. So with that being said, we urge everyone to give this record a listen, to follow along for more, and of course to stay tuned for the latest.
Listen to “Tricks of the Light”
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