E.G. Phillips Takes a Lyrical Leap with “Tricks of the Light”

E.G. Phillips returns with Tricks of the Light, a six-track EP that leans further into orchestral arrangements and cinematic detail than anything he’s done before. Known for his eccentric mix of jazz, folk, and wit-heavy songwriting, Phillips steps into more classical territory here without losing the humor or intellect that has always set him apart.

Working with Grammy winners Nahuel Bronzini and Felipe Ubeda on production and arrangement, the EP brings in flute, cello, clarinet, upright bass, and piano to round out a chamber ensemble that feels more suited for a film score than a club gig. But this isn’t background music. The songwriting still does the heavy lifting, with lyrics that feel both literary and immediate, anchored by Phillips’ familiar vocal delivery.

Opening track “From the Corner of My Eye” feels like something out of a gothic fable, wrapped in soft strings and uncanny tension. “The Light You Reflect” is looser, almost playful in how it mixes emotional openness with poetic detachment. The pacing throughout the EP is carefully shaped—there are no filler tracks here. Every piece feels like it belongs in the set, each telling its own story while contributing to a larger emotional thread.

“The Albatross Song (Mellow Like)” stands out as a quieter moment that still manages to pack a lot into its arrangement. It’s reworked from an earlier version, but this take feels more thoughtful, more stripped of decoration and focused on mood. Meanwhile, “The Flesh of Birds” goes off in its own direction entirely, with nods to sci-fi and absurdism folded into a short, sharp, semi-romantic vignette.

“When It Gets Dark” closes the set with a wink, pulling inspiration from the strange intimacy of digital life—specifically the culture of YouTube reactors. Somehow it doesn’t feel like a gimmick. Instead, it lands as one of the most self-aware pieces on the record, playing with style and sentiment in equal measure.

There’s a reason Phillips often gets compared to artists like Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen. He’s not following a trend. He’s building a catalog that values language, structure, and tone—without losing sight of character and charm. Tricks of the Light isn’t background listening, but it would sit well in film, especially in the kind of story where dialogue matters just as much as the images. It’s theatrical in a subtle way—full of little reveals, quiet oddities, and beautifully worded emotional truths.