Have you ever found yourself in the middle of a conversation and realized you’re being fed a prewritten script? I recently caught up with a friend who had gone through several dramatic changes since we’d last spoken—a divorce, a new home, a new job—but no matter how much I politely pried, she kept giving me buzzwords: boundaries and self-care; yoga and gratitude and growth. Slowly, I realized that she’d known exactly what she’d tell me before I ever said hello: that clear, linear version of events she had learned to trot out, one that glossed over any disorderly details in service of premeditated lessons she now felt empowered to share.
On Eliza McLamb’s second album, Good Story, the singer-songwriter confronts this universal instinct to self-narrativize. “Catch it quick/Frame the image/Make your meaning before you’ve lived it,” she sings on “Mausoleum,” chiding herself for trying to nail down a story rather than inhabit her present experience. We’re all liable to these behaviors, but McLamb feels their pull acutely. On her debut album, 2024’s Going Through It, she excavated details of her childhood trauma and difficult relationships, topics she’s also tackled as a stirring essayist and podcaster, and learned how to package them as art. On Good Story, McLamb takes a step back, wondering what all these anecdotes add up to.
McLamb and her band—which includes Jacob Blizard (who’s played with Lucy Dacus); bassist Ryan Ficano; keyboardist Sarah Goldstone (who’s played with Chappell Roan and boygenius); and Death Cab For Cutie drummer Jason McGerr—construct this version of events on a solid indie-rock foundation. There are tinges of Lilith Fair pop-rock, especially in McLamb’s lilting delivery, and echoes of her contemporaries like Dacus and Soccer Mommy. But the tracklist takes gentle swerves that add depth and variety: “Better Song” ends with a minute-long, scorching guitar solo; at the close of the album’s A-side, the brief, subdued “Promise”—all gentle vocals and finger-picked guitar—is immediately followed by “Water Inside the Fence,” a continuous build of creeping anxiety that ends with screeching feedback and pounding drums.
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