Eliza Harrison Smith’s ‘The Way I’m Wired’ captures the chaos of being human in her debut EP.
Some artists tell stories. Others hold up a mirror. Eliza Harrison Smith does both on The Way I’m Wired, a five-track confession that feels like a series of late-night thoughts spilled onto the page—quiet contradictions, lingering self-doubt, and the kind of feelings that are hard to put into words, yet she does with effortless honesty. It’s raw and reflective—meeting you exactly where you are, no matter how messy that place might be.
The EP opens with ‘Backslide’, a song that perfectly captures the gut-punch reality of personal growth. Lines like “I can't have a good day without a bad night” and “healing doesn't happen in a straight line” say everything about the exhausting cycle of progress and relapse with blunt honesty. A soft pop pulse runs through the track, adding an understated energy that gives its emotional weight room to breathe. Airy guitars and crisp percussion bring a lightness that contrasts the heaviness of the lyrics, while Smith’s vocals float above it all—delicate yet steady, mirroring the push and pull of wanting to move forward but feeling stuck. The repetition of “Back, back, back, back backslide / Right back, back to the start line” reinforces that feeling of slipping just when things start to feel okay. It’s a song that doesn’t try to dress up the struggle—it simply acknowledges how easy it is to fall back into old patterns and end up right where you started.
‘Bring You Down’ sits with the weight of unspoken emotions—the fear of being too much, the hesitation to share pain, and the quiet isolation that comes with it. The song opens with muted drums and piano, setting a hushed, reflective tone that immediately pulls you into its quiet intensity. From the opening lines, “I don't think I've slept in weeks / December's got the best of me”, there’s an immediate sense of exhaustion, both emotional and physical. As the song progresses, Smith’s harmonies and background vocals gradually layer in, adding warmth to the loneliness at its core. The lyrics are raw but restrained, conveying the quiet conflict between wanting support but worrying about becoming a burden: “If I say it all out loud / We’ll be under the same dark cloud.” For so many, this song will feel like a quiet recognition of the hesitation that comes with opening up—the fear that sharing your pain might not lighten the load, but instead pull someone else down with you.
‘Contradiction’ is the overthinker’s anthem, capturing the tug-of-war between self-doubt and self-assurance, between knowing better and still messing up. “I say that I don’t care, but I still want the validation” perfectly sums up this inner conflict—one that Smith lays out in a way that feels both personal and universal. The production mirrors this struggle, starting with sparse acoustic guitar before gradually layering in additional instrumentation. As the song swells, the growing layers of percussion and piano heightens the tension, echoing the increasing emotional weight of the lyrics. It’s catchy, it’s cutting, and it might be the most instantly relatable song on the project.
‘Hypocrite’ is Smith’s ultimate self-callout, turning her own contradictions into a brutally honest admission. It builds on the self-awareness of Contradiction, pushing the internal conflict even further. From the first verse, Smith delivers the kind of reassuring wisdom we’ve all heard (or given) before: “Don’t sweat the small stuff / Things’ll happen in their time.” But as the song unfolds, she exposes the irony—while she’s great at solving everyone else’s problems, she remains paralyzed in “awareness hell.” The song fully embraces this frustrating cycle we’ve all been trapped in at some point, making it one of the most painfully real tracks on the EP for anyone who’s ever been their own worst enemy. With bold, rhythmic production and an infectious groove, there’s an undeniable HAIM-like quality to the track—giving its self-reflection a defiant, anthemic edge.
The closing track, ‘Supposed to Be Happy’, is a quiet unraveling that reveals the dissonance of feeling detached from happiness even when everything should be okay. The chorus lays it bare: “I get a little sad when I’m supposed to be happy / I get a little low when I’m supposed to be high.” Smith’s longing for clarity carries into the second verse, where she searches for answers in small, familiar comforts—a long walk, a conversation with her mom. “Is it in the constellations or just the way I’m wired / Maybe it’s my expectations or maybe I’m just tired” are especially cutting lines, reflecting the frustration of not knowing whether the feeling is situational or simply part of who she is. Leading into the bridge, a sharp electric guitar riff cuts through the mix, its presence growing even more pronounced as the song reaches its emotional peak. It’s a striking contrast to the song’s gentler moments, adding a restless energy that mirrors the inner turmoil at its core. The final lines fade into an unresolved space, as the instrumentation pulls back, letting the emotion hang in the air. With an indie-pop melody that feels light yet anchored, and lyrics that capture the loneliness of putting on a brave face, Supposed to Be Happy doesn’t offer resolution—just recognition. It lingers in the uncertainty, letting the weight of the feeling exist without trying to soften it.
The Way I’m Wired is full of contradictions, but that’s what makes it so honest. This isn’t an EP about fixing yourself—it’s about sitting in the mess, acknowledging it, and maybe even learning to accept it. Through five tracks, Smith pieces together moments of vulnerability, reckoning, and longing, never shying away from the complexities that come with being human. Eliza Harrison Smith doesn’t just write about feelings; she translates them in a way that makes you feel understood. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need. Smith turns introspection into something powerful, proving that sometimes, just saying the words out loud is enough.