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High Bias—October 28, 2001
There is a fine French film, The Vagabond, that defies the romantic version of hitting the road with only a knapsack and a guitar. The road is hard, forging alliances difficult and tenuous. Upon listening to A Crooked Line, I felt this more keenly than before. What a coup—Darryl Purpose seems to have melted the reserve and the petty disagreements among his fellow travelers. He has honed his songwriting on the road, appropriately enough. Song stories ignite flashes of brilliance as snapshots glint and fade with his lyrics. “Bryant Street” exemplifies this as small moments loom large: “A black and white faded scene/A girl with a toy/You kept your smile on while someone took pictures.” The singer’s quest for a father he never knew becomes the listener’s quest as well. I feel faded and spent.
Purpose collaborates with a loose band of songwriters and is stronger for it. He can craft a song from a pinwheel, an asphalt road and Rutherford Hayes—give him a talisman and a story will follow. I think good writing is sublimating yourself to the story, allowing yourself to become someone or something else to tell the narrative. Purpose does this to glorious effect in the song “Late for Dinner.” The narrator is a woman waiting for her husband—who is dead. The specifics are meticulous. The devil is in the details, and Darryl Purpose has ’em in spades. —Blythe Christopher |
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