Chris Pureka follows in the noble tradition of American singer-songwriters exploring human emotion, frailty, happiness. Well-educated (she left her studies in microbiology at Smith College to pursue music), Pureka has a knack for crafting accessible, enjoyable songs that have the feel of a comfortably-worn old sweater; her voice is a deep, musty timbre (yes, musty – think depth, shadows, and a degree of disrepair) that echoes the memory of times past, both good and bad. Like a sweater, her voice is capable of surrounding its listeners with its warmth, its coziness, its familiarity – none of it masking the reality that, like the sweater, life is full of small holes that must be dealt with, fixed where possible and ignored, or even appreciated, where able.
Indeed, hers is the perfect voice to negotiate those bumps in the road, somehow spilling forth from her petite frame in a sound both entirely worn and yet beautifully compelling. It perfectly complements her lyrics, most of which are relatively downbeat.
Playing alone to a recent standing-room-only crowd at
Pureka opened for the inimitable Dar Williams (a fellow
