Darren Jessee Has an Eye for Detail on Central Bridge

It’s easy enough, if you let it be, for Darren Jessee’s songs to simply slide by. The tracks on Central Bridge, his third solo album, are low key and tuneful, but not in a way that ever grabs you by the ears and shakes you into focus. That’s what his lyrics are for, if you tune into them.

The singer and songwriter, who came up as one-third of Ben Folds Five and later fronted Hotel Lights, has a quietly devastating way with words on the nine songs comprising his latest. Jessee sketches out broader themes—letting go, hanging on, feeling lost, maybe finding just a hint of perfection—and fills them in with crisp details that feel lived in, as though his narrators earned them through experience that has often come at a cost.

Even when the cost has been high, though, Jessee avoids bitterness. Wistful melancholy is the vibe on “Will That Be Enough,” a song about a relationship undermined by mismatched ambitions. “When you get what you want / Will that be enough,” and it sounds like a genuine question. His vocals are soft and searching, and a musical arrangement of guitars and gauzy synthesizers drifts past like high altitude clouds on a chilly spring day.

Elsewhere, on “Mirage,” Jessee’s narrator realizes that the image of someone he was in love with doesn’t match the reality. “How could I hold you when you’re just a mirage?” he muses, his voice floating gently in a sea of sad piano and strings. The details in “Mirage” are vivid and distinctive: laundry on a line, pockets full of sand, “apartment key and a sweater in a backpack”—it’s just enough to set the scene, but not so much that listeners can’t fill in the gaps themselves.

That same talent for evoking images informs “Sunbeam,” a song of drowsy contentment amid all the heartache and resignation on Central Bridge. Acoustic guitar, subtle bass and an understated saxophone part create a hazy, late-afternoon feeling as Jessee’s narrator quietly celebrates an idyllic day with a “perfect sunbeam.” Again, he sketches a world with a few incisive details: sneaking into a hotel bar, “wet bathing suits on the floor of your room.” It’s imaginative and inviting, and when it comes together with musical arrangements that are at once tuneful and unassuming, the results can be magical.

Eric R. Danton has been contributing to Paste since 2013. His work has also appeared in Rolling Stone, The Wall Street Journal, the Boston Globe and Pitchfork, among other publications. Follow him on Mastodon or visit his website.