What would one say of a singer-songwriter who died at 26, having released only 3 albums which received next to none commercial success, a victim of depression all his life? We know our Dylan and our Gilmore and our Parker, but Nick Drake was not just a musician, he was a poet……a poet of words and of notes. He isn’t loud, he doesn’t demand your attention. His songs form images in your mind, of all that he sings and of all that he does not…of spring and autumn, of leaves and lakes, of rain and sand….of all the things we seem to forget about whilst we live our conveyor belt lives.
You don’t just listen to his music, you feel it with all your senses, and at times with senses you didn’t think you possessed. He looks for the profound in the mundane. His every note is filled with so much emotion it cannot fail to touch you.
Turn off the lights. Listen to pink moon, or river man, or road, or black eyed dog, or thoughts of rain…go take a walk, or sit on the terrace and gaze at the stars, soak in his music…You won’t forget that feeling…ever…
Music has had better heralds, better musicians, better lyricists, better storytellers…Nick Drake might or might not be one of them…only time will tell. He is one of those rare musicians who bares his soul through six strings and his fragile voice and draws us into his world…..
You can say the sun is shining if you really want to
I can see the moon and it seems so clear
You can take the road that takes you to the stars now
I can take a road that’ll see me through
I can take a road that’ll see me through…
