I discovered Nick Drake's music in 1994, through a friend who had the Way to Blue introduction. I promptly went to buy the three CD boxset, which was an unusual thing for me to do. I lived in a tiny studio flat with very few belongings, and these three CDs, I remember, sat on top of the fireplace, along with no more than another dozen CDs. They did not stay put for very long, mind you. I was properly hooked and gasped for air at the end of each run.
My friend had praised Pink Moon, but I preferred Five Leaves Left and Bryter Layter.
And then started one of my obsessive episodes of happy abandonment. I had gone through this with My Bloody Valentine, and would later go through similar phases where no other artist would squeeze into my headphones for months on end until, out of exhaustion, I would have to let go and move on.
My initial bout of 'Nickery' (as, I believe, his sister Gabrielle puts it) lasted probably about six months, where I frantically listened and listened, with a focus on the music, rather than the words, as was habitual for me then. I could not say what it was that I loved so much, and perhaps did not care much then.
I revisited his music at various points in later years, again going from studio flat to bedsit to studio flat, each time lugging no more than the strict minimum around, with Nick Drake there sitting snuggly next to the likes of Ravel, Debussy, Bossa Nova, Bix Beiderbecke, The Boo Radleys and The Divine Comedy.
None of these revisits triggered the same intensity, it seems - until much much later, in actual fact only a couple of months ago.
My life is now devoid of music, or almost so. I have grown to enjoy silence in a way that was impossible to me 25 years ago. Silence is not silence of course; I can hear the wind through my honeysuckle leaves right now, and a vague sound of traffic over there somewhere. With a bit of luck a black bird will come and tell me what he thinks about a thing or two. So it's a very different life, but one I am grateful to have discovered.
But then, suddenly, I needed music one day, and Nick Drake came to mind. And this time, it hit me again, to the point that I had to hear these tracks again and again until, I knew, a familiar exhaustion would come about.
But this time, I decided to pay notice to the lyrics. And this post - the first of a series - is dedicated to defining what these songs mean to me.
I will, of course, not attempt at giving a definite meaning of those songs. It is impossible to do so: Nick Drake's lyrics are mostly enigmatic, as if he is trying very hard to divulge as little as can be. Or perhaps, simply as a way to allow you to wander through the song in the way that you wish, as art does, really, be it visual, experiencial or auditory.
So these posts are about my take on his songs, at this point in my life. I believe that, should I go through this exercise again in ten years, I would read something rather different.

Time Has Told Me

A steady slow and confident tune opens the 1969 Five Leaves Left album. The track was presumably written one to two years before, with a faster jauntier folk sound, a movement Nick Drake felt close to.
The impression is of depth, both in the sound (the guitar is tuned to bring out a low resonance, coupled with a beautiful double-bass that enhances this effect) and the seemingly serene tone. The words refer to something rare and difficult to get. But when you do, it comes to you smoothly, as ‘a rose with no thorn’ would, or as a discreetly as walking on a beach and yet leaving ‘no footprint’.
For me the song is about the process of creation, or an ode to inspiration. How hard it is, and how an idea needs to mature in your head, until it finally comes, beautiful and perfect in the early hours of the morning. And you hear it, and you are moved by it, as if it wasn’t your own creation, but someone else’s.
I think Nick Drake sings his love of music, of playing music that has just been born and which needs nurturing.
There is a hint that this is much needed in his life as it acts as a ‘troubled cure to a troubled mind’ and that it needs to stay by his side. A serenity mixed with a recognition that, with music, something goes out of hand but is needed nevertheless. And this process leads onto a state of… bliss, where you can let yourself go and float happily. The ocean is vast but, with dedication, inspiration can ‘find its shore’.
By the time he records it, the song has matured into a full round tonality which brings a thankfulness of sorts – and a quest to be your real self and not hide behind someone you are not really.

I think Nick would have been pleased with the way the record was produced. There is a sense of opening his professional career with a calm humble confidence.