Nick Drake - now there's a coincidence...

November 25^th – S’funny how things work out, innit? Some call it fate, others coincidence…some even attribute it to a god figure but me, I’m not sure whether we’re seeing the prompt or prompting the vision; not sure. Anyhow, I’ve been a little preoccupied with sorting out the next novel (there’s a brag, some call it ‘writer’s block’ others – me – call it constipation of the story-duct) and about three weeks ago I decided to do something really productive other than fret which was to sort out my iTunes library… I know, I know, ‘There’s brave, there’s decisive; that’ll really move the process on, Peter…’ Well, whatever, it’s what I did so… Not gonna bore y’s with the minutiae, you all know how much music means to me so; suffice to say it was a difficult task. Like going through our library at home with the intention of creating more space and coming out with a smug expression and one pamphlet to hand, feeling drained but believing this decision will make such a lot of difference.

So it was that, on my rummage through the musical equivalent of an explosion in a duck-down factory, I reacquainted myself with the work Nick Drake. I know many of you will be familiar with his work and many also familiar with his short life, but that’s not what this chat is about. His album, Five Leaves Left, particularly Cello Song from that album and the later track Black-Eyed Dog always bequeaths me with a breathlessness I can’t shake off for many an hour afterwards; probably why I’ve given it a miss for a while. Thing is, Mr. Drake’s songs kind of draw you in subtly and if, like me, you’ve had mental problems in the past, depressions and breakdowns and such, then the connection seems to be reduced down to its component parts, and some of those parts can be quite shitty. Not that I’m suggesting you should go through such difficulties in order to appreciate his music; not at all. Not necessary, not recommended. Actors portraying a murderer don’t need to go out and murder; I don’t need to have served in Vietnam or fired a machine gun to appreciate Jimi Hendrix’s Machine Gun track from the Band of Gypsy’s album. That’s the devilish beauty of Mr. Drake’s compositional abilities (and Mr. Hendrix’s come to that) that Nick Drake can speak directly to the delicate consciousness in everyone and make a yearning heart of stoic people.

Then I became aware of a radio programme about Mr. Drake which showcased his work amongst discussions and memories…and then heard about the publication of a biography, Nick Drake: Remembered for a While written by his sister, Gabrielle Drake, and supported by Cally Callomon… Now I’m not claiming anything other than coincidence, there’s no psychic hogwash going on here, its just the way scythed wheat falls. What this collision of connections did do, though, was remind me of the closeness concerning the where’s and whyfore’s of the point of balance when it comes to our coping with the touchstone’s of experience. That there are some people, writers, songsmiths, philosophers…Winnie the Pooh, who can take the sum total of all we believe we’ve become, shake us gently by the shoulders and get us focus on the fragility of the path we walk. On this day in 1974 Nick Drake (26) died in his sleep. At the inquest the coroner stated the cause of death was due to acute amitriptyline poisoning, self-administered whilst suffering from a depressive illness and concluded a verdict of suicide.

Now that all reads very depressingly (no pun intended) but it needn’t. His painful shyness and inability to communicate with those around him, those most precious to him, meant his isolation became complete, and we all know how the mind can fuck you over at 03.30 of a winter’s morning. In revisiting those tracks of his it becomes obvious that, although there are times when the renowned, disobedient black dog can slip both kennel and leash and sit on your chest but, on revisiting his life, I believe that, far from wanting us to join him, Mr. Drake was laying out the pitfalls of his condition and psyche so that, if at all possible, we could avoid them… work out strategies to control them, and that’s a hell of a legacy to leave. The seemingly simple solution of talking when talking’s the last thing you want to do is something that bypassed Mr. Drake, can also bypass us.

What we all have to try and recognise are the signs of an enclosed confusion in each other, not easy when the victim is so reticent, and be prepared to spend time and effort in listening to those who’ve temporarily had their ability to communicate fractured; feeding the beast with silence is no training tactic.