Nick Drake’s final complete album, a stripped-bare collection of desolate acoustic songs, offers proof if it were needed that listening to mp3s on public transport is not without its problems. Imagine my frustration as the subtleties of this quietly-mixed, delicate record are submerged within the double decker’s dull rumble and the tinny bombast escaping the earphones of some fool deafening himself with dance music three rows behind.

However, listened to at home, late at night in a dimly lit room, the staggering intimacy of this record is apparent. Producer John Wood has removed all barriers, the listener is effectively IN the record – you can hear the percussive scratch of Nick’s fingernails hitting the strings as the notes ring out, plus the precise diction of his plaintive, quintessentially English tones. You can hear the strings buzzing into the frets on Know as Nick hammers out the circular, hypnotic riff and hums over the top like he was playing right next to you, hunched over his guitar and unable to make eye contact. You can hear the charming fluffed note on Things Behind The Sun, left in amid his intricate picking, reminding us that even a player of Nick’s skill was but human.

All too human, in fact. Recorded at a time when Nick felt increasingly isolated and was barely able to communicate with anyone other than via his fretboard and microphone, this album shows that the shadows that had threatened to consume him were already closing in. The songs that would become Pink Moon were written and honed in lonely London bedsits, as Nick sat waiting for the world to wake up and appreciate the legacy he had already left via the pastoral beauty of his first two albums Five Leaves Left and Bryter Layter. 

While those earlier albums had an air of melancholy, there was a wistful comfort in their sumptuous arrangements, not to mention supporting musicians to shift the focus away from Nick’s introspection. Pink Moon by contrast is sombre and sparse with no extraneous instrumentation at Nick’s request, nothing other than a touch of piano (played by Nick himself) on the title track to detract from his voice and guitar.

However, Nick’s flair for melody still bursts through in places - From The Morning and Place To Be aren’t unlike his earlier work, such is their gently strummed splendour, though the stark instrumental Horn and the doleful pleas of Free Ride (“Hear me calling/Won’t you give me/A free ride?”) have a darkness that proves even upper middle class white men get the blues.

Things Behind The Sun seems to capture some of the conflict within Nick, his solemn verses warning the listener: “Please beware of them that stare / They’ll only smile to see you while your time away / And once you’ve seen what they have been / To win the earth just won’t seem worth your night or your day.” These are words that carry too much weight for a man still in the first half of his twenties, though this is contrasted by the relative optimism of the chorus where the chords surge upwards and momentarily lift him from the mire – “Take your time and you’ll be fine / And say a prayer for people there.” All too soon however, the clouds gather again and the song plunges downward once more into whatever lost worlds Nick found himself unable to escape from.

Which Will hints, intriguingly, at a romantic encounter, though Nick is thought not to have sustained a single adult relationship in his lifetime. Perhaps it is addressed to a public whose indifference towards his records caused Nick to brand himself a failure, or indeed to a woman, whether real, imagined or just an embellished fragment of someone he once met: “Which will you go for/Which will you love/Which will you choose from/From the stars above?”

It’s almost tempting to say that Nick wasn’t the greatest singer in the world, such is his laid-back style - he almost talks over his guitar playing, seldom holding a note for long. Yet he is always in tune (no corrective studio gubbins required or indeed available back then) and there is a rare warmth and intimacy in his voice, a comforting quality that ironically has probably helped many other injured souls through turbulent times.

Within three years of Pink Moon’s release, Nick would tragically succumb to an overdose of anti-depressants aged 26, recorded by the coroner as suicide though many have disputed this verdict. Either way, this robbed us of an enigmatic artist whose shyness and aversion to playing live meant that his music could never reach a wide audience in his lifetime. It should also be noted that Nick’s passing ended the suffering of a mentally ill young man who gradually withdrew into himself, unable to cope with the adult world.

Pink Moon does at least conclude on a note of optimism with From The Morning, the brightest, most melodic song on the album, a lyric from which is inscribed on the back of Nick’s tombstone – “Now we rise and we are everywhere.” The inferences to resurrection are fitting in a churchyard, but the words could almost refer to the legion of Nick Drake acolytes that has steadily grown since he passed away. Let’s hope he would raise a smile at the thought.

Release date: 25/02/72
Artist website: www.brytermusic.com
Label: Island

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