The first time I heard... Nick Drake

When it comes to music, I'm usually a sucker for big orchestrations. I suppose it's because I was raised not only on musical theater, but also heaping helpings of artists like Barry Manilow and ABBA, who probably caused the untimely deaths of more than several overloaded 48-track recording machines. Suffice it to say that, for me, a complex, enormous arrangement can take a good song and make it a classic. There's a whole roster of these bands that I like: ELO, Jellyfish, XTC, late Beatles, Rufus Wainwright. The more horns, strings, and key changes, the better.

So it came as a surprise, even to me, that I stumbled upon a style of music that was the antithesis of all the orchestral madness I loved, a small cadre of artists who don't need anything more than their instrument of choice and their often-hushed voices. This list includes such people as Iron and Wine, Jose Gonzalez, and Nick Drake...

It was Nick who showed me the way, who led me through a tiny little ivy-covered door in the great Wall of Sound and into a quiet, beautiful garden of music. I'm sure that a significant percentage of his current fans found him the same way I did.... through a Volkswagen commercial. This was back in the late 90's, when using new or mostly-unheard music was a breaking concept in advertising. In the spot, a group of four friends driving their VW beetle at night. They make their way on twisty, moonlit country roads with their windows rolled down, serenely listening to a man with a guitar singing what seems like a nonsense song about a pink moon. They finally reach their goal, a party at a country house full of light and noise and people. They stand there, ready to go in, then just look at each other. Then they're back in their car, the moon roof open, passing by clouds of fireflies, literally forgoing the destination to enjoy the journey. No words, just that simple music. I found out the name of the little-known folk singer who sang the dreamy song, and bought the greatest-hits compilation that had just been released, no doubt because of the curiosity that the commercial had stirred up.

I learned the story of his life later, about how a English country lad from a loving, supportive family started making his own music. He could play riffs with uncanny precision and balance, and he could structure a riff out of chords that would hang suspended, never letting you know if they would resolve to major or minor. Record producers found him, were amazed by his deft, precise guitar playing and hauntingly quiet voice, and led him through the creation of three understated but stunning albums. However, Nick never fit in with the idea of a music star, couldn't play bars and small clubs because his gentle demeanor didn't give him the ability to make a crowd shut up and listen. He grew more and more disillusioned with a world where he was praised for his artistry, but in which he felt, in his own heart, like a failure. He finally faded into himself, his life ending with an overdose of antidepressants, an act that may or may not have been accidental.

There's an excellent documentary called "A Skin Too Few" that was made about ten years ago, which through interviews with his family and collaborators gives us as clear a picture of the artist that we're ever going to get. I think the most telling thing about it is that, although it's less than an hour long, the filmmaker lets Nick's music speak for itself, showing us idyllic images of the English countryside around Nick's boyhood home while letting the music play for up to a full minute. It's brilliant, because that's exactly the kind of imagery Nick's music conjures in my mind anyway.

My thought here is that Nick's music speaks to something in the mind of this child of the caffeinated 80's. Before him, I had taken as fact that soul-stirring music had to be full to brimming with synthesizers, chainsaw guitars, drum machines, and turntables that could take music from the past, chop and spin it into sonic cotton candy. But through all the noise and blur, something was going unserved. It took a car commercial to get me to see how something so small, quiet and pure could be just as rewarding.

Now, even though it doesn't relate directly to me, I'll close with a sidebar, of how my brother told me he first heard Nick Drake. At the time he was living in a communal house in San Diego. He came home one day, and the other members of the household were all just sitting in the main room, listening to what turned out to be that same Nick Drake greatest hits CD that I would later purchase. My brother silently sat and joined them. No one spoke or moved until the CD was over.