Un gran disco de debut, con algunas joyas

Comenzamos un repaso a la discografía de Nick Drake, tres discos grabados en un espacio de tiempo de cuatro años, que dejaron canciones que tiempo después han inspirado a infinidad de músicos y lo han puesto en el exclusivo pedestal de artista de culto.

“Five Leaves Left” reúne diez canciones, en ellas, una guitarra acústica guía la bella voz de Nick Drake, que suena cercana y real. Ocasionales arreglos de viento o pianos acompañan a la estructura básica de “Five Leaves Left”

Suena al primer Neil Young en muchos momentos, en otros a un Leonard Cohen más animado. Pero aun así, se nota una clara diferencia, se nota que consigue un sonido y un sello propio lo que le hace diferente al resto. Desde el inicio con la perfecta “Time Has Told Me”, ya se nota que “Five Leaves Left” es un disco importante, algo que se refuerza con “River Man”, en la que se introducen esos arreglos de cuerda de los que hablaba antes.

La canción más emotiva, con una línea de guitarra perfecta, y una melodía completamente arrebatadora es “Cello Song”, en ella, Nick Drake consigue una voz cálida con la que va recitando esos versos que dicen cosas como: So forget this cruel world/ Where I belong.

Imagine for a minute if Jeff Buckley hadn’t died after just one released album.  It’s a shame to consider that this brilliant musician drowned when he was just 31 years of age.  The one album released before his death, titled “Grace” is a staple of indie-rock.  It’s both classic and relevant, incorporating simple yet masterful guitar sequences with raw vocals.  It is hard to grasp the immense wealth this album has to offer by listening to individual tracks, or to the album merely once.  I would recommend listening to it devoid distraction (in correct order).  Critics have denoted Buckley’s popularity as the “death effect” that has  made classic other artists like Jimi Hendrix, Nick Drake and Kurt Kobain.  Not to say that any of these artists don’t deserve such outstanding recognition, but death generally causes popular interest in popular music.  Grace is powerful and haunting and in my opinion, one of the top ten albums of all-time.  “A Cold and broken Hallelujah” indeed.

Listen for yourself.

Mojo Pin – My favorite track.  Simple and slow yet captivating.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Mojo_Pin/609220

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Lover, You Should’ve Come Over – Perhaps the strongest lyrical addition to the album.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Jeff_Buckley_Lover_You_Should/282101

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Dream Brother – Middle Eastern tinges, more electric guitar and pounding drums.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Dream_Brother/609230

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If you’re looking for another interesting and unique take on some good music check out a fellow blogger :  http://retailoptimism.wordpress.com/

Hope You Enjoy!

Viva La Musica!

I afton är det så dags igen för bröderna Brödet att presentera Creppy Pop. Det brukar vankas bra musik och kluriga frågor. Ställ upp ensam eller i lag upp till fyra pers. And remember; Gubbrock is the new black.

Idag är det också exakt 35 år sen allas vår hjälte Nick Drake dog…

Inicio as postagens sobre Nick Drake,  do qual sou muito fã, com o disco Bryter Later, também um de meus discos preferidos. Pena ser este artista pouco conhecido.

Bryter Layter, gravado em 1970, foi o segundo álbum do músico folk inglês Nick Drake. Assim como Five Leaves Left, neste álbum, Drake foi acompanhado pela banda folk britânica Fairport Convention. John Cale, do The Velvet Underground também fez participações nas faixas Fly e Northern Sky

Em 2000 a revista Q magazine posicionou Bryter Layter na 23ª posição entre os 100 melhores álbuns de todos os tempos. Em 2003, a revista Rolling Stone o classificou no 245º lugar entre os 500 maiores álbuns de todos os tempos.

Link: http://rapidshare.com/files/243667585/0191.rar.html

]]> http://nadapasa.wordpress.com/2009/11/22/lunitarrosadamecanta/ Sun, 22 Nov 2009 20:10:58 +0000 nadapasa http://nadapasa.wordpress.com/2009/11/22/lunitarrosadamecanta/ http://treeswingers.wordpress.com/2009/11/20/flashback-friday-nick-drake/ Fri, 20 Nov 2009 07:13:12 +0000 treeswingers http://treeswingers.wordpress.com/2009/11/20/flashback-friday-nick-drake/

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Photo courtesy of myspace.com/nickdrake

While he was a well-accomplished musician, exemplified by his guitar and piano playing, Drake was also deeply disturbed and lacked the charisma or appeal to ever catch fire. Five years into his career, he died in relative anonymity of an overdose on a antidepressant medication.

Almost 40 years later though, Drake’s music has caught on and is getting the recognition it deserves. I don’t really have any explanation as to why these things happen, but just sit back and listen. You’ll get it.

Nick Drake- Time Has Told Me (download)

Nick Drake- Northern Sky (download)

Nick Drake- From the Morning (download)

I am a quote junkie.  I have filled up two books of quotes that I’ve heard, read, and even said myself.

A good quote can bring me out of a depressed state, can put me in a somber mood, or can easily sum up how I am feeling at any specific time.

J. Richardson wrote a poem, and I use that word loosely because its setup was quite unconventional, that was composed of short thoughts he’d had over a period of time.  It was odd, but ingenious.  The one that stuck with me was “Tragic hero, madman, addict, fatal lover. We exalt those who cannot escape their dreams because we cannot stay inside our own.”

To me, Richardson simply captivates that idea that everyone has deep down.  No, none of us desire to go crazy, become dependent on one substance or another, or have a love affair go astray.  But we all have that inner desire for others to recognize our greatest dreams and where they could take us.  We want to turn every dream we have and make it into a reality.  And when people ultimately don’t appreciate our innermost desires, as is usually the case, we yearn to cocoon ourselves in our beds where our dreams ultimately belong, and stay there.  This is where we begin envying madmen and addicts who can never leave their cocoons, who never have to cave to the harsh realities of society, where dreams are rarely ever reached.

And then there’s Nick Drake.  The songwriter who can bring me to tears in a single line, and in the case of his song”Fruit Tree,” a single note.  Read these lyrics before I give more background.  Please.

“Safe in the womb
Of an everlasting night,
You find the darkness can
Give the brightest light.
Safe in your place deep in the earth
That’s when they’ll know what you were really worth.”

So many of his songs foreshadow his imminent demise.  And whether you know that he took his own life or not when you being analyzing his lyrics, they are absolutely mind-blowing.  He connects with his listeners in every song.  He makes them unlock their fears of death, loss of love, and the general fear of living.  Simply reading his lyrics makes readers overwhelmingly aware of their mortality.

And when I’m woe begotten after thinking about Nick Drake’s grave lyrics, I find quotes that have the power to bring me back to a more balanced state.  I have one quote by Buddha that often does the trick:

“Let us rise up and be thankful.  For if we didn’t learn a lot today, at least we learned a little.  And if we didn’t learn a little, at least we didn’t get sick.  And if we got sick, at least we didn’t die.  So let us all be thankful.”

Sometimes the bluntness of quotes, like the one just mentioned, is exactly what we need to make us leave our cocoons and keep on trucking down the poorly paved roads of life.  And that can be a beautiful thing.

Only geography can frame my mind, only water can make me stop.  I come, not for solitude—I’ve had enough of that in my life—but for the discipline an island imposes, the way it shapes the movements of thoughts.

~Gretel Ehrlich

Ahí va la selección de canciones para esta semana, a ver que tal…

Lunes: Jolene (Trouble) – Ray Lamontagne

Martes: Al otro lado del río (Eco) – Jorge Drexler

Miércoles: Pink Moon (Pink Moon) -  Nick Drake

Jueves: La canción más hermosa del mundo (Diario de un peatón) – Joaquín Sabina

Viernes: Often (Little hearts attacks) – The Sunday drivers

Sábado: Hard to Handle  – The black crowes (Versión de la canción de Otis Redding)

Domingo: Love in vain – Robert Johnson … De este no se puede saber el disco…es el tipo de las 29 canciones

Escúchala ya en Spotify

Y tu, ¿tienes una playlist que quieras compartir con Mentes Inquietas? Envíala a patineta598@gmail.com

Sólo hay una regla: 7 Días de la semana, una canción por día.

La pondremos por aquí seguro!!!

I have almost finished reading the above Nick Drake biography and it is without doubt an interesting read.

The author was not allowed access to Drake’s lyrics and the assistance of his direct family was withdrawn as such making the task at hand very difficult.

I have made several Nick Drake postings in recent times many of which were song specific. This posting hopefully will try to highlight more of the man behind the music and what made him tick.

The music more than anything else provides an insight into the man as anyone who reads the biography or has knowledge of the background of Nick Drake will realise that beyond songwriting he could be a man of few words.

This post is now of even more importance to me as it will also provide a opportunnity to recognise the great work of Robert Kirby who sadly passed away on the 3rd October aged 61.

Born in 1948, Kirby met Drake at Cambridge University in early 1968 and put together a string section to accompany the singer-songwriter at live appearances.

When Drake recorded his debut album, ‘Five Leaves Left’, in the summer of 1968, producer Joe Boyd had already lined-up another string arranger – but the singer rejected his arrangements and insisted Kirby was brought in.

He then returned to arrange the strings on 1970’s ‘Bryter Layter’ and during the following decade he arranged the strings on more than 40 albums. Many of them were by folk artists such as Ralph McTell, Al Stewart and Vashti Bunyan, but he also worked on Elton John’s ‘Madman Across The Water’, David Ackles‘ ‘American Gothic’ and John Cale’s ‘Helen Of Troy’.

Kirby also spent three years playing keyboards in The Strawbs in the mid-1970s, but at the end of the decade opted for a career in marketing.

He made only occasional returns to the studio in the 1980s, most notably on Elvis Costello’s ‘Almost Blue’. However, as Drake’s cult status grew in the 1990s, he returned to the limelight.

Paul Weller invited him to arrange the strings on several tracks on his 2000 album ‘Heliocentric’. Further invitations followed to work on albums by The Magic Numbers, Linda Thompson and on Vashti Bunyan’s comeback, more than 35 years after their previous collaboration.

Kirby also added new string arrangements to several tracks on ‘Made To Love Magic’, the compilation album of Drake out-takes and remixed tracks, released in 2004.

Here from the 1969 debut album “Five Leaves Left” is a prime example of both their work.

“River Man” – Nick Drake

Betty came by on her way
Said she had a word to say
About things today
And fallen leaves.

Said she hadn’t heard the news
Hadn’t had the time to choose
A way to lose
But she believes.

Gonna see the river man
Gonna tell him all I can
About the plan
For lilac time.

If he tells me all he knows
’bout the way his river flows
And all night shows
In summertime.

Betty said she prayed today
For the sky to blow away
Or maybe stay
She wasn’t sure.

For when she thought of summer rain
Calling for her mind again
She lost the pain
And stayed for more.

Gonna see the river man
Gonna tell him all I can
’bout the ban
On feeling free.

If he tells me all he knows
About the way his river flows
I don’t suppose
It’s meant for me.

Oh, how they come and go
Oh, how they come and go

The song is primarily in a 5/4 timing, although it shifts to 4/4 almost seamlessly throughout, and is one of the few songs Drake wrote to be played in standard tuning. The string arrangement was composed by Harry Robinson and Robert Kirby, after Drake’s friend Robert Kirby felt he couldn’t compose it alone, although he did most of the composing for the rest of Five Leaves Left.

In his lifetime Drake never revealed the identity of the ‘Betty’ character in the lyrics, although Trevor Dann speculated that she may have been drawn from Betty Foy, a character in Wordsworth’s “The Idiot Boy“, a poem Drake had studied while attending Cambridge. Those familiar with Wordsworth’s “The Idiot Boy” will not recognize poem references in the song, but that is not to say Drake wasn’t inspired by it. There is a Betty; there is not much more.

As he was signed to Island Records, a label founded by Chris Blackwell in Jamaica in 1959 though relocated to the UK in 1962 and used to promote the music of Jamaica and marginalised folk and blues, it is perhaps not surprising that the first cover of a Drake song was released in 1970 by Millie of “My Boy Lollipop” fame.

The song chosen was a 1968 demo titled “Mayfair” here is the cover version, the original can be found on the 2004 compilation release “Made To Love Magic”

“Mayfair” – Millie

It is amazing today that none of the three albums Drake recorded and released from 1969-1972 sold more than 5,000 copies after their initial release.

The lack of sales can be attributed to his personality and in particular his lack of willingness to perform and tour plus the fact that at Island Records whilst he was admired and respected much of their promotional budget was being expended on bands such as Fairport Convention, Free, reggae in general and of course Cat Stevens who alone in the early 70’s contributed 20% of the labels total sales.

Although the publicity generated by Five Leaves Left was minor, producer Joe Boyd was keen to build on what momentum there was. 1970’s Bryter Layter, again produced by Boyd and engineered by Wood, introduced a more upbeat,jazzier sound.

Disappointed by his debut’s poor commercial performance, Drake sought to move away from his pastoral sound, and agreed to his producer’s suggestions to include bass and drum tracks on the recordings. “It was more of a pop sound, I suppose”, Boyd later said, “I imagined it as more commercial.”

Like its predecessor, the album featured musicians from Fairport Convention, as well as contributions from John Cale on two songs: “Northern Sky” and “Fly”. Trevor Dann has noted that while sections of “Northern Sky” sound more characteristic of Cale, the song was the closest Drake came to a release with chart potential.

This theory was finally found to be true when the song became the key ingredient in the film score for the brilliant film Serendipity (Click HERE for my previous posting on this).

I have already featured “Poor Boy” one of my favourite tracks from this album check it out HERE

My chosen track therefore is the instrumental “Sunday”

“Sunday” – Nick Drake

Island Records was keen that Drake promote Bryter Layter through press interviews, radio sessions and live appearances. Drake, who was by this time smoking what Kirby has described as “unbelievable amounts” of marijuana and exhibiting “the first signs of psychosis”, refused. By the winter of 1970, he had isolated himself in London.

Disappointed by the reaction to Bryter Layter, he turned his thoughts inwards, and withdrew from family and friends. He rarely left his flat, and then only to play an occasional concert or to buy drugs. “This was a very bad time”, his sister Gabrielle Drake recalled, “He once said to me that everything started to go wrong from [this] time on, and I think that was when things started to go wrong.”

Although Island neither expected nor wanted a third album, Drake approached Wood in October 1971 to begin work on what would be his final release. The sessions took place over two nights, with only Drake and Wood present in the studio which much to the disappointment of Robert Kirby.

The bleak songs of Pink Moon are short, and the eleven-track album lasts only 28 minutes, a length described by Wood as “just about right. You really wouldn’t want it to be any longer.”

Drake had expressed dissatisfaction with the sound of Bryter Layter, and believed that the string, brass and saxophone arrangements had resulted in a sound that was “too full, too elaborate”. Drake appears unaccompanied on Pink Moon, save for a single piano overdub on the title track. “He was very determined to make this very stark, bare record,” Wood later recalled. “He definitely wanted it to be him more than anything. And I think, in some ways, Pink Moon is probably more like Nick is than the other two records.”

The album does however, as the closing track, feature a song which is dear to his parents and for them brings a degree of comfort following his early death in 1974.

“From The Morning” – Nick Drake

A day once dawned, and it was beautiful
A day once dawned from the ground
Then the night she fell
And the air was beautiful
The night she fell all around.

So look see the days
The endless coloured ways
And go play the game that you learnt
From the morning.

And now we rise
And we are everywhere
And now we rise from the ground
And see she flies
And she is everywhere
See she flies all around

So look see the sights
The endless summer nights
And go play the game that you learnt
From the morning.

John Martyn knew Nick Drake very well, being on the same label and playing on the same circuits, Martyn out grew the folkie genre but never forgot “poor Nicky” who he believed was the most withdrawn person he had ever met

‘Solid Air’, the title track, of Martyn’s 1973 album release was dedicated to his friend Nick Drake.

Tragically Drake died of an antidepressant overdose 18 months after the album was released. Martyn said of the track “It was done for a friend of mine, and it was done right with very clear motives, and I’m very pleased with it, for varying reasons. It has got a very simple message, but you’ll have to work that one out for yourself.”

By autumn 1974, Drake’s weekly retainer from Island had ceased, and his illness meant he remained in contact with only a few close friends. He had tried to stay in touch with Sophia Ryde, whom he had first met in London in 1968.

Ryde has been described by Drake’s biographers as “the nearest thing” to a girlfriend in his life, but she now prefers the description ‘best (girl) friend’. In a 2005 interview, Ryde revealed that a week before he died, she had sought to end the relationship: “I couldn’t cope with it. I asked him for some time. And I never saw him again.”

Similar to the relationship Drake had earlier shared with fellow folk musician Linda Thompson, Drake’s relationship with Ryde was never,  for what it’s worth, consummated.

At some time during the night of 24/25 November 1974, Nick Drake died at home in Far Leys from an overdose of amitriptyline, a type of antidepressant. He had gone to bed early the night before, after spending the afternoon visiting a friend.

 His mother claimed that, around dawn, he left his room for the kitchen. His family was used to hearing him do this many times before but, during this instance, he did not make a sound. They presumed that he was eating a bowl of cereal. He returned to his room a short while later, and took some pills “to help him sleep”.

 Drake was accustomed to keeping his own hours; he frequently had difficulty sleeping, and would often stay up through the night playing and listening to music, then sleeping late into the following morning. Recalling the events of that night, his mother later stated: “I never used to disturb him at all. But it was about 12 o’clock, and I went in, because really it seemed it was time he got up  and he was lying across the bed.

The first thing I saw was his long, long legs.” There was no suicide note, although a letter addressed to Ryde was found close to his bed.

At the inquest that December, Drake’s coroner stated that the cause of death was as a result of “Acute amitriptyline poisoning — self-administered when suffering from a depressive illness”, and concluded a verdict of suicide. Though this has been disputed by some members of his family, there is a general view that accidental or not, Drake had by then given up on life.

Rodney described his son’s death as unexpected and extraordinary; however, in a 1979 interview he admitted to “always [being] worried about Nick being so depressed. We used to hide away the aspirin and pills and things like that.”^[

Boyd has stated that he prefers to believe the overdose was accidental. He recalled that Drake’s parents had described his mood in the preceding weeks as having been very positive, and that he had planned to move back to London to restart his music career. Boyd believes that this levity was followed by a “crash back into despair”. Reasoning that Drake may have taken a high dosage of his antidepressants in order to recapture this sense of optimism, he said he prefers to imagine Drake “making a desperate lunge for life rather than a calculated surrender to death”.

Writing in 1975, NME journalist Nick Kent comments on the irony of Drake’s death at a time when he had just begun to regain a sense of “personal balance”.

In contrast, Gabrielle Drake has said she prefers to think Drake committed suicide, “in the sense that I’d rather he died because he wanted to end it than it to be the result of a tragic mistake. That would seem to me to be terrible…”

On 2 December 1974, after a service in the Church of St Mary Magdalene, Tanworth-in-Arden, Drake’s remains were cremated at the Solihull Crematorium and his ashes later interred under an oak tree in the adjoining graveyard of St Mary’s.

There for the grace…………………………………

There were no press obituaries, documentaries or compilation albums in the wake of Drake’s death.

 His public profile remained low throughout the mid and late 1970s, although occasional mentions of his name began to appear in the music press. Island Records initially saw little commercial value in his back catalogue, and following a 1975 NME article written by Nick Kent, stated “…we have no intention of repackaging Nick’s three albums, either now or at anytime in the foreseeable future”.

By the mid 1980s, Drake was being cited as an influence by musicians such as R.E.M.’s Peter Buck and Robert Smith of The Cure. Smith credited the origin of his band’s name to a lyric from Drake’s song “Time Has Told Me” (“a troubled cure for a troubled mind”).

 Drake gained further exposure in 1985 with the release of The Dream Academy’s hit single “Life in a Northern Town“, which included an on-sleeve dedication to Drake. His reputation continued to grow, and by the end of the 1980s, Nick Drake’s name was appearing regularly in newspapers and music magazines in the United Kingdom, and though he was still largely a cult figure, he was no longer unknown.

Drake had come to represent a kind of mythical doomed romantic hero in the eyes of many, an “enigma wrapped inside a mystery”.

In recent years, several musicians, including Lucinda Williams, Badly Drawn Boy and Lou Barlow have cited Drake as an influence. In 2004, nearly 30 years after his death, Drake gained his first chart placing when two singles (“Magic” and “River Man“), released to coincide with the compilation album Made to Love Magic, made the middle reaches of the U.K. charts. Later that year, the BBC aired a radio documentary about Drake, narrated by Brad Pitt.

The 2004 compilation “Made To Love Magic” is by no means a scraping the barrel release.

It was the aforementioned Pete Buck who made the comparison between Nick Drake and legendary bluesman Robert Johnson. Both had “something” burning and eating away at their soul, both were withdrawn and Pink Moon has been said to have been recorded in a similar fashion to Johnson’s limited sessions with the musician facing the wall and playing for themselves and no one else.

Johnson believed he was trailed by the devil and is easy to make a similar argument for Drake.

This song from the 2004 compilation is a good illustration and could easily been a Johnson composition.

“Black Eyed Dog” – Nick Drake.

A black eyed dog he called at my door
The black eyed dog he called for more
A black eyed dog he knew my name
A black eyed dog he knew my name
A black eyed dog
A black eyed dog.

I’m growing old and I wanna go home
I’m growiing old and I don’t wanna know
I’m growing old and I wanna go home.

A black eyed dog he called at my door
A black eyed dog he called for more.

Black dogs of course in folklore are linked to the devil

Nick Drake did return to recording after Pink Moon (in itself again in folklore linked to the devil and bringing of bad luck) only a handful of songs were recorded and this was the last

“Tow The Line” – Nick Drake

This day is the day that we rise or we fall
This night is the night that we win or lose all
This time is the time that we wait for a while
This year is the year that we wait with a smile

If you call, we will follow
If you show us we can tow the line

And now that you’re here you can show me the way
Now that you’re here we can try make it pay
For while you were gone it was hard it was cold
While you were gone we were time we were old

If you call we will follow
If you show us we can tow the line

Finally we close the circle and return to a demo recorded in 1968 by Robert Kirby, an acoustic version of “River Man” ironically without the orchestration which would in time make Robert famous.

Hopefully you are now both making music somewhere else.

“River Man (1968 Demo) – Nick Drake

If you don’t have the music of Nick Drake buy it HERE now….if you do it will be with you forever.

Biography detail, extracted, edited and added to from Wikipedia

A few paragraphs in her enthralling autobiography (Le Désespoir des Singes et autres Bagatelles, Editions Robert Laffont 2008) reveal Françoise Hardy’s admiration for late English singer/songwriter, Nick Drake. Since his first album, she tells us, she’d loved his work. An unusually kind and generous soul, Françoise seized every opportunity to enthuse about Nick’s music to every journalist, promoter or associated decision-former she encountered.

Nick heard of this, and turned up at the London recording studio where Françoise was working on a new record. There he spent hours sitting on the floor watching, listening, without uttering a word.  The language barrier proved insuperable so little progress was made in forging a new friendship. At least apparently – for late in 1972 Nick ‘phoned Françoise: he was passing through Paris and would like to see her.  That evening Françoise was due to attend a cabaret presented by a fellow singer, among a noisily cheerful, Champagne-swilling crowd of mutual acquaintances. Hardly Nick Drake’s scene. He maintained an impenetrable – although far from either hostile or sulky – silence throughout. An essentially shy and reserved person herself, Françoise was concerned for Nick. But she felt it best to respect his wish to be left alone -  and also feared that it might be insensitive to break through his mute barrier.

Françoise couldn’t fathom why Nick had visited her. What did he want? It only occurred to her decades later that Nick might have had a more personal interest in her.  But less than two years after his visit to Paris Nick’s mother ‘phoned Françoise: Nick had died, aged 26.  Despite the shock the sudden death of a young person always inflicts, Françoise’s conclusion was that Nick’s growing despondency could only have had one outcome. And, whether his death was a result of accident or suicide,  so it sadly proved.

Françoise wonders whether success might have reversed his progress towards oblivion, while simultaneously entertaining a suspicion that there might have been something within Nick which insisted upon denying him the recognition he so clearly deserved. Briefly, she considers a form of autism as an explanation for Nick’s excessive introversion. Then, perhaps more realistically, opts for a vulnerability based on sensitivity so extreme that even the slightest most casual discourtesy could cause him pain. Author Phil Rickman, magical weaver of mysterious patterns combining harsh contemporary realities with ancient truths,  features Nick and the songs as a constant reference point and near-presence in his Merrily Watkins series of ’spiritual procedurals’.  In a private message to me Phil offered his own view that Nick suffered from an unusually extreme form of shyness.

None of us will ever know, so it’s pointless to speculate. Perhaps one of Françoise Hardy’s most haunting and poignantly beautiful songs might serve as a tribute to the impulse that compelled Nick to contact her.  Fais moi une place was written for that handsome exponent of passionate intensity, Julien Clerc, for whom it was a deserved success. Yet for me his version – however good – somehow doesn’t sound right.  It doesn’t exactly cloche; but it definitely sonne faux. So I was delighted to discover, thanks to YouTube, that Françoise recorded her own version. The orchestration may be a touch overpowering, but the melody and lyrics really do come into their own. Merci infiniment, Françoise – and here’s to the memory of Nick Drake:

Mondays.

Most associate them with work, a return to a grind or another numbing expanse until the next two-preceding-Monday-days get here. I’m lucky. I associated this Monday with catharsis.

***

I’d like to give you all the elements that make an event: the initial idea; the months of planning; the meetings on meetings and emails on emails; and I’d especially like to give you the backstage meetings, handshakes and interesting asides that arise in being backstage but that would ruin the mystery and this review now wouldn’t it?

***

After welcoming everyone backstage and front, we all took our seats in the – without hyperbole – well-crafted, elegant, wooden Hall One of King’s Place in King’s Cross. The Guardian’s home seemed fitting since on the furthest right of the stage sat Philip French, The Guardian’s film critic.

To the left of him sat John Mole, Nick Drake, Kaleem Sheikh, Jay Visva Deva, Terence Davies and Lucy Tregear.

I was surprised at how much each speaker could fit in to their ten minutes and surprised that my enjoyment didn’t wane.

John Mole began proceedings with readings of his own poetry and recollections of his own film encounters. John’s always entertainingly warm and welcoming – I chuckled softly to find out that where he grew up they used to play films on a continuous run so that if you came in late you can carry on watching and catch the minutes you missed. He followed that up with his poem ‘This is Where We Came In’ – a run at the ambiguity of movie-dates. Endearing though it was, I wish I could have heard a more emotionally, physically tense version that wasn’t so many names dropped but fingers felt. His ten minutes were a welcome personal start to what would be both educational and almost overwhelming in its scope next.

Philip French gave ten minutes of what he saw as the history of poetry in film. His early definition veered away from poetic cinematography and toward actual text but, even after that, he managed to make example after example of exemplary films wherein poetry is used. He asked Lucy Tregear to read a few of the poems from the films he talked about and her readings were alternately funny and frank.Lucy would continue to read poetry for many of the speakers throughout the night.

I was honestly blown-away by the depth of Philip French’s knowledge. His style too helped – he seemed to be rolling this off the tongue. In his Northern-England inflected voice was a real sense of appreciating the intertwining of the two forms, much like the examples he gave. A deserved huge round of applause from the near 200 audience gave Philip’s ten minutes its end.

Next saw Nick Drake discuss his Best Australian Film award-winning film, ‘Romulus, My Father’.  Nick Drake isn’t the ghost of or the conspiracy location of the now very dead folk-singer but instead a lovely writer I’ve worked with many times.He also teaches where I work making me a little bias but having heard him read poetry before, seen him talk on film now and having just talked to the man – I know Nick knows his stuff. I have tried for the past hour to obtain his film through torrents and libraries but fear I may have to settle on the original book because his description of how he as a poet wrote the film script was so gut-wrenching that I now really want to see ‘Romulus, My Father’.

Next Jay Visva Deva and Kaleem Sheikh showed us film clips, played us songs and talked in depth about how in the times before Bollywood and now in contemporary Bollywood poetry is indistinguishable from Indian cinema. Poets have been drafted in to write the songs of films since the beginning of Indian cinema – I was interested to hear that some of the first filmmaking took place in India in the late 1800s. These clips – including Barsaat [Rain] and Mother India of which I’d seen – plus Kaleem’s reverential knowledge were enough to encourage me to later ask Kaleem if he had ever written or composed any poetry for screen. “He has done more than that, young Gwalchmai. He is a singer.” Jay smiled out, sipping his wine.
“A singer? Will you sing us something Kaleem?”

He did. I have never had the good fortune to hear Urdu poetry sung in person before. I often consider myself a fortunate man. Monday was no exception.But back to the event and not what came after – for those things are for those that were there.

Next Terence Davies came into the spotlight and told us ‘I remember , at the age of ten, opening my text book at the teacher’s request and turning to a poem that would later be the first of many poems I fell in love with. This was it…’ He then read, but didn’t read. He had no text in front of him but dramatically recited, word-for-word ‘The Highwayman’ by Alfred Noyse. Terence Davies has a somehow seductive voice. Perhaps it was this quality that caused the entire audience to clap so loud and some to stand when he’d finished with the flourish ‘…and it’s that simple when making poetry in film’.

I then had to leave in order to do manager things but thereafter a Q&A took place for 20 minutes.

The feedback we got told us the Q&A needed to be longer. I wish I hadn’t missed it.

***

I know my review is bias.

I know it seems like I might write no bad thing about it because I organised it but, you’ll know, if you’ve ever been ‘the manager’, you know what goes wrong and how badly it goes wrong. You know what the atmosphere is like because you’re still a little nervous about whether or not it’s any good as you sit at the back gauging the audience’s responses. This time I think everyone enjoyed it – I know that I did even though I was nervous.

If I had to pick favourites it would be Nick Drake’s underplayed account of how he as a poet approached transforming the original novel of Romulus, My Father [which in its own right is an eulogy] into a script and Philip French’s in-depth talk. Both seemed to give me a little of the man and a little of their processes.

***

That Monday night – once all was done – saw catharsis cover 30 minutes, 4 glasses of wine and one ale. After the busiest three weeks of my life, I think I may have deserved them and thankfully only had to pay for one.

image by Lorenzo Marvulli

I am instantly drawn to the friendly bearded face of Sam Taylor and scarlet-haired Hannah Richardson on the balcony at Bristol’s Watershed.  Their welcome is shy, but inviting as they appear as pleased to be making my acquaintance as I am to be making theirs.  Although I haven’t seen them on stage yet, I am instantly fond of these two as personalities and particularly to Sam’s crimson, crushed-velvet blazer.  However, I keep this little truth-nugget to myself as I’d never be able to wear it with the same ease and nonchalance.  Adelaide’s Cape have been writing and playing together since 2006, and specialise in acoustic and folk music with variations in percussive accompaniment, but that’s just fact and I want juice.

I press record, take a sip of tonic water and Sam tells me that although he originated from Scotland in an accent that has received a remoulding of sorts, he has been in Norwich for the past eight years.  Since Adelaide’s Cape’s conception when they were still at school, the duo have undergone many changes in dynamics and stage appearance with Sam and Hannah standing their ground as the two constant members.  I instantly want to know how they manage to generate and sustain a presence in Norwich, London and now Bristol, the “Spacious Triangle” as I put it. As it happens, the two now live and study full-time in neighbouring Bath.  Trains.  Trains, trains, trains.  Two hours later, laden with bulky and occasionally heavy instruments, they’re doing what they do best on another patch of turf.  It’s all too common to meet bands who start out concentrating and end up stagnating in the locality.  These two, doing it for themselves, seem comfortable with their life choices and are content with the results.

Having listened to their recordings on the myspace page (insert link), more than two instruments are sounding so I’m keen to know who is making all the ruckus.  Although Sam is a keen guitarist and vocalist and Hannah a trained percussionist with an assortment of celtic and tribal influences, they speak highly of a long list of collaborators who continue to make their way in the music industry in different parts of the country.  The duo tell of plans to recruit Hannah’s new housemate as bassist and Sam’s mate on accordian.  It’s all go, go, go, and with the Oxjam festival in Norwich, immediately followed by a recording sesh to nail the EP, Sam continues and tells me that the forthcoming Christmas period is going to be particularly busy with a tall order of gigs in London along with a recording session for the BBC.  Although, in his exicted state, the initials BBC trip over his tongue sounding like “Cbeebies” and I question their intended demographic.  A shared cachinnation later, and it turns out that they write and perform for all manner of human people and everything else.

I put a couple of influences to them to gauge their reactions and Nick Drake strikes a particular chord.  They both laugh as they frequently hear such post-gig comparisons.  I also venture a similarity in Sam’s voice to a young Damien Rice, and he isn’t at all offended so we move on.  A natural departure from such an interrogation is what their first musical selections.  I nod politely as Sam offers the Stereophonics’ “Performance and Cocktails”, but grunt and have to contort my face as Hannah surprises me with Destiny’s Child debut.  She swiftly justifies the revelation by reminding me that Beyoncé is a cool chick (which I interpret as “sexy”) and a compromise is reached.

On the origins of the band name, I am told that it is better than the previous suggestion, but not what that previous suggestion was.  Hannah passes the question to Sam, who explains that while the significance of the words isn’t overwelming, the pleasing assonance of them is.  There’s a meeting of the minds as we all recall the Cellar Door scene from Donnie Darko and I permit the name.

image by Lorenzo Marvulli

Although the cape have recently moved to Bath to follow their academic dreams (Hannah dreams of events management while Sam ponders poetry, prose and stirring narratives), their favourite venue remains the Arts’ Centre in Norwich.  That said, the decision to hit the south-west was partly fuelled by Bath’s proximity to the artistic hub of Bristol where a line-up of many future gigs are to follow.  In particular, the enthusiasm for the prospect of free noodles as performers at Mr Wolf’s is justified and genuine.  We hope that the Bristolian bohemia is enough to suspend their excitement and entice them over again and again.

I hit the duo with a small collection of random questions in order to create a firm mental image of who they are aside from their music.  Both Sam and Hannah agree on cats over dogs and green over red.  Winning me over with these two crucial details, they soon become divided – Sam’s a cheese man, where as Hannah represents chalk all the way.  On discovering that Sam is a tight-leg over loose-breif kind of guy, Hannah brings this line of interrogation to a sharp but necessary conclusion when retorting, “that’s a silly question”.  Yeah, but I curtsey them to this moment for humouring me.

As the two are on the brink of signing to Norwich based indie label, Barefeet Records, all eyes are to be kept peeled for further releases coming soon.  So, it is on this tuneful note that I decide to close things with a fill-the-blanks question as everyone loves them.  At least those who aren’t giving the answer love them.  “We make *blank* for *blank*”, I propose, and after several attempts, I’m content that both blanks are filled with the word “folk”.  Sam’s exploits and endeavours into creative writing are indubitably going to cement themselves into the minds of his attentive listeners and fellow lyricists, while their combined musicianship and talent for acoustic song-writing will move even the more passive listener.  Look these two up and venture a hello as it will be received with gratitude and friendly banter.

Cuarenta años después de la publicación de “Five Leaves Left“, el primer disco de Nick Drake, numerosos artistas de la escena musical independiente saltan al escenario para rendir un homenaje al celebre chico de la incurable tristeza.

Será esta noche, en la Sala Galileo Galilei de Madrid, y contará con la presencia de Tulsa, Russian Red o Christina Rosenvinge -entre las féminas- y de Pajaro Sunrise, Julio de la Rosa o Manuel Cabezali, entre otros.

La obra de este melancólico británico nacido en Birmania estuvo compuesta por tres trabajos: Five Leaves Left (1969), Bryter Layter (1970) y Pink Moon (1972).  De una sensibilidad exquista, sus canciones remiten al folk más dulce y sencillo, son historias contenidas, pinceladas sinceras con destacados arreglos de cuerda, que nos transportan a un otoño humedo y tímido.

Su recuperación es una excelente noticia.

This song tames this bloody post full moon halloween, thank you ricardo.

Piers, Camille and Dominique covering Nick Drake’s “One Of These Things First”

[Nick Drake - One of this things first]

I could have been a sailor, could have been a cook
A real live lover, could have been a book.
I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock
As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.
I could be
Here and now
I would be, I should be
But how?
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.

I could have been your pillar, could have been your door
I could have stayed beside you, could have stayed for more.
Could have been your statue, could have been your friend,
A whole long lifetime could have been the end.
I could be yours so true
I would be, I should be through and through
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.

I could have been a whistle, could have been a flute
A real live giver, could have been a boot.
I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock
As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.
I could be even here
I would be, I should be so near
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.

Brian Wells: “He never said: ‘I’m utterly pissed off and I wish I’d sold more records’, you know – that wasn’t cool. I think he was very aware of what was cool and I think he found safety in actually appearing to be withdrawn; he was quite uncomfortable around people. In Cambridge, he wasn’t one for sitting around and just shooting the shit – it would run out of steam and then he would look nervous, and then say, right, I’ve got to go. And you knew that he wasn’t going to anything. He just wanted to withdraw from the situation, but would still feel awkward having done so. And he’d go back to his room on Haverstock Hill and stare at the wall for ages… A guy called Rich Charkin went to Morocco with Nick before Cambridge, and he once said to me that he went round to see Nick in Haverstock Hill, rang the bell and no one answered, so he went round the back and there was Nick in his room staring at the wall, just not answering the front door…”

Nick Drake by Keith Morris