Nick Drake resembled a romantic poet, but there was nothing romantic about his death. Convinced that he had lost his talent, the English singer-songwriter got up in the middle of the night on Monday, November 25, 1974. He made himself oatmeal. He played Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos in his headphones. And in the morning, when he could no longer imagine even the immediate future, he swallowed six dozen antidepressants. He was 26 years old.
This Monday marks half a century since the death of a man whose harrowing transformation from a happy child to a man paralyzed by the deepest depression has no easy explanation. His slide into darkness, unable to perform even ordinary activities, was absolute.
The intensity of the agony is exemplified by the song Black Eyed Dogfilmed half a year before his death. She calls him imploringly, transported to another world by a dog with black eyes, the personification of despair. “When I heard that, I realized that it was over. That he had reached a place where he couldn’t find his way back and neither could we,” recalls his friend in the five-hundred-page book Nick Drake: The Life, which was published in English last year by journalist Richard Morton Jack .
Nick Drake quickly caught fire as a youngster playing incredibly mature, thoughtful music. He sacrificed everything for her, including his studies at Cambridge University. But his three albums failed and he ended his concert career due to failure. At a time when his classmates were starting their first jobs and starting families, he moved back in with his parents. After several years of suffering, including hospitalization and electroshock treatment, he died rejected, almost forgotten.
After his death, however, sales of his records slowly grew from thousands to tens and finally hundreds of thousands. Today has his song Pink Moon over 200 million plays on the Spotify platform alone. Actor Brad Pitt about him in the new millennium he spoke radio documentary and Heath Ledger filmed video. His song sounded in the advertisement of the Volkswagen car company. Another cover version they created singer Norah Jones, jazz pianist Brad Mehldau or rockers Eddie Vedder and Dave Grohl. Meanwhile, the interest continues: for this year’s double album composes another generation’s tribute to Nick Drake, from rockers Fontaines DC to pop star Aurora. The younger ones recognize in his story current topics for their generation, from mental health to ambiguous sexual orientation.
Somewhere far away
The enigmatic Drake continues to fascinate. Although he died in 1974, not a single video of him has survived. He never gave a proper interview. He owned the bare minimum of things. And there is no trace of his love life.
Nick Drake was best alone with music. | Photo: Keith Morris
Richard Morton Jack’s book, to which the singer’s 80-year-old sister Gabrielle Drake wrote the foreword, is the most comprehensive summary of available knowledge to date. From dozens of interviews, testimonies and information unearthed in the archives, Nick Drake emerges as a lonely introvert. A tall, taciturn and shy boy who could stare fixedly at the wall for hours, but also impulsively ran away from London to Paris, where he wandered for weeks.
At one time he was addicted to marijuana and hashish, which may or may not have contributed to his downfall. He liked to dress in black and wear turtlenecks. Towards the end of his life, he communicated almost exclusively through music. “He started by playing something for me, but as he played he visibly disappeared into his own world,” a friend recalls in the book. Drake is said to have played the guitar hunched over, his eyes hidden under his long hair falling down his face. He sang in a sincere, intense and hypnotic baritone, from which he switched to a boyishly vulnerable, dreamy falsetto. He was taking listeners somewhere far away.
He had enormous talent. He learned the piano, saxophone and clarinet as a child, after which he discovered the acoustic guitar at the age of sixteen. On it, the self-taught Drake developed a distinctive playing style based on finger strumming, knowledge of alternative tunings and orientation in polyrhythms.
Although he was influenced by guitarists such as Bert Jansch or bluesman Robert Johnson, his combination of folk, blues, jazz and elements of chamber music did not sound derivative. Because he had a tape recorder, he recorded his playing and listened to it immediately, thanks to which he quickly improved. In his best songs, whose sophisticated shapes he complemented with mysteriously suggestive lyrics, he often strummed multiple voices at once with all five fingers, from counterpoint to melody. Thanks to his massive hands, he could control the bass string with the thumb of his left hand.
The 5/4 rhythm is characteristic for the song River Man by Nick Drake. | Video: Island Records
Without success
Although he recorded his three albums at the turn of the 60s and 70s of the last century, politics passed him by. Through the otherworldly, he sang about melancholy, at first observed and later perhaps felt alienation or otherness. In particular, his first record Five Leaves Left from 1969 is not hopelessly dark, and perhaps thanks to the strings, the arrangement of which Drake and his classmate worked out all year, on the contrary, it shines through with innocence, almost childlike wonder.
In the song The Thoughts of Mary Jane with a flute-driven chorus, he ambiguously sings about marijuana and a mysterious woman whose dreams no one understands. Amazingly thought out River Man in a 5/4 rhythm with a dramatic shift in jazz harmony, perhaps it tells about disappointment in life, perhaps fear of death. And perhaps it refers to the river that the then twenty-year-old student crossed daily in Cambridge.
Towards the end of his life, Nick Drake communicated with the world almost exclusively through music. | Photo: Universal Music
For some, the first album is too loaded with strings, which sound inappropriately monumental compared to Drake’s introverted speech. In any case, the recording was not a success, so the label forced him to approach the rock sound on the second album Bryter Layter. Only the third and last, dark record Pink Moon was recorded by himself with an acoustic guitar.
But there was no response. It didn’t help that Drake was signed to the prestigious label Island Records, which supported him for the rest of his life. That Richard Thompson from the popular folk-rock group Fairport Convention performed on his first album, part of the second album was produced by John Cale from the famous Velvet Underground, and Elton John sang a few of his songs during Drake’s lifetime. He wasn’t interested anyway.
The label didn’t know how to deal with him. “We didn’t promote Nick much. It’s a fact that we didn’t even release a single for him,” admits the sales manager at the time, David Betteridge, in the book. Stores had no reason to display a record by an unknown musician. But at the same time, Drake didn’t give interviews, he didn’t like to play on the radio and he wasn’t good at concerts either.
According to eyewitnesses, he always just arrived on stage, did not greet the audience, sat down and without a word began to play for himself. He refused to entertain people or make eye contact with them. He relied on mesmerizing them with his virtuosity, but his songs probably sounded similar to many, he did not have a beautiful voice in the classical sense of the word, and he retuned the instrument for a long time after each composition. “They sent him to play in a factory or a pub, but there they were all shouting, drinking, clinking glasses and not listening to him at all. The one time he told us, he laughed, but I think he was terribly disappointed,” his mother Molly recalled.
A concert career of about thirty appearances lasted from September 1969 to August 1970, when he stopped mid-song, left the stage with a “frightened look on his face” and called his record label to say he was quitting. His music would have a hard time even today, but back then he was in a time that particularly favored loud rock. “He was terribly apologetic for letting us down. He was devastated and embarrassed,” recalls Joe Boyd, producer of the first two records.
Nick Drake sings ambiguously about marijuana and a mysterious woman on The Thoughts of Mary Jane, with its flute-driven chorus. | Video: Island Records
The happiest and most tragic moments
Also, according to a book biography published in 1999 by Patrick Humphries, rejection from listeners contributed to Drake’s condition. He spent days alone at home with his guitar, increasingly neglected, losing his zest for life. Even the parents he eventually moved back in with didn’t often coax words out of him. “He thought he was something special and that others couldn’t appreciate it. I think this was the beginning of his suffering,” his mother said in 1992.
The diary that the father kept about his son’s mental state gives a painful report. And from which it follows how he gradually stopped talking, lifting his eyes from the ground, changing his clothes or getting out of bed. As he fell into manic states and outbursts of aggression, he suddenly enlisted in the army or wanted to start working in a bank and IT, only to change his mind after a while. During repeated hospitalizations in a psychiatric hospital, doctors suspected schizophrenia. At one point, according to friends, Nick Drake lost the ability to sing and play guitar at the same time, which he always managed without problems in difficult odd rhythms.
In the last year of his life, he told his father that “he is done, and the sooner it comes, the better”. A few months before his death, he was last in the studio, where he recorded only a few older songs, including Black Eyed Dog. The combination of Drake’s innocent falsetto and an unusual guitar accompaniment working with so-called flagolet tones contributes to its terrifying impact.
He was plagued by creative block. He took every invitation from the publishing house or friends to record something as evidence of failure and loss of talent. When he ceremoniously burned his older guitars in the garden, he was probably showing that everything he derived his identity from inside him was dying. And once he lost the ability to express his pain through music, he rapidly declined until he overdosed on anti-depressants and died.
“Like most mental illnesses, his was grim, repetitive and relentless. It cruelly deprived him of his muse. It brought despair to him and lifelong sorrow to all his loved ones,” the nurse summarizes in last year’s book. Its last two hundred or so pages dispel the idea that anyone could have helped Nick Drake. “I didn’t know what else to do for him,” Chris Blackwell, head of Island Records, also shrugs.
But there is no reason to remember Nick Drake with suicide songs, when you can play a beautifully strummed, melancholic song Joey about a strange girl from another world. And anyway, there is no reason to remember only the tragic end. The book also captures moments when he was probably happy: when, after finishing high school, his classmates go on a road trip through France. They sleep under the stars, hang out on beaches, read Oscar Wilde and sit up late into the night by the fire where Nick Drake plays guitar.
His preserved monologue, recorded on a tape recorder, comes from a similar time filmed the speech of a teenager who came home from a party at night, sat down at the piano drunk, started playing and “I felt so good at the piano, just playing and singing”. An honest confession that Nick Drake was best alone with music.
Video: I provoked the neighbors to spit. Janda about long hair and totalitarian bullying (11/18/2024)
“Girls, booze, friendship for life and death and hours of chatting until the morning,” recalls Petr Janda, frontman of the Olympic band, about his beginnings. | Video: Team Spotlight
Wow, let’s dive right into the life and tragic story of Nick Drake! It’s a tale that unfolds like a Shakespearean drama peppered with a dash of dark comedy — pure British!
Born in 1948, Nick Drake didn’t just look like a romantic poet; he was practically the poster boy for wistful melancholy. I mean, this is a guy who could turn oatmeal into a heartbreaking ballad! On that fateful morning of November 25, 1974, he polished off a breakfast that’s quite frankly the least appetizing thing you could think of before deciding six dozen antidepressants seemed like a great idea — who knew depression could make you that hungry?
Let’s be honest, Drake was like that genius friend we all have — you know, the one who’s writing masterpieces while the rest of us are barely managing to remember our passwords? But here’s the kicker: despite his brilliance, he was utterly convinced he’d lost his talent! It’s like a comedian thinking they’re terrible right after they’ve just killed it on stage. The man could strum the guitar like he was infused with the spirits of a hundred folk legends and still believed his music was worth less than a used teabag!
But before we drown in despair at his untimely demise at just 26, let’s celebrate the man’s artistry. He was a prodigy, crafting these hauntingly beautiful tunes that resonate with anyone who’s ever felt just a little out of place. “Pink Moon” alone is more streamed than the time I tried to watch a British documentary about the history of tea — and that was about as riveting as watching paint dry.
His albums were enigmas, released to lukewarm receptions while he distanced himself from the fame machine — a bit like the introverted friend who avoids Instagram like it’s a deadly virus. He was an exiled rock star in his own right, living in a constant state of reflection while his contemporaries were basking in the limelight. While your average rock star might have dragons tattooed on their arms, Nick was probably doodling existential musings.
Richard Morton Jack’s new book, “Nick Drake: The Life,” paints a portrait of a brilliantly melancholic soul. It’s like opening a box of chocolates, but the flavors all taste like profound sadness and misunderstood genius. You can just imagine the family gatherings — “Oh, Nick, some of us are getting jobs and houses, what are you doing?” The poor lad was hand-rolling his emotions into intricate guitar riffs while more “normal” individuals were settling down.
Drake’s corner of sadness was lovingly guarded; a few indecipherable interviews and zero videos make him a real-life ghost story for music aficionados. It’s hard not to feel an ache for the guy who poured his heart into his art yet felt so distant from the very society he was attempting to touch.
And let’s not forget his love life; or rather the complete absence of it. I mean, he’s got less romantic evidence than your average Buzzfeed quiz! He essentially communicated through his music by the end, practically saying, “Forget Tinder; just listen to ‘Black Eyed Dog’ and you’ll know all about my heartbreak.”
Yet, after his passing, his music took a turn — like classic British weather, one minute it’s gloomy, the next it’s a sunny day with a thousand streams! Artists like Brad Pitt and Heath Ledger sang his praises, proving that sometimes even the acclaimed (and exceptionally good-looking) can appreciate the beauty in melancholy. And let’s face it, we’ve all had days when we feel like a black-eyed dog!
So here’s to Nick Drake, the tortured artist who took his pain and transformed it into something beautifully haunting and profoundly relatable. It makes us reflect on the nature of creativity — a double-edged sword that can be both a source of exquisite beauty and overwhelming sorrow.
It’s easy to romanticize tragedies, but instead of mourning his loss, let’s celebrate the genius, the music, and the spirit of a man who unarguably was more alive in his art than many of us are in our so-called “real” lives. Give his tunes a spin; just maybe don’t as you’re prepping a midnight snack!
Nick Drake: A Dark Legacy Remembered After 50 Years
Nick Drake, with his ethereal presence reminiscent of a romantic poet, faced a tragic fate devoid of any romanticism. On the fateful night of November 25, 1974, believing he had squandered his musical talent, the troubled English singer-songwriter rose in the dead of night. He prepared oatmeal for himself and immersed in Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos through his headphones, searching for solace. As dawn broke, consumed by despair and unable to envision a future, he swallowed six dozen antidepressants. He was merely 26 years old.
This Monday marks the somber 50th anniversary of a man whose heartbreaking journey from a joyful childhood to a life overshadowed by profound depression remains shrouded in mystery. Nick’s descent into darkness was so consuming that he could barely engage in routine activities. The heartbreaking intensity of his suffering is poignantly captured in "Black Eyed Dog," a song recorded just six months prior to his tragic end. The song’s haunting lyrics invoke a desperate plea, transporting him to another realm, portrayed by a black-eyed dog—the embodiment of his despair. "When I heard that, I realized that it was over. That he had reached a place where he couldn’t find his way back, and neither could we," a friend reflected in the comprehensive biography titled Nick Drake: The Life, released last year by journalist Richard Morton Jack.
As a young artist, Nick Drake quickly ignited passion with his incredibly mature and introspective music. However, he sacrificed his academic pursuits at Cambridge University, dedicating himself entirely to his craft. Dishearteningly, his three albums—although rich with poignant lyrics and emotional resonance—failed to capture the public’s attention, leading to a devastating end to his concert career. While peers embarked on their first careers and started families, Drake retreated into his childhood home, experiencing years of suffering that included hospitalization and electroconvulsive therapy. Ultimately, he left this world shunned and nearly forgotten.
In the wake of his passing, there was an unexpected resurgence of interest, and sales of his records soared from thousands to hundreds of thousands. Today, his hauntingly beautiful track "Pink Moon" boasts over 200 million streams on Spotify alone. The new millennium saw actor Brad Pitt narrating a radio documentary about him, while Heath Ledger featured his music in a captivating video. Notably, his songs found life in a Volkswagen advertisement, and contemporary artists such as Norah Jones, jazz pianist Brad Mehldau, and rock legends Eddie Vedder and Dave Grohl have created their own renditions of his work. This year’s double album serves as yet another homage to Drake, featuring an array of modern talents—from the electrifying Fontaines DC to international pop sensation Aurora. His narrative resonates deeply with younger generations, sparking discussions about mental health and complex sexual identities.
The enigmatic figure of Nick Drake continues to cast a spell even decades after his death. Despite passing away in 1974, not a single video performance of him remains, and he never participated in a formal interview. His possessions were minimal, and mysteries still envelop his romantic life.
Richard Morton Jack’s book, bolstered by a foreword from Drake’s 80-year-old sister, Gabrielle, presents the most comprehensive examination of the artist’s life to date. Through extensive interviews, testimonies, and hidden archives, Drake is portrayed as a solitary introspective soul—tall, taciturn, and entirely withdrawn. He could sit in silence, staring blankly at walls for hours, yet he could just as impulsively flee to Paris, wandering for weeks. A period of addiction to marijuana and hashish surrounded him, potentially complicating his struggles, but his essence was largely defined by his black attire and turtlenecks. As his life approached its end, his connection to the world became almost exclusively through the medium of music. "He started by playing something for me, but as he played, he visibly disappeared into his own world," a friend recalled in Jack’s biography.
Emerging as a prodigious talent, Drake learned the piano, saxophone, and clarinet in his youth, only to discover the acoustic guitar at sixteen. He developed a distinctive playing style fueled by finger-picking, a mastery of alternative tunings, and an intricate understanding of polyrhythms. Although influenced by the likes of Bert Jansch and Robert Johnson, his fusion of folk, blues, jazz, and chamber music remains wholly unique. Equipped with a tape recorder, Drake would listen to his playing immediately after recording, honing his craft rapidly. His most resonant songs combined complex shapes with enigmatic yet evocative lyrics, often strumming multiple voices simultaneously, showcasing his remarkable dexterity.
Drake produced three albums during the transitional period of the late 1960s and early 1970s, yet his political and personal sentiments felt like whispers amid an exuberantly loud rock landscape. His debut album, Five Leaves Left, crafted with a year’s worth of orchestration, offers a shimmering innocence, almost childlike in its wonder despite hinting at darker themes. The song "The Thoughts of Mary Jane" features a leisurely flute chorus, the lyrics explore ambiguous themes surrounding marijuana and a mysterious woman whose dreams remain elusive. Notably, "River Man," characterized by a beautiful 5/4 rhythm and dramatic jazz shifts, delves into the complexities of life’s disappointments, with a possible nod to the river Drake traversed daily while studying in Cambridge.
His debut album’s string arrangements, though lavishly crafted, at times clashed with his intimate vocal style, leading to mixed receptions at best. The pressure from his label urged him to adopt a rock-oriented sound in his second album, Bryter Layter. Ironically, his final and darkest album, Pink Moon, saw him retreat into a solitary creation process, relying solely on his acoustic guitar for the tracks. Despite being signed with the esteemed Island Records, which provided significant backing during his lifetime—featuring contributions from luminaries like Richard Thompson and John Cale—he remained far from the public eye. "We didn’t promote Nick much. We didn’t even release a single for him," confessed David Betteridge, the label’s sales manager, elucidating the overwhelming sense of neglect that surrounded Drake.
His concert career, spanning about thirty performances from September 1969 to August 1970, came to an abrupt halt when he left the stage mid-song, appearing visibly distressed. His struggle to connect with audiences only deepened his disillusionment; he approached performances not as entertainment but as personal expressions, often failing to engage with his listeners. In settings filled with raucous patrons, he felt unheard, his delicate artistry lost amidst the boisterous atmosphere, leading to feelings of not just disappointment but a profound sense of solitude.
According to a biography published in 1999, rejection from the audience profoundly impacted Drake’s mental health. Days spent alone with his guitar morphed into periods of neglect, extinguishing his passion for life. Even the comfort of retreating back to his parents’ home did little to alleviate his silence. "He thought he was something special and that others couldn’t appreciate it. I think this was the beginning of his suffering," his mother recalled years later.
A diary meticulously maintained by his father chronicled Nick’s suffering, revealing a trajectory of increasing isolation. He became a shadow of his former self—gradually disengaging from conversations, avoiding eye contact, and succumbing to debilitating cycles of despair. During harrowing hospitalizations, the presence of manic episodes led doctors to suspect an alignment with schizophrenia. Friends noted disheartening changes: Nick seemed to lose the ability to synthesize singing and guitar playing simultaneously—a task he once managed even with the most complex rhythms.
In the last year of his life, he told his father, “He is done, and the sooner it comes, the better.” Months before the end, he stepped into a studio again, recording several earlier creations, including "Black Eyed Dog," a piece that juxtaposed his angelic falsetto with an unconventional guitar accompaniment, cementing its haunting emotional impact. Battling a creative block, every invitation to create felt like a vestige of failure, amplifying his feelings of inadequacy. In a final, tragic demonstration of despair, he burned his cherished guitars in the garden—an act symbolizing the fraying identity he had long associated with music. As he lost the means to articulate his pain musically, his existence spiraled, culminating in his heartbreaking overdose on antidepressants.
"Like most mental illnesses, his was grim, repetitive, and relentless. It cruelly deprived him of his muse. It brought despair to him and lifelong sorrow to all his loved ones," expresses a nurse from last year’s illuminating biography. The final pages reveal a haunting truth: despite the love surrounding him, no remedy existed to save Nick Drake. "I didn’t know what else to do for him," Chris Blackwell, head of Island Records, lamented.
Yet, there’s no need to characterize Nick Drake solely through the lens of tragedy and melancholy. One can bask in the beauty of his strumming melodies and his emotional storytelling, such as in the enchanting song "Joey," which brings to life the tale of a mysterious girl from afar. The memory of Nick Drake transcends the tragic end; it also encapsulates moments of genuine joy, like when he spent blissful hours after high school on a road trip through France, lying under the stars, mingling with classmates, and immersing himself in poetic readings by Oscar Wilde. An enduring monologue captured on tape echoes these carefree days, filled with the primal joy of music: "I felt so good at the piano, just playing and singing." Ultimately, Nick Drake remains a reminder of the profound connection between the human spirit and the solace found in music.
What themes are explored in Nick Drake’s music that reflect his struggles with mental health?
He faced an insurmountable hill of despair that loomed larger by the day. It was a turbulent struggle, as the music that had once been his sanctuary now felt like a cage, binding him to his anguish rather than liberating him from it.
As November swirled into view, so too did the darkness that would ultimately consume him. The act of creating, once a joyful expression, morphed into an echo of his isolation. His music, profound in its beauty, became a haunting reminder of the pain he could hardly escape. Friends and family who had once reveled in his talent found themselves feeling helpless, watching as the light within him dimmed.
Drake’s lyrics resonated with themes of longing, love, and loss—the kind of raw emotion that persists through time. Songs like “Pink Moon” possess an ethereal quality that transcends mere strumming and singing; they emerged as an existential exploration, a grappling with the weight of existence itself. The cumulative feeling of his work—an intersection of beauty and sorrow—continues to resonate with audiences. It invites reflection about the delicate balance between artistic brilliance and personal suffering.
Even today, as we revisit his music, we find ourselves enmeshed in a melancholic tapestry woven by a man who sought solace in sound and rhythm yet ultimately found himself enveloped in despair. The lyrics of “Black Eyed Dog,” filled with poignant imagery, capture a sense of yearning for peace that he never fully attained. This song, among others, serves as a reminder of the fragile thread connecting the artist’s innermost battles and the art he created.
Nick Drake’s life and music inspire conversations about mental health—a vital and necessary dialog that sheds light on the often hidden struggles faced by many artists. His legacy prompts us to reconsider how we view the “tortured artist,” shifting away from mere romanticism toward a deeper understanding of the pain behind the art.
As we approach the 50th anniversary of his untimely passing, it becomes essential to celebrate not just Nick Drake’s music but the profound impact it continues to have on those who listen. His songs are a testament to the intricate relationship between creativity and vulnerability, urging us to honor the memories of those lost while inviting younger generations to find hope in their struggles.
In his chilling yet beautiful work, Nick Drake found a way to express the deepest shadows of the human experience. He invites us to sit with discomfort, reflect on our sorrows, and ultimately, discover beauty even in darkness. Perhaps that is the most poignant gift he left behind—a reminder that art can flourish amidst suffering, and through understanding we can perhaps find some solace for ourselves. So, this Monday, let’s spin a Nick Drake vinyl, embrace the melancholy, and honor the haunting genius that lives on through his music.
