Wrapped in the wooly swathes of an aspiring musician’s hazy autumnal days, cult hero Nick Drake’s debut album absolutely radiates with talent and humility, a couplet rare to be found in those heady days of the late ‘60s; adrift in an era that was rife with mega-rock-stars and hectic touring schedules, Drake just wasn’t cut out (or couldn’t be bothered) to jump through the necessary hoops laid before would-be “next-big-things”. This isn’t to say he preferred obscurity, as his poor record sales certainly depressed him and played into the puzzle which was his decline; he passed away in the fall of 1974 from an overdose of antidepressant medication, never determined whether or not it was accidental or suicide. His feathery timbre somehow makes all the melancholy & shades of grey easier to swallow, causing despair to seem almost idyllic, “…Betty said she prayed today, for the sky to blow away, or maybe stay, she wasn't sure…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…”
