Nick Drake took elements of a variety of influences, from Dylan folk to English guitar, jazz to classical, yet emerged with something somewhat indescribable, something that has to be heard to be appreciated. Five Leaves Left, his debut album, is a showcase for his soft voice and inspired guitar—in several non-standard tunings—and an excellent place for the curious to start.
The opening song, “Time Has Told Me”, is a perfect introduction to Nick Drake. So many of the elements of what he’s about are contained in these four minutes, from the intricate picking to his trademark third-beat phrasing. It’s a deceptively hopeful song, with underpinnings of forbidding amidst the declaration that the narrator has found his soulmate. Equally mysterious is “River Man”, which lopes along in and out of C and C minor in 5/4. We hear strings for the first time, and the effect is very river-like, with sweeping and urgent yet subtle movements. (The arranger was only used on this track; all other arrangements would be pointedly different. Nick could not be accused of repeating himself.) “Three Hours” is almost Indian in flavor, with its droning undercurrent, alternate-tempo midsection and conga from a guy who’d one day play with the Stones. The lyrics are even more impenetrable that the ones that have come before; apparently they make perfect sense if you’ve traveled three hours from London at sundown, which we haven’t. Already three songs in, we’ve heard music that is incredibly unique and different. The dramatic, somber string accompaniment of “Way To Blue” nonetheless provides something of a lift. There is no guitar here; just Nick singing to Robert Kirby’s masterful baroque arrangement. One of his rare songs performed in standard tuning, “Day Is Done” teems with the despair and edgy regret that comes with an unfulfilled day. By this time he has left an impression as something of a mysterious sad sack, the kind girls mooned after on campuses. The strings come to a halt with a slight ritard, closing side one.
“Cello Song” starts side two, and builds a string at a time until suddenly shifting into a new theme on which the rest of the song lies. It’s similar to “Time Has Told Me” in its reassuring hopefulness to the owner of the pale, frail, strange face who he sees as far away from him, but able to lift him to a “place in the cloud”. “The Thoughts Of Mary Jane” is very much in the fey Donovan mode, with a shrill flute in the mix. It’s reminisicent of some of the songs on the first Mary Hopkin album with their delicate, fragile China cup quality. (The Mary Jane here could be a woman, or what he was smoking; biographers lean towards the latter.) Despite its jaunty, almost vaudeville accompaniment, “Man In A Shed” is a fable as old as the hills. It may be his most blatant statement of pining, but it’s hardly the saddest, as you can hear the wink in his delivery. The music on the coda nicely echoes the relaxed opening, with a variation that’s very effective. “Fruit Tree” also starts with a slowly building figure that turns into something else entirely. This rumination on fame, notoriety and lasting memory is rather profound for a 20-year-old that hadn’t become close to a star at this point. Still, we can’t but think he harbored some desire for that hollow, fleeting recognition. With its piano suggesting last call, “Saturday Sun” finishes the album. He lived much of his life in a climate where it rains everyday, sometimes several times on the hour. The sun is a virtual wake-up call, with people rubbing their eyes, realizing what’s changed, what’s gone, what’s really happening. This track is the most like Astral Weeks—one contemporary album to which this album is compared—with its use of vibes and brushed drums. The silly couplet at the end (and again, you can hear him smiling through his vocal) glides though the jazzy rhythm section, and the album floats away.
Five Leaves Left is subtle, yet shows a lot of breadth and depth in its simplicity. That’s not to say it’s simple; it just is what it is and nothing is wasted. It is a nearly perfect album. His music can be considered timeless, yet it was very much a product of its time. Even the cover photos work—the woodsy suggestion on the front, and the passive observer on the back. In both cases, his face is bemused.
Nick Drake Five Leaves Left (1969)—4½
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