Odd tunings resonate from within a weary soul, expanding into a kind of protective force-field – a makeshift barricade absorbing all the tiring *** Drake never had the mental fortitude to deal with properly. Which, I’d hazard, is why this record is bolstered by is concision it’s ephemerality capturing the artist in his comfort zone as the surface area of that place continues to dwindle rapidly.Īnd those warm acoustics marry with this fleeting feeling perfectly. We’re aware now, that if the song existed any longer as the internalisation of an idea, its lyrics would have taken on a more macabre shape - love and certainty turning into some sort of numbing disconnect. Know, I’m sure, would have taken, like, ten minutes to write, but of course it’s better off for its brevity. But he sounds comfortable in this deep corner he carves out for himself. I’ll concede that this record is at least accurate in its characterisation of Drake as withdrawn. In other words, it’s more like what we know of Nick Drake at the time: awkward, nervous, and scared. You wouldn’t find either Hazey Jane tracks on Pink Moon, because they’re too busy: the melodies are more slippery, the pacing erratic as though Bryter Layter is the anxiety to Pink Moon’s acceptance. For this sounds too comfortable, too easy, and the latter spends its time jittering and shaking with embellishments that usually come with artists trying to prove they’re more than what they built their kingdom on. If I didn’t know who this was, and you asked me to guess which came first: Pink Moon or Bryter Layter, I wouldn’t hesitate to guess, erroneously, that this did. Then I wish I’d been friends with Nick Drake, because though the solemnity is heavy throughout this album, he remains endearing. It’s a record for porch-swinging, for the feelings denoted by a closed eyelid, and for the moment a front door closes on the evening which encroaches upon it. It is, in more ways than one, a comfortable listen. No with that devastating bit of context that both deafened and amplified his output, Pink Moon’s sound seems to present a portrait of an entirely different person. That’s not to suggest that Pink Moon doesn’t expose the heart of Drake as an artist, because it inarguably does that. We talk of records that act as a reflection of their source - that are presented to us unadorned and unfettered, but less common is the album that subverts what’s known about the artist who wrote it. To be in that softly-lit bedroom, parked on an unmade bed as he let these rough-sewn songs curl up into the din, would be one of those opportunities both beautiful in its intimacy and overwhelming in its significance. Review Summary: things emerging from behind the sun
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