A Skin Too Few

I can't remember exactly when I first discovered Nick Drake, although I remember the moment itself with startling clarity (does this happen to you?). I was sitting in an uncomfortably packed bedroom with some friends listening to music when out of nowhere came this sound I'd never heard before... guitar playing so clear, intricate, and fast that it sounds messy and a voice so heavy, so melancholy that you can't bear to resist, nay willingly, hand over your hope.

Anyway... apparently they filmed a documentary in 2000 on the life and family of Nick Drake. A few things about his life really stuck with me.

His mother used to write songs of her own. Based on the old tape recording his sister plays, you can hear the influence on his melodies... they're eerily similar.

Nick was all about impact and influence. The interviews with his friends, family, and studio reps shed some light on his depression. It was pretty widely known among those with whom he kept close company that the man was brilliant and full of natural talent. Yet, it was the ability to touch wide audiences with his music that he sought. I guess this is pretty typical among musicians, but it felt a lot more geniune and like a much greater struggle coming out of Nick Drake than it does coming out of Yellowcard or JLo. I'm just sayin', I spent a long period of of my life valuing brilliance over influence, and if I had just one to share with the world, I wouldn't be saddenned by my lacking the other. But what do I know? I guess my point is that it's ironic and a bit surpising to hear that a lack wide spread influnce is what drove such a talented person to clinical depression and ultimately over the edge.

The last thing, and one of the last scenes in the film, is the recitation by Nick's sister of a poem his mother wrote about him after his death. It's titled The Shell

The Shell

Living grows round us, like a skin, to shut away the outer desolation.

For if we clearly mark the outer deep,we should we be dead long years before the grave.

But turning around in the homely shell of worry, discontent, and narrow joy,

We glow and flourish, and rarely see the outside dark that would confound our eyes.

Some break the shell.

I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole.

And through this cruel slit, stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes.

They look both out and in, knowing themselves and too much else beside.

Do you see?
I think it's available on youtube. It's titled A Skin Too Few.