The Roots of Nick Drake’s Five Leaves Left
A new box set unearths the origin story of the British folk icon
The story of singer/songwriter Nick Drake is one of both triumph and tragedy, detailing an abbreviated career that ended prematurely but attained acclaim years after his passing.
A product of the British folk music scene in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, he was responsible for three of the most influential albums of the era — Five Leaves Left (1969), Bryter Layter (1971) and Pink Moon (1972) — while also affirming a lingering impression that he was an introverted individual who had difficulty relating to others, one who lived beneath a veil of constant sadness and whose struggle with depression eventually led to his early demise.
Indeed, the fact that Drake was only responsible for three albums during his lifetime testifies to his internal turmoil and deepening despair.
A new four CD box set titled The Making of Five Leaves Left details the path towards his debut album in stunning detail, courtesy of demos made early on during his brief tenure at Cambridge University, initial studio sessions, outtakes and ultimately the final product. It demonstrates that Drake had the concept conceived early on, and in listening to the dialog and attempts to initiate these songs, it’s obvious he was absolutely determined to see it through to fruition despite various stumbling blocks in the process.
Within each phase of the production, it becomes clear that the songs more or less arrived fully formed, given that there’s little real difference between the seminal acoustic versions, and what eventually emerged — other than the addition of some spare added instrumentation (courtesy of Richard Thompson on guitar, Danny Thompson on bass, Paul Harris on keys, Claire Lowther on cello and percussionists Rocky Dzidzornu and Tristan Fry) and the orchestral arrangements contributed by Robert Kirby and Harry Robinson.
Nevertheless, songs such as “Time Has Told Me,” “River Man, “Way To Blue” and “The Thoughts Of Mary Jane” are clear indication of Drake’s introspective persona, an impression that lingers today. Although a fourth album was attempted, his steadfast producer Joe Boyd stated in his biography that Drake’s anger and bitterness took him aback.
“[He said that] I had told him he was a genius, and others had concurred,” he wrote. “Why wasn’t he famous and rich? This rage must have festered beneath that inexpressive exterior for years.”
On the other hand, his mother recalled, “We were so absolutely thrilled to think that Nick was happy because there hadn’t been any happiness in Nick’s life for years.”
That depression led his family to persuade him to visit a psychiatrist at St Thomas Hospital in London, where he was prescribed antidepressants. At first he felt uncomfortable about taking them and hid the fact he had been given them from his friends and associates. Also, according to Robert Kirby, he was smoking large amounts of marijuana, which may have furthered his psychosis. He became increasingly reclusive and would remain isolated in his flat for days at a time, show up unannounced at the homes of his friends or drive aimlessly for hours until his car ran out of petrol.
According to photographer Keith Morris, by 1971 Drake was a “hunched, disheveled figure, staring vacantly…ignoring the overtures of a friendly labrador or gazing blankly over Hampstead Heath.” His sister Gabrielle Drake described that period as “a very bad time.”
“He once said to me that everything started to go wrong from [this] time on, and I think that was when things started to go wrong,” she tells liner notes author Neil Storey in the box set’s coffee table book. “Good days in my parents’ home were good days for Nick, and bad days were bad days for Nick. And that was what their life revolved around, really.”
Cally Callomon, a former record company executive with both Polygram and Island Records and who now manages Drake’s estate, describes the efforts he and Gabrielle made to release the seminal recordings that now dominate this box.
“With the intrepid and fastidious unearthing of the Five Leaves Left tapes, together with recent discoveries such as the Paul de Rivaz recordings and the demos kept by Beverly Martyn, we came to feel that the time had come to tell the story of how this remarkable collection of songs was made,” he explains.
Indeed, at this pivotal point in Drake’s career, Five Leaves Left provided a promise that things would eventually go well for this budding and brilliant artist.
Chris Blackwell, the head of Island Records, is quoted in the booklet as saying, “With some, the time wasn’t right ight, no matter what we did. But Joe was convinced it was the world that was out of step with Nick, not the other way around.”
Drake’s friend Victoria Ormsby-Gore adds, “He believed in his talent and there was a part of him that really wanted people to hear his songs.” After giving Boyd his initial demos and receiving a positive response, Drake is described as having found “a renewed sense of musical purpose.” After the two men began working in earnest, Storey writes that “the musical and social momentum greatly improved his outlook.” He then quotes from a letter Drake wrote his parents: “It may surprise you to hear that during the last few weeks I’ve been extraordinarily happy with life. It seems that Cambridge can in fact do rather nice things to one if one lets it, and I’m not sure that that I did let it before.”
Nevertheless, Storey reveals, “As the recording progressed, it became obvious that things weren’t gelling…the atmosphere grew tense.” He quotes engineer John Wood as saying, “I remember sitting there and thinking, ‘I just can’t make sense of this…’
Boyd adds, “I could tell Nick was disappointed. The fact that I was disappointed and John said he was disappointed gave Nick the confidence to say, ‘Well , actually, I’m disappointed too.’”
“You could see Nick was really aggravated,” Wood continues. “This wasn’t what he has in mind at all and he dug his heels in. Simple as that.”
Fortunately, the album did eventually come together in the way all had imagined thanks, to the enlistment of Drake’s fellow Cambridge student and friend Robert Kirby to oversee the arrangements. Nevertheless, post-production difficulties delayed its release by several months. Drake was unhappy with the inner sleeve, which had the songs listed in the wrong running order and reproduced verses that had been omitted from the final versions of several songs.
Meanwhile, Drake reluctantly dropped out of Cambridge, but played very few gigs to promote the album. In addition, to the album’s detriment, Five Leaves Left ultimately became overshadowed by other albums on the Island’s roster at the time — those by Spooky Tooth, Jethro Tull, Mott the Hoople, Free and King Crimson.
In the booklet’s postscript, Storey says that the lack of immediate success led to “great frustration and unhappiness.” That lack of widespread acceptance continued with Bryter Layter and Pink Moon, likely contributing to Drake’s deepening depression. His death on November 25, 1974 was ruled a suicide which, according to the coroner, was due to “acute amitriptyline poisoning — self-administered when suffering from a depressive illness.” The inquest revealed “a minimum of 35 [amitriptyline] pills’ worth from stomach samples and up to a further 50 from blood samples.”
VIDEO: Joe Boyd talks about the making of Five Leaves Left
Ironically, appreciation for Drake’s music eventually arrived in large part due to a 1999 Volkswagen commercial that used the song “Pink Moon” as its theme. Album sales were boosted by several thousand fold and Drake’s influence quickly spread to millennial artists like Joanna Newsom, Bon Iver, José Gonzalez, Sufjan Stevens, Alexi Murdoch, Adrienne Lenker and Iron & Wine among many others.
These days, Nick Drake is widely and wisely considered an icon within the realms of modern folk-based singers and songwriters, an artist who deserves to be revered and one, all agree, left this world way too soon. His is a tale of psychosis and sadness, but also one of genius that found its fruition early on.
Granted, The Making of Five Leaves Left isn’t the first posthumous release in Drake’s extended catalog. An album of outtakes titled Made To Love Magic as well as various bootlegs and tribute discs have served to extend his legacy.
Nevertheless, it remains the most thorough and intensive look at the making of a masterpiece courtesy of the audio evidence and the insight it offers in the process.
Drake’s story may have been unsteady and unsettling, but for the moment at least, Five Leaves Left suggests his was a bright beginning.
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