Pink Moon

This song has played continuously for over an hour, don’t see myself stopping for a while. I was 13 years old when English musician Nick Drake recorded Pink Moon in 1972. Two years later, 26 year old Drake ingested a fatal overdose of anti-depressants, official cause of death – suicide.

Drake produced 3 albums, none selling over 5000 copies on initial release. In 2006 Volkswagen aired a commercial for Cabrio featuring Pink Moon – who said life made sense?

Pondering Pink Moon tells the story of depression and despair with equal measures of exquisite perfection and gratitude. Yesterday I would have said “Nick who?” “Pink what?”, tomorrow begins with a quiet place in my heart for his artistry. Few songs manifest tendrils of yearning and reflection without sinking spirits. Nick Drake’s life came to a tragic end – I can’t explain why, but listening to Pink Moon makes me happy. RIP Nick Drake.



16 thoughts on “Pink Moon

  1. An old girlfriend of mine used to like him. I heard one track as a teenager in ’78 – don’t ask , can’t remember. Was way too heavy. I was into Jazz Rock in those days and had just bought Rod Argent’s album, Moving Home.
    I only remember the Nick Drake album as it was on the record player when went round to visit – with Argent’s album.
    I never even listened to him until I was in my thirties.
    Tragic that he committed suicide.

    Have a listen to this and see if it makes your tap your feet. πŸ™‚

    • Oh man, it’s so interesting the way music marks our lives. In ’78 it was Sex Pistols, with a healthy dose of early Fleetwood Mac blues, Roxy Music and Lou Reed for me.I never heard of Nick Drake until yesterday – go figure. As for your link – appreciate it now, could even have a little dance party to it. But in “78 – not a chance. πŸ™‚

      • *Smile*
        Hey, we all listened to different things. It’s what makes the world go round.
        My late brother saw the Sex Pistols on their first tour in a small club called Quaintways in my hometown, Chester.
        He even got a paper plate autographed by Johnny Rotten.

      • Smile back. Autographed paper plate at a club in Chester – outstanding. I have a Jonathon Richman autograph from his show at the Fillmore in San Francisco I’,, wish you a great day with this –

      • Interesting video, though not my tasse de te music wise.

        I have a rose petal which I embossed in plastic from the Stones ’73 European tour. Jagger chucked buckets of petals at the audience (petals, not the buckets! ) during the performance of Angie.
        I nabbed one. πŸ™‚

      • Sweet! A plastic encased Stones rose petal is truly remarkable. πŸ™‚ My memorabilia/memories mostly came from the years spent running back stage at the arena. B.B. King was holding court post show, it was late, about 2 am when he called me over – “hey darlin’ I could really use a BBQ potato chip”. No worries – I return a few minutes later, hand him a bag of chips, and he takes my other hand pressing something into my palm. Closed my hand, thanked him and walked away. What I thought was a coin, turned out to be a 10K gold pendant with his name and tour itinerary. Very cool.
        I had the pleasure of telling Robert Plant to behave himself, stop trying to push me around and start following production rules.(he got uppity when his demand I produce a bottle of Jack Daniels was met with “we both know it isn’t possible until I clear it with production”) After they cleared the building I found a hand written, signed letter from Plant to his manager.(Eventually sold it to a collector)
        I witnessed Tommy Lee of Motley Crue behaving badly with a sheep they brought in on a leash (use your imagination)
        One night myself, Tina Turner, Bonnie Raitt and Sarah McLachlan sat around drinking in one of the suites until 4 am.
        I have a beaded choker belonging to Neil Diamond (miserable man – demanded I fire any of my staff who dared make eye contact with him.)Got a free month rent for having Shania Twain sign a photograph for my landlord. Go figure.I could go on for paragraphs, but will get to my fondest memory.
        I knocked on Joe Cocker’s dressing room door with Shepherd’s Pie and Guinness.He’s alone, wearing nothing but boxer shorts.His body was memorizing. I found myself reading imperfections like a beautiful story.Don’t know if he was bored or lonely. We start talking-for the next half hour I watch him eat, somehow the topic turns to astronomy, I hear myself explaining my cosmic wonder to Joe Cocker drinking Guinness is his underwear.(FYI – he shared my enthusiasm)A perfect day at the office πŸ™‚

      • I’ve thought about it but concluded it isn’t that interesting (Tommy Lee and the sheep aside ) I loathe celebrity worship, it makes me gag. If anything, I’ll write about shenanigans of nameless people – like the time a groom was beaten by a pimp in a “date” gone horribly wrong between his wedding ceremony and reception. Who calls a hooker between nuptials and dinner, then refuses to pay because it’s his wedding day? And why am I hiding him from new wife and family, applying make-up to conceal a black eye? πŸ™‚

      • That’s what I thought too. I was cursing the little shit, secretly hoping the pimp would bust up the dinner reception. Oh well 😦 The next evening improved considerably. I mean, how often does one preside over a lesbian wedding where the wife or was it the wife, breast feeds an infant at the head table. WTF!

      • One of my favorite kicks comes from Celeste, an ultra wealthy Chinese woman on the party circuit. The woman has no shame! Be it a black tie gala at the art gallery or corporate reception – Celeste just has to have her cheese. Like clock-work, when she thinks nobody will notice – Celeste grabs a handful of napkins, performing a scoop and wrap of an entire cheese platter, stuffing swaddled cheese into a $2000 hand bag. It cracks me up every time!

  2. I’m not the music-a-holic that you appear to be but I used to lay in the middle of the living room floor with big clunky headphones on and listen to Ronstadt for hours on end…. in my 40’s…. Then again I listened to the Beach Boys for 72 hours straight one Labor Day weekend.
    But please β€” don’t even talk to me about Joe Cocker β€” regardless what he sounds like I can’t ever hear his voice without mentally seeing his face all screwed up in contortions. It hurts my brain to hear him! Sorry β€” just my opinion.

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