The Abiding Influence of Nick Drake

Originally appeared on Radio 2 website as part of promotion for a documentary hosted by, of all people, Brad Pitt.

It's an oft repeated cliché that only 500 people (or something similarly insignificant) bought the first Velvet Underground album, but all of them went out and formed a band. The same may not be true of Nick Drake, but as his cult reputation has grown, so has the number of artists citing him as an influence on their own music.

The first major re-appraisal of Drake's work came with the release of the Fruit Tree box set, containing all three of his original albums, in 1979. This was a largely unprecedented move for an artist so obscure, and was a testament to producer Joe Boyd's continued faith in Drake's work - when he sold his Witchseason Production company to Island Records in the early 70s a precondition was that Drake's albums would never be deleted.

The albums gradually accumulated a small but dedicated band of admirers, including REM guitarist Peter Buck and ex-Television guitarist Tom Verlaine. In the UK, ex-Duran Duran member Stephen 'Tin Tin' Duffy called his band The Lilac Time after a line in Drake's song River Man. Dream Academy's Life in a Northern Town was dedicated to Drake, even as his albums continued to sell to an ever growing band of devotees who cherished his work like a family heirloom.

By the turn of the 90s Drake was being cited as an influence by artists as diverse as country rocker Lucinda Williams, Robyn Hitchcock and Mark Eitzel of American Music Club. However, actual covers of Drake's songs remained thin on the ground, apart from the fabled acetate of Drake songs recorded by Elton John as publishing demos in 1969 shortly before finding fame in his own right. Original copies are extremely rare – although you can find it on the Internet if you look hard enough.

The release of Island Record's Way to Blue compilation in 1994 was met with rave reviews, while Drake was rapidly becoming the hip name to drop. Paul Weller was introduced to Drake's music by his mates in Ocean Colour Scene, and the mellow pastoral vibe of his 1994 comeback album Wild Wood was directly inspired by it. Latterly, artists such as Turin Brakes, Kings of Convenience and Kathryn Williams have all come in for Drake comparisons, not always justified, as did Belle and Sebastian, largely thanks to Stuart Murdoch's breathy vocals. Perhaps the best known fan is Badly Drawn Boy, whose Hour of the Bewilderbeast album bore the unmistakable mark of Drake's influence. Norah Jones has also recorded a cover version of Nick's song Day is Done.

Drake's latter day renaissance has also been fuelled by television programmes, radio documentaries, numerous articles and a fine biography by Patrick Humphries. But perhaps the strangest appearance of this quintessentially cult artist was in 2000, when Volkswagen used Pink Moon in a US commercial, introducing thousands of new fans to Drake's music for the first time.

Mick Fitzsimmons

Cat Stevens - A Musical Journey

Feature article written to promote Yusuf Islam's return to the spotlight. Interestingly, I met the former Cat Stevens as he was leaving a studio in Broadcasting House. I, and various others, were gathered round a small television set watching the second plane crash into the Twin Towers. The next day Yusuf Islam was all over the papers appealing for tolerance and calm. I have to say, I found him a thoroughly decent chap.

In late September 2001 Yusuf Islam gave one of the most revealing interviews of his career to Radio 2's Bob Harris. From his youth in London's West End, through his pop stars years and his subsequent conversion to Islam, it's a fascinating journey.

Cat Stevens was one of the most popular artists of the 1970s, with a string of best selling albums which virtually defined the concept of the sensitive singer songwriter. Albums such as Teaser and the Firecat and Tea for the Tillerman were classics of their genre, and his tours regularly sold out. Rising again after an abortive career as 60s pop star, Stevens' introspective and often highly personal songs connected with a huge audience and made him a star.

Then, in 1978, he turned his back on it all, embraced Islam and changed his name. For many of his long time fans, it was a baffling decision - why would a man who appeared to have it all throw it all away? Now, in a major interview for Radio 2, Yusuf Islam charts the long journey from pop stardom to religious enlightenment and reveals the reasons behind his decision.

Steven Giorgiou was born in London in 1948, the son of a Greek Cypriot father and Swedish mother. He was raised in the heart of London's West End where his parents ran a café, just round the corner from the then heart of the British music industry, Denmark Street. Young Steven developed two consuming passions, music and art, and initially fell under the spell of Bernstein's West Side Story when it opened in nearby theatreland in 1958. The arrival of The Beatles in 1963 inspired him to get his first guitar, but he was also listening to blues and folk music.

POP STAR
Early demos (one of which is included on his new boxed set) led to a deal with the fledgling Deram label. Along the way he changed his name to Cat Stevens and before long found himself a bona fide pop star, with hits such as Matthew and Son and I Love My Dog. However, sudden fame carried its own pressures. In February 1968, he was admitted to hospital suffering from tuberculosis.

"I felt I was on the brink of death," he tells Bob Harris in the programme. "At the same time I had incredible hope. I kind of made the best of it as much as I could. Now I had a break I could review myself and decide where I wanted to go and not necessarily where my agent felt I should go."

By the time Stevens left hospital he had started writing songs again. He told Melody Maker: "I think I will just use guitar as backing. I'm not doing a traditional folk thing, but a contemporary thing - my own version of folk, if you like." He had also started studying various religions, and his new material reflected this mood of reflection.

The first evidence of this new direction was the Mona Bone Jakon album, which emerged in May 1970. The new decade brought a new Cat Stevens, now sporting long hair and beard. The album reintroduced him to the charts, but it was the follow up, Tea for the Tillerman, which launched him onto the international stage and gave him his first top ten in the states. The follow up, Teaser and the Firecat, was even more warmly received, producing three hit singles.

THE TURNING POINT
Stevens' star would continue to rise, but within himself he was becoming increasingly troubled. Typically, this was addressed in songs such as Sitting or the Majik of Majiks, which contained the line "What kind of man can make me turn/and see the way I really am". The beginnings of an answer came to him when he was swimming in the Pacific near the home of record company boss Jerry Moss. Caught in a strong current, he found himself fighting to get back to shore.

"There was no-one on this earth who could help me and I did the most instinctive thing," he told Bob Harris. "I just called out and said 'God, if you save me I'll work for you' and in that moment a wave came from behind me and pushed me forward."

The following year his brother David gave him a copy of the Koran as a birthday present. Increasingly drawn to it, Stevens began losing interest in the music industry. In December 1977 he formally embraced Islam at Regent's Park Mosque and soon after changed his name to Yusuf Islam. The Back to Earth LP, released in November 1978, was the final Cat Stevens album - with no artist to promote it and no chance of a tour, it sold poorly, but by now yusuf had no interest in playing the pop star game.

FAITH
In the years that followed he devoted himself to his faith. Initially he channelled his efforts into the establishment of the UK's first Muslim school, but by the mid-eighties he began giving lectures at universities throughout Britain. Increasingly he's been an articulate spokesperson for Britain's Muslim community - in the wake of the September 11 atrocity he was once more called upon to defend his faith, advocating peace and tolerance at a time of anti-Islamic hysteria. He's also made forays into recording again, with the spoken word album The Life of the Last Prophet in 1995. 2001 saw the release of a box set, collecting work from all the stages of his career.

Strange as it may have seem to many of his fans, Yusuf Islam is far happier today than he ever was at the height of his stardom in the seventies. He also seems to have come to terms with his former life, working with A&M in the production of the box set, writing some touching liner notes and contributing previously unreleased material.

"Being more mature now," he writes, "I've managed to make peace with my past, as it's making peace with me. Certainly there's a mutual gain for reflecting on both phases of my life and although I consider the here and now perhaps to be more important there are still many people who appreciate my past ephemeral stages and the lessons they represent."

Mick Fitzsimmons

The article can also be found, along with lots of other interesting stuff, on Yusuf Islam's official website.

The Personal Touch - John Martyn's "Solid Air"

“I got bored with the folk/acoustic thing,” said John Martyn. “You can’t keep churning that out, it stifles innovation, kills the personal touch.”

Solid Air was certainly a personal album for Martyn, and certainly it was innovative. A moody masterpiece, it blends folk, rock and jazz into a heady and evocative mixture, and marks the point at which Martyn finally wrestled free from his folkie origins into altogether more interesting territory.

The atmospheric title track was written as a tribute to Martyn’s friend and Island label-mate Nick Drake, who by this point was already in the grip of the depression which 18 months later would claim his life. “Nick was a beautiful man,” said Martyn, “buy walking on solid air, helpless in this dirty business, an innocent abroad.”

The song itself makes full use of Danny Thompson’s sliding bass and the delicate wash of vibes and drifting sax, and became a favourite of the chill out set in the 90s, bringing Martyn a whole audience. However, the album contains a wealth of other great tracks, not least the valedictory “May You Never”, which remains a staple of many folk club repertoires to this day, even surviving an assault by Eric Clapton.

Martyn was also becoming increasingly interested in the use of echo and fuzz effects to enhance his signature snapping guitar sound, applying them to great effect on a cover of Skip James “I’d Rather by the Devil”. Elsewhere, songs such as “Over the Hill” and “The Man in the Station” dealt with themes of separation and loss, the latter casting a weary eye over the lot of the traveling musician.

Solid Air was a major hit from Martyn, making him a popular concert attraction at home and in the States. It also allowed him to feed an appetite from excess which has since become legendary. Further great albums followed, including Inside Out and One World, which found Martyn moving further into jazz and rock territory, but Solid Air remains the one the critics – and fans – keep coming back to.

Bryter Layter - Sad Genius

Nick Drake's image as a paralysed depressive serving as a conduit for existential angst is never proven more wrong than with Bryter Layter. The best part of a year in the making, it called on the talents of some of the biggest hitters in the UK folk rock scene. Richard Thompson, Dave Pegg and Dave Mattacks from Fairport Convention contributed, and the incomparable Joe Boyd produced it. It was even graced by the presence of an ex-Velvet (John Cale, who arranged and played on Northern Sky and Fly). Drake's performance was incredibly assured for someone so young - he was just 21 when recording commenced.

The commercial failure of Five Leaves Left, Drake's previous album, had stung him deeply. As Joe Boyd told a BBC documentary in 1998, Nick was determined to make his next record even better. To this end, Boyd was given free reign to experiment with new arrangements and groups of musicians.

That meant bringing back Nick's Cambridge friend, Robert Kirby, whose string arrangements had blessed the debut. Danny Thompson, whose jazzy stylings on bass had underpinned Five Leaves Left, was replaced for the most part by Dave Pegg, who along with Dave Mattacks leant the album more of a rock feel on some tracks. John Cale, so the story goes, called up Joe demanding to work with Nick, and virtually kidnapped him until they had concocted a suitable result. Cale's mournful viola playing and tinkling Celeste became highlights of the album.

Drake would later strip his music of the lush arrangements on his third album, the bleak Pink Moon. But on Bryter Layter Boyd makes equal use of craft and accident to create something ineffably beautiful. Chris McGregor's startling piano solo on the slyly self deprecating Poor Boy is a live first take - the jazz pianist happened to be dropping by the studio on other business, and was persuaded to sit in, with remarkable results. Listen to the clip below for evidence.

It's sometimes remarked that Bryter Layter is Nick's city album, as opposed to the pastoral tones of the debut. An atmosphere of urban alienation certainly hangs over At the Chime of a City Clock, with it's meandering sax . During the making of the album Nick was living in Hampstead, a shadowy figure on the London folk scene. It was during this period, according to his mother Molly, that Nick's youthful introspection soured into the crippling depression which eventually claimed his life in 1974.

Perhaps the benefit of hindsight causes us to read more into the lyrics than we should, but there is a tangible sense of an observer on the edge of reality in them, sitting on the fence watching the world pass by. This detachment lies at the heart of the album's best known song, Northern Sky, once called the greatest love song ever written by the NME.

Of course most people know the story. Bryter Layter was another commercial failure, stymied by zero airplay and Drake's reluctance to play live to promote it. Failure hit him even harder this time, and frustration turned to depression. Drake is the quintessentially English cult hero - his appeal doesn't lie in monumental drug use, excessive womanising and compulsive hellraising. Instead, he's renowned for being young, gifted and miserable. But then, these days, Drake is often no more than a lazy journalistic shorthand for anything acoustic and slightly fey (preferably sung by earnest young waifs from Bergen or Oslo or some such Nordic locale with unruly fringes and ill fitting polo necks). Any new listener's perception is coloured by Drake's status as the #1 pin up boy for clinical depression and its particular sepia toned English variety. And yes, his music is quintessentially English, even if Drake's idiosyncratic guitar tunings often move him far from his native folk tradition. In their dedication to craft, structure and precision, Drake's songs are every inch the product of a society built on deference, restraint and suppressed emotional turmoil, particularly in the genteel middle class background from which he emerged.

However, listening to Bryter Layter or any of his albums, free from the clouding influence of Drake's tragic biography, all that is left is the art, passion and spirituality at the heart of it all. It's this which gives Drake's music, for its delicacy, a gravitas missing from the countless imitators, and which explains why his records sell more today than they ever did in his lifetime.