A Hipster Doofus, Edified; or, how I Stopped Worrying and Started to Love the Drake

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Pink Moon. Revered as a classic album, perfect from start to stop. I will accept that. I really cannot add any more to that assessment. It is an album of quiet reverence; perhaps it is the ‘final testament’ of Nick Drake that makes the humble proceedings so moving. I didn’t write anything during this particular listen — because I was transfixed. Yeah, ‘Pink Moon’ was a TV ad. But everything after that — wow. That three-letter word might not qualify as a grand intellectual statement, but, yeah, I’m gonna stick with ‘wow’. Pink Moon, bare-bones, just a man and his guitar, and though he’s eschewed the wonderful arrangements of Bryter Layter, he’s not gone back to the generic moments of Five Leaves Left.

Does this record impress because it is a beautiful statement, or does it impress because it falls into the same categories as In Utero, Closer, or Grievous Angel — in other words, a record that leaves the listener asking questions that will never be answered, looking into the nooks and crannies, seeking out the ‘why???’ that will eternally coat the listening experience? I do suspect that part of Pink Moon‘s charm and regard stems from that; such, however, does not take away from the fact that this bare-bones record is, from start to finish, one of the most beautiful albums of the 20th Century.

My hipster doofusism be damned, I think I like this Nick Drake guy. While I refuse to answer the question as to whether he should be sanctified, I will say that I, as a music listener, stand corrected, and that I owe a great deal of gratitude and thanks to Gail O’Hara, for calling me out and challenging me.

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