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Feb 25, 2022 By Austin Saalman

Astrologically, a pink moon is said by some to serve as a dark omen of apocalyptic proportions, an unholy satellite passing through fevered half-light. Others claim it to represent new beginnings and brighter futures, an assurance that the worst has at last passed. Curiously, a pink moon isn’t even pink, but is associated with the growth of pink phlox in the springtime.

It is difficult to know what exactly it was about this phrase that captured English singer/songwriter Nick Drake’s imagination while recording his final studio album over the course of two late nights in October 1971, as his prophetic warning on its balmy title track that “none of you stand so tall/Pink moon gonna get ye all” feels mixed in sentiment, its juxtaposed mellow guitar and ghostly piano notes reflecting the album’s general demeanor.

Released on February 25, 1972, Nick Drake’s masterpiece Pink Moon served as a departure from its predecessors Five Leaves Left and Bryter Layter, seeing the artist exploring an even more intimate sound. The album was faced with the same wan critical reception and commercial failure as his previous two efforts. Such an outcome was not entirely unwarranted in Drake’s case, as his elusive character and refusal to promote any new work spawned speculation from less sympathetic critics that the bashful young musician’s only ambition was to “play the lead in the Howard Hughes story.” However, Drake’s tendency toward a quiet life and low profile was as much the result of a struggle with crippling depression—an affliction that ultimately contributed to his early death. Regardless of the initial critical consensus, some of which was relatively assuring, Pink Moon is a timeless release, persevering well into the current century.

The album’s opening title track is one of the most beautifully haunting slivers of defeated introspection put to tape. A lovely composition, its sound is bare and lyrics scant. “Pink Moon” can certainly add some wistful enchantment to an evening drive, although its tendency to surprise by revealing itself as the higher work of art that it is may encourage more serious consideration from the casual listener. Regardless of Drake’s intent, there remains, as previously noted, an eternally foreboding note within his assurance that “pink moon gonna get ye all,” and one cannot help but imagine such prophecies of one’s own death foretold there in its glow. Arguably the album’s finest and certainly most recognizable cut—who can forget about that famous Volkswagen commercial—“Pink Moon” sets the stage for Drake’s unknowing lo-fi swan song, his minimalistic midnight bedroom soliloquy. For a visual companion to the track, look no farther than the album’s mesmerizingly surreal cover painting, courtesy of artist Michael Trevithick.

The subsequent “Place to Be” stands as one of Drake’s finest compositions, and sees him demonstrate his earthy poetic skill in lines such as, “And I was green, greener than the hill/Where flowers grow and the sun shone still/Now I’m darker than the deepest sea/Just hand me down, give me a place to be.” Likewise, ode to paranoia “Things Behind the Sun” and outsider’s lament “Parasite” stand as two of Drake’s most realized, emotionally heavy offerings, their respective atmospheric hushes rising and falling with such golden lines as “they’re always tired and charms are hired/From out of their eyes/Never surprise” and “Falling so far on a silver spoon, making the moon for fun/Changing a robe for a size too small, people all get hung.” Drake just as easily could’ve dropped his guitar and pursued the path of a full-time poet. Elsewhere, “Which Will” and “Know” reveal Drake coming into his own, developing a distinctly lachrymal troubadour style, while “Free Ride” carries the clever folkie influences first evinced on Five Leaves Left.

The album also contains several briefer tracks, which function collectively as a metaphorical box of photographs or postcards found in a musty attic—they are faded and fragmentary, distantly shrouded in worn mystique, all torn and frayed about the edges. Drake stands naked on these entries, breathing his ghosts through such titles as “Road,” “Horn,” and “Harvest Breed,” which complement the album’s more complete standouts. Each track of Pink Moon is crucial, and the stunning whole hangs together perfectly, should one choose to listen from beginning to end. Major cuts act as dry wooden boards in a country home, the thinner tracks falling between like pale beams of dust-laden afternoon sunlight, Drake’s music conjuring a particularly vivid setting upon each listen.

Closing number “From the Morning,” second in greatness only to the title track, is a stirring portrait of transcendence. Here, Drake sounds far from downtrodden: “A day once dawned and it was beautiful.” His stark picking develops a warmth of its own, as he continues, proclaiming, “Now we rise/And we are everywhere.” The words, telling and prophetic, were inscribed upon Drake’s headstone after his untimely death at age 26 two years later. Still, there is an undertone of mourning to be heard here, although it’s uncertain whether Drake had his own demise in mind when he wrote it. Either way, “From the Morning” stands as one of his best songs—a major creative achievement of a particularly sensitive young artist in what was soon revealed to be his mortal twilight.

The air of personal tragedy overhanging Nick Drake’s legacy regrettably serves to frame his work in a somber light. This is not entirely the case though, as a great amount of the material featured on Pink Moon conveys a sense of wonder, both natural and supernatural. It would be impossible to merely write this artist off as another “sad singer/songwriter” cliché, considering the grand ethereal forces at work on his records. Drake was a worthwhile artist in his time, and to hear his music is an affecting experience. While one cannot go wrong with any of his three studio releases, Pink Moon remains a personal favorite, something in its bare mysticism ringing romantic, its very magic having proven itself far more than merely transient 50 years on.

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