This album felt like something brand new. Not just in genre (although it's not, of course) but it evoked a feeling of childlike innocence and first discovery. And a rejoice in the fragility of a moment. I felt calm and at peace, and I remembered moments of blossoming into something new, shedding my skin, and starting over. Or moments of seeing something grand for the first time. I was 18 before I ever saw snow. It was the oddest miracle, it began snowing on Christmas Eve in Portland, Texas (south texas) and didn't stop until early christmas morning. All I ever wanted since I was a child was to see and play in snow. And the first time I watched its frothy grandeur, snow's heavy and delicate flakes blanketing cacti and palm trees; feeling the sensation of something silently accumulating on my hat, some new experience was born inside of me and filed away in my memory. I picked up a handful of it, and remarked, like an idiot, "holy crap; it's a lot colder than in pictures." And I wasn't 5, I was 18. The next morning, nobody wanted to open presents, everyone was out in the streets making snow angels, snowmen with palm tree arms, throwing it at each other, remarking to one another what an amazing Christmas miracle. Neighbors we hadn't seen all year were just staring at their yards in disbelief. It hadn't snowed in South Texas in over 100 years; and we had a white christmas in 2004. rad.
I haven't heard anything like this album. Nick Drake is such a gentle soul, I am personally insulted that this album has been removed from the list. His music would spread so much happiness if people would take the time to listen to it. I feel like I must advocate for him. I couldn't find it in the revised version of the list, but it was #245 in 2003. If anyone is going through the list online and sees that I've overlooked its new position, please comment below.
Bryter Layter was so peaceful and serene that listening to it was almost like borderline meditation. He has a sonorous voice that forces you to feel happy. It's like he sings at the frequency monks chant, or something. During a fit of road rage, (a nasty woman pulled out in front of me and then braked really hard for no reason) his "Hazey Jane I" song came on and I found myself taking a deep breath and thinking, "you are not a stupid bitch. You are a divine human being. and I'm not going to let you ruin this minute in my life. It's not your fault that you are uneducated, eat microwaved 'food' and drink fluoridated water. I'm not going to pray for your ignorant ass or anything, but I won't honk my horn at you and call you a fugly c*nt face either."
All because of the Drakester. It's ironic because, according to his wikipedia blurb, he suffered from serious depression, and yet his music is such a reflection of serenity. He reminded me of an English Jack Johnson, with better music. Even the most introverted people must find a way to express themselves, and his fear of becoming famous makes me like his music even more. He created music for the goodness of music, not to "become something or someone." He didn't have to be heard, but he should be heard. He will make you feel better about life.
The album cover made me jump though. I felt a little creeped out looking at it. I thought the album would be creepy and radiohead-like when I saw the cover. It was the exact opposite. Especially because I recently saw "The Ring" for the first time and watching that movie felt worse than the time I made a horcrux. It really was like taking a razor-blade and cutting a portion of my soul off and hiding it in a murdered body. Anyway, his face reminds me of the creepy girl in the movie. And I can't, for the life of me, get her twitchy-ass movements out of my head. Bitch came right out the TV!!! Unprepared for that shit. It didn't matter that I was 26; or that I am "an adult." After watching that movie, I felt like a child again, and wanted to cry in a corner and sleep with the lights on.
But instead, I just listened to Nick Drake, and he made it better. plus hugging a kitty.