3. Nick DrakePink Moon
One Christmas, I bought Pink Moon on CD from HMV in Birmingham. I got obsessed. I wanted to know everything about him. I listened to all of his music all the time. Then I found out that he grew up in Tanworth In Arden – when I got the chance, I used to go and sit by his grave, listen to his music on a tiny Walkman and chat about it.
One time I was planning to visit his grave from London, and I bought a plant to give to him. The night before, my mum said, ‘Vinita, you’ve got me a plant!’ To which I replied ‘No no, it’s for Nick Drake! I like his music so I’m going to his grave tomorrow.’ Mum touched her hand on her head, as if to gesticulate ‘You’re mad you are’. Maybe I am a little bit bonkers.
I think there was affinity there with Nick. It was so ethereal. I could play it on repeat without getting sick of it. Any articles I could find about him, I would rip out and put into a scrapbook. I used to blow up some of the articles onto A3 paper and use them as writing paper, sometimes sending 20-page letters to people.
I once wrote a letter to his sister Gabrielle on the back of one of these articles, wanting her to know how much Nick was loved. Six months later, I went into work one morning at Ché Records, and said ‘Do you know how old I am today?’ It wasn’t even my birthday. I said ‘Today, I’m the age that Nick Drake was the day he died.’ On that day, I felt ‘I’m too young to die. I’ve only just started living.’ When I got home, there was a letter from Gabrielle Drake. I was so freaked out. I was the same age as Nick when he died and his sister had replied to my letter on the same day. Maybe he’s up there watching down on me. Who knows.
