Five Leaves Left - Nick Drake

This story is about a music album and a seminal time in my life. It is written from a somewhat ‘laddish’ viewpoint, so be warned!

The album is ‘Five Leaves Left’ by Nick Drake.

It was his debut studio album, and I still have my vinyl copy. I’m playing the tracks as I write.

Nick Drake was a gifted singer who left us far too early.

How I acquired it

The story starts in a college bar when I was an undergrad in my second year. My friends and I were getting fueled up on beer in preparation for the Saturday college dance. The usual format was a couple of live bands, their sets interspersed with disco sessions.

This was England, drinking any alcohol was/is legal if you are 18 or older. I can’t remember who it was performing that particular Saturday night — it could have been Supertramp, Marsha Hunt, The Family or Fairport Convention. Maybe Pentangle. It certainly wasn’t Al Stewart — his gigs with us were always in the round, in the debating chamber, not in the dance hall.

Some great acts played our college circuit in those days.

Anyway, in the bar that night my buddies and I got talking to a group of non-college girls (we later named them ‘The Groupie Girls’) . They were there for the dance and the beer (not really the beer, they had half bottles of gin in their handbags).

And they were dressed to the crotch — it was the time of crushed velvet hot pants and boots. What a time!

Anyway, I got sidetracked with a girl named Liz. Apart from an unpronounceable Polish surname she was as English as English gets. She was blonde haired, pale of complexion with full red lips and seemed to be fairly bright. Her companion, whilst good looking was less so and into ‘modeling’. Hmm…

By this time in my life I was so keen to ‘get experienced’ that I was practically advertising ‘cherry for sale — free’. There had been one permitted lower area exploration a couple of years before but I’d been too nervous to take it further, standing up in sand dunes. Sand gets everywhere, doesn’t it?

It certainly wasn’t for wont of trying, but I was still somewhat ham-stringed by a chapel upbringing and a search for the ‘higher things’ in a relationship. And I don’t mean tits.

Since that first exploration I’d done too much of the hand holding and tit-feeling with nice girls in tights who would not touch my manhood or let me explore below their waists.

I could understand that with a Catholic daughter of a bank manager studying at the LSU (La Sainte Union, a local Catholic teacher training college — Christine?); but I couldn’t understand it with one who was a card-carrying member of the British Communist Party. Pat was too hard to get through to even after six months. Jesus, I thought that Communism was, well…you know…sharing, free love and so on? Pat — a good proletarian name. And nice tits too. But that’s as far as it went.

It seems I was wrong. I mean, I was idealistic too, but there was a fucking limit when it came to politics and to involuntary celibacy. I rejected communism. A reboot was necessary for me.

I’d need to lower my standards.

Back to the bar

I had a pint glass of beer literally at my mouth when Liz grabbed my balls and squeezed. ‘I’ll be your first’ she said. I spilled some beer. Nobody noticed — the student union bar floor usually awash with a variety of fluids by that time in the evening anyway.

The college bar balls-grab was definitely a unique experience for a half-drunk virgin 19 years old student. The evening got even better as my pal John and I headed back to our rooms with one each of them, me with Liz, he with ‘Model Girl’.

In my small room John did ‘the business’ on the floor with Model Girl. I certainly didn’t watch — I was still being almost a gentleman as Liz and I messed around on the narrow bed. I wanted a bit more privacy and the opportunity came a few days later when Liz visited again and Model Girl was with John in his room.

Liz brought a vinyl album with her: ‘Five Leaves Left’

One thing led to another

We met regularly for a month or so leading up to the Christmas break. The song of the moment was ‘Ride a White Swan’ by T-Rex (RIP Marc Bolan) and it was most apposite — she was a real blonde as I enjoyed discovering. I was another notch on her bedpost (number 34, she told me). Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers. And she was a really nice girl. Really. And smart too. Really.

One night when we were lying in my single dorm bed, she asked me whether I’d tried anal sex. From what little I remember her arse was OK although I hadn’t looked quite that closely — at that stage her ‘front bottom’ was still of major interest to me. I said no I hadn’t tried anal sex and that I found the prospect unappealing (well, I was still getting used to vaginal sex). ‘Good’ she said, “because I’ve tried it and didn’t enjoy it”. I was relieved (in more ways than one). I think it was still illegal in those days anyway, and I was such a good boy.

During those weeks after Liz lent me her copy of ‘Five Leaves Left’ we listened to it on my Dansette (actually my sister’s). Liz had handwritten her name on the pink record label (I think it was Island Records). “Don’t forget to return it”.

I went home for Christmas.

And soon started some research.

And another thing

My parents had invested in a set of ‘Encyclopedia Britannica’ and I started researching what was causing my itch (and other unsavoury symptoms). The prospects were appalling — depending on what it was.

Yes, a visit to my doctor was called for, who dispatched me to the hospital in Swansea. The clinic was in Mount Pleasant Hospital, a dour old red-brick Victorian pile near the city centre. Grim. I furtively followed the signs leading to the ‘Male Clinic’ and sidled in through the door feeling like a dirty old man. However that is.

It was not an experience to be recommended. No names were required when I checked in, but I was given a number. I sat in a waiting room with several other men of various ages, wondering what they were in for and trying to avoid looking anywhere in particular. But I do remember one man with an obvious sore on his lip. I tried to avoid conjuring up any images as I waited in misery.

Naturally, I was somewhat worried. What the fuck could it be?

Then my number was called. In the ‘consulting room’ were two male nurses, suitably gloved-up. Jesus, what a job! It must be a special calling to do work like that. After several minutes of them poking, peering, prodding and swabbing, I pulled up my pants and went back to waiting nervously for the results.

The diagnosis was NSU, to be treated with antibiotics for a week. A common, benign and relatively minor complaint: NSU — non-specific urethritis. The ‘non-specific’ bit was a bit concerning as in ‘no we don’t really know what it is’. That was one that hadn’t turned up in my research. So much for Encyclopedia Britannica. It's now known as Chlamydia.

I knew where I’d caught it.

At least it was not full-on clap or something much worse.

I was relieved to say the least. And ‘Cream’ had even a recorded a song about it.

Must be OK then.

Yes, it cleared up easily, the tablets did what was ‘said on the tin’. I was somewhat of a celebrity with my college pals when I related my experience in the New Year although I could certainly have done without the fame.

I saw Liz a few days after my return to college. I told her about the NSU. She said she hadn’t had any symptoms. Lucky Liz.

And no, I did not sleep with Liz again.

And I ‘forgot’ to return her album. It’s now packed away in my garage. I listen to the digital version. That does not have the scratches or the ambience - or Liz's fingerprints.

And who knows where you are today Liz, but thank you for the introduction to Nick Drake’s music. And for taking my cherry.

And I still listen to ‘Five Leaves Left’.

And John? After becoming a teacher, John died at a young age from alcoholism.

And Nick Drake?

Self-taught, he achieved his guitar style through the use of alternative tunings to create cluster chords, which are difficult to achieve on a guitar using standard tuning. Similarly, many of his vocal melodies rest on the extensions of chords, not just on notes of the triad.

...

At the inquest in December, the coroner stated that the cause of death was “Acute amitriptyline poisoning — self-administered when suffering from a depressive illness”, and concluded a verdict of suicide.

— Wikipedia

Unlike many music deaths caused by inability to handle success, it seems that Nick Drake's demise was caused by his lack of success.

Five Leaves Left

Five Leaves Left has regularly appeared on lists of the best albums of all time. The album was ranked number 283 on Rolling Stone magazine’s original 2003 list of “The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time”. NME ranked it at number 258 on their 2013 list of “NME’s The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time”, noting that “his maudlin songs are brought vividly to life with orchestration from Fairport Convention, Pentangle and arranger Robert Kirby”. A list of the “200 Greatest Albums of All Time” in Uncut in 2016 placed the album at number 183. — Wikipedia and:

A 1989 retrospective assessment of Five Leaves Left by Len Brown in NME awarded the album 9/10 and stated that it “remains a masterpiece of English melancholy; a moving work that first revealed Drake’s remarkable talent to communicate his fears of passing light and life, with simple beauty; his skill to charge listeners with emotions equal to his own”

RIP Nick Drake, your music brings back mixed but mainly happy memories for me.

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Previously published elsewhere. Canonical link