Posthumous
Time has told me,
You’re a rare, rare find,
A troubled cure,
For a troubled mind…
Just saw an
article about Nick Drake on Facebook this morning. Nick Drake was a folk singer-songwriter who made and released three albums when he was still in his
early twenties during the ‘70s. All three albums reached miniscule audience and failed miserably, which
depressed him furthermore and pushed him more toward drugs and insanity. Nick Drake
had always been described as depressive and terribly shy who was always
reluctant to perform in front of an audience, he was reportedly so shy that he refused to
promote his songs.
I
discovered him years ago when I stumbled upon a video of “Pink Moon” (arguably
his most famous song) online. Born in 1948, he died in 1974 of antidepressant
overdose. Too young.
Ironically,
only years after his death that many people realized how brilliant (and
gorgeously sad) his songs were, and he then started becoming famous. It's a tragedy that
will remind you of what happened to Vincent van Gogh, who, while he was alive,
was often called a failure and a madman. Painted a lot, only sold a single
painting. People only started calling him a genius and started buying his
paintings years after he committed suicide due to depression.
I think
that is one of the saddest things, if not the saddest thing... people liking you
only after you died.

Comments