Today we have something very interesting, Red Bacteria Vacuum. It is an all woman band that formed in 1998. What I like about them is that their music hearkens back to a lot of earlier music. For example, “Gimme Culture” sounds very much like Richard Hell & The Voidoids. The song I’d really like to share with you is listed as “恋愛ミュージック,” which means “love song” and is almost certainly not the name of the song. It is very much like Ramones. And a more recent song, “San Francisco,” while good reminds me rather too much of early Nirvana.

In early 2006, Red Bacteria Vacuum released what appears to be their most successful effort in the west, Roller Coaster. In fact, “Gimme Culture” is from that album. But let’s just listen to the title track because it is much more in the hardcore tradition. But it has some interesting elements that make it greater than that — like its use of syncopation and some standard pop elements:

This week, we are in Japan. Since I first discovered The Blue Hearts a few years back, I’ve been vaguely aware that Japan had a strong punk scene. But I’m just going to warn you right now: I’m not going to have that much to say about these bands. I often (as is the case today) won’t even be sure what the names of the songs are. And in general (as is also the case today), I won’t have much of an idea what the songs are about. But the songs are all great.

We start the week with Garlic Boys — a band that started in 1985 and are still performing today. According to Wikipedia, they are considered by some the “godfathers of [the] new school Japanese hardcore.” In this country, hardcore has become something of a farce. The bands have little character. I doubt that either Black Flag or Dead Kennedys — Much less Minutemen! — would be accepted in the movement. I don’t know if that’s true there as well. But it certainly isn’t true of today’s song. We are going to listen to the very chant-y song that is named, “あんた飛ばしすぎ” — which Google translates as, “You’re Skipping Too.” It is off their 1996 EP ビンビンジロ, which means (if that is the right word) Bin Bin Jiro.

This song seems to be about a guy drinking to forget a woman who left him. But it’s really hard to say. There is definitely a lot of drinking in the song. And I get the impression that the singer looks down on people who drink to excess — thus the powerful denouement when he admits to doing it himself. But reading Japanese translations are very much like the stereotype, “Drink resounds in left to good though it is usually timid person a rant in it off that involved drunk people of guy rules useless change drunk too skip.” The fact that English speakers learn Japanese, and Japanese speakers learn English is very impressive.

I hope you appreciate all that information, because even finding out that much was a lot of work!

My normal routine would be to take this last day of the week to present a whole set of the featured artist. But with Nick Drake there is no such thing. In fact, there is apparently no video of Nick Drake ever — even of him not performing. So I figured that we would instead watch a 45-minute long documentary from 2000, A Skin Too Few: The Days of Nick Drake. It is mostly interviews with people who knew him and worked with him. It sounds like a bit of a snore, but it’s riveting.

The film is helped along by Gabrielle Drake, Nick’s sister. She is also quite a successful actor and is no doubt partly responsible for his music’s increasing audience over the years. Both of the Drake parents wrote and performed music. And there is a moment quite early on, when Gabrielle plays a cassette tape of her mother performing one of her songs. And as Gabrielle mentions, the style is quite similar to Nick’s.

So give it a watch. It’s quite interesting and provides some context for the music:

I just read about some of the initial reviews of Nick Drake’s final album, Pink Moon. They weren’t all that eager. And it is interesting to see how later it has come to be seen as a work of genius. It reminds me of studies that have been done with teachers. When told that a paper was written by another teacher, they give it a pass; when told it was by a student, they savage it. This is an idea that guides so much of my life — it is the one thing that film critics and atheists are rarely willing to engage with: we are not very rational.

But where does that put me with my love of Nick Drake? The truth is that I associate him strongly with a very good period of time in my life. Is that all it is? I like Nick Drake because I like Nick Drake? Certainly that’s a large part of it. I can’t say that his voice and style of singing is objectively good. I just like it. I can, however, say that he was an awesome and creative guitar player. And I can say this in an absolute sense: Nick Drake’s music works on its own terms — and that is the highest complement that I’m capable of giving.

Today, we listen to “Parasite.” If you don’t consider the refrain, the song tells the story of a man observing others around him from afar — disconnected. But the refrain is mysterious: “For I am the parasite of this town.” Does that mean that the singer feeds off the life around him? That he is, in a sense, dead without their nourishment? I really don’t know. I don’t think it matters. It’s a beautiful song.

Now we come to Nick Drake’s last, shortest, and (if you ask me) best album, Pink Moon. Okay, it is kind of bleak if you pay attention. But it is so beautiful. On this album it is hard not to hear an unnerving personalizing of the material. Supposedly, he was not depressed when he wrote and recorded this album. But I know from my own depression that it informs the way that I see the world when I am not suffering from it.

Consider today’s selection, “Road.” It has an incredibly great guitar part and not many lyrics. But the lyrics that are there seem telling, “You can take a road that takes you to the stars now; I can take a road that’ll see me through.” No one can say what it means, but it is the case that not long after finishing the album, he found he couldn’t deal with the world and returned to live with his parents for what turned out to be the rest of his life.

Nick Drake was only 26 when he died. It’s remarkable when you consider how much regret permeates so much of his work. It seems to me that as one gets old, regret becomes a bigger and bigger issue. I just don’t remember regretting that much when I was 26. I wasn’t aware enough — of the outside world or myself. But then, I wasn’t an artist like Drake.

Today, we are sticking with his second album, Bryter Layter. The song is “Fly,” which is probably one of my favorites. But I don’t much know what it is about. But that can largely be said of all his work. It communicates a feeling of regret and the details are beautiful, but vague. I love the line: “I’ve fallen so far; for the people you are.” Yes, the people each of us are.

Today, we move onto Nick Drake’s second album, Bryter Layter. It is his most upbeat work. Some are downright pop, like “Hazey Jane II.” And it’s amazing how well they work. Joe Boyd produced Drake’s first two albums, but on this album, it meshes; it becomes part of the music rather than spice dumped on top, which is how the first album feels to me.

Let’s listen to Drake’s take on one of the great pop song genres: “I could have been different for you if you had just let me know.” The song is, “One of These Things First.” What I most like it is the resignation: he doesn’t seem too keyed up about it. What the hell? “A whole long lifetime could have been the end.” That’s a great, incisive line.

Nick Drake only produced three albums during his lifetime — over the course of just over two years. So we will spend another day on his first album, Five Leaves Left. It is probably my least favorite of his albums, because I just don’t care that much for the production. That is not to say that it ruins the album. I love the album! But the next two are better.

Today, we are going to listen to “Cello Song.” It’s a remarkably upbeat song. It appears to be sung to the sun. And it includes such a positive image at the end: “And if one day you should see me in the crowd; lend a hand and lift me to your place in the cloud.” I suppose there are those who would like to interpret it as a desire for death. I get very tired of tendencies to create a single narrative for people’s lives — especially for people as complicated as Nick Drake.

I haven’t really given much thought to what I would do this week for the Morning Music. That’s because I decided last week that I would do Nick Drake. But as the John Martyn week moved on, I started to have questions about it. It seems kind of lazy to do. But the only other thing I’ve been thinking about — an explanation of different styles of classical music — is far too much work for me right now. So Nick Drake it is! And why not? I mean, I love his work as much as I did when I first heard it. It is unbelievable great.

Of course, there isn’t a whole lot of Nick Drake music. And there is basically no live stuff online. (There does seem to be a documentary on him that I might use next Saturday.) So let’s start with his outstanding first album, Five Leaves Left. Supposedly, Drake considered “River Man” the centerpiece of the album. So it seems as good place to start as any. It’s the story of woman who negotiates or just plans with Death how she will die. I don’t think it has any special meaning beyond that, but I’m sure there are Nick Drake fans who will tell me otherwise. It’s also uses 5/4 time most beautifully:

It’s Saturday, right? (Really: it’s Thursday where I am.) Anyway, it being Saturday means that we are at the end of our Morning Music cycle and that it is the weekend. And how do you cap a whole week of the brilliance of John Martyn? You go for a whole hour! I don’t know much about this except that it is a performance in Dublin in 1987. He’s performing with Danny Thompson on bass — who is just fantastic.

There isn’t much to add. I’m a bit surprised that no one has commented on Martyn this week. Am I alone in considering him so awesome? Is everyone working too much? Whatever it is, I forgive you. But now is your last chance to gush. But you can always enjoy:

Now we move up to 1982, with John Martyn’s Well Kept Secret. It is a full out pop-jazz album. It’s amazing to think that the guy who made it is the same guy who made London Conversation 15 years earlier. Most people slow down, but not Martyn.

The song I’ve decided to highlight is “Gun Money.” It’s a rocker. And the lyrics are pretty angry. He refers over and over to his “dead end face” and seems to be mocking producers who will give you the sound of a Rolls Royce. But I’m not sure about the phrase “gun money.” Is he talking about the hired guns in the music business? Or is he whining about the high taxes and the fact that in his mid-30s he has nothing? I don’t know. I’m not sure he did either. But it’s quite a song:

John Martyn recorded nothing after One World for two years. He had apparently gotten pretty deeply into drugs including alcohol. So as his marriage to singer-songwriter Beverley Martyn was crumbling, he went back into the studio to record probably his most personal album, Grace and Danger.

The style of the album continues his evolution into jazz and pop. He fronts a quartet featuring veteran musicians Tommy Eyre, John Giblin, and Phil Collins (before anyone really knew who he was). It’s great music, but I have to admit to preferring his earlier work. I just love him on the acoustic guitar. But this is “Some People Are Crazy,” which speaks to me of a certain paranoia and feelings of being judged. It’s quite beautiful, of course.