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.

Now we move forward to 1977, with John Martyn’s more experiment, more electric One World. Overall the album is a bit more “pop” in its own way. But don’t worry: Martyn is always Martyn. That’s one of the things that most defines him: he always seems to remain true to himself. He reminds me of something that was written about the artist Bernard Frouchtben, “In [his case] the ego appears worth knowing.” Indeed. (For both men.)

The song I’ve chosen from the album is one of the more classic, “Couldn’t Love You More.” The album cut is really interesting in its production. But you know, I like to get live cuts if I can. After all, I’m not on the radio here.

At long last we get a live performance of John Martyn. We are now in 1973, and Martyn has fully arrived with his album Solid Air. What is it? Folk? Jazz? Blues? Pop? It is all these things and none. It is John Martyn. The title tune was written about and for Nike Drake. I mentioned Drake at the beginning of this week, because he and Martyn are similar in many ways. I didn’t realize that they were friends. But the tune is very clear about Drake’s mental problems. But it includes these touching lyrics, “I know you, I love you; And I can be your friend; I can follow you anywhere; Even through solid air.”

But “Solid Air” is actually too depressing to listen to, given that Drake would be dead less than two years later. Anyway, I prefer another song on the album, “May You Never.” It’s a beautiful song about friendship and love. I could interpret it in a number of ways, so I’m not going to go into it. Anyway, the lyrics don’t matter that much. And it would probably only be in the sixth or seventh listen that you started to really grok them. But I’ll bet “may you never lay your head down without a hand to hold” will be going through your head all day.

As we explore the music of John Martyn, I figure we should skip past his fine work with his wife Beverley Martyn to what is kind of the real beginning of his career, Bless the Weather. He really expanded on this album. For one thing, he has a full French jazz kind of band. It is still focused on his amazing guitar work. But his singing became more jazzy too.

This is how I discovered Martyn. Off the second America album, Homecoming, they did his song “Head and Heart.” And even at the time, I thought it by far the best thing on the album. So in later years, I looked into him. Sadly, all I have is another album cut for this one. But I promise you a live performance tomorrow. In addition to everything else, check out the amazing guitar work at the end of the song:

I promised you something nice this week, and that would be the songs of John Martyn. He kind of reminds me of Nick Drake, but without the whole “Do we kill ourselves today?” vibe. It’s kind of hard to categorize him — especially because he lived a lot longer than Drake and got into a lot more stuff. And actually, I think he just was a far more varied creative mind. But that’s the last I’ll mention Drake — except to say that I might do a week of him too.

Let’s start with his very first, very folk, album, London Conversation — on which he performs alone. This is “Ballad of an Elder Woman,” which I just love. And if I had to guess, it will impress a number of you:

I’ll admit it: mom’s favorite songs was a bit of a bust. But I can’t be smart all the time. What’s more, tomorrow we are going to start a week of really great music by a guy you probably have never heard of. What’s more, he has a (distant) connection to this week’s selections. So stay tuned!

But we finish out this week strongly, I think. We are going to listen to Stevie Wonder perform “You Are the Sunshine of My Life.” It was my parent’s “song.” That’s interesting because my first wife and my “song” was “Holiday in Cambodia.” And my second wife and my “song” was “I Wanna Be Sedated.”

My mother really liked Bobby Vinton. But the truth is that I can’t really remember any particular song. But I do remember hearing her sing, “Roses Are Red (My Love).” It is a memorable song. It’s interesting that the writers were able to transcend the simple rhyme with the insertion of “my love.” Also, the music works really well.

Even as a kid, I didn’t think much of Vinton. His voice lacked character. The arrangements were all standard. He never took a risk. But what the hell? He made a boat load of money. And in the end, isn’t that what pop music is really all about? This is something that my friends who like modern pop music really don’t understand. It doesn’t matter how much the production techniques have changed: they are still listening to the same soulless music that Bobby Vinton was producing in the early 1960s.