Joyous Regret: "One Of These Things First"

I'm driving home after dropping off my son at school for the day, and blasting out of the car stereo is Nick Drake's song "One of These Things First," from his second recorded album, *Bryter Later* (1971). As the song glides into its chorus, building into Drake's part-anguished, part-ecstatic refrain, "I could have beeeeeeeeeen...," I suddenly find myself unexpectedly tearing up, and it occurs to me that it's time I wrote something about Nick Drake.

If you haven't heard the song before, go and have a listen to "One Of These Things First" on Spotify and then come back. Here are the lyrics:

> I could have been a sailor, could have been a cook

> A real-life lover, could have been a book.

> I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock

> As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.

> I could be

> Here and now

> I would be, I should be

> But how?

> I could have been

> One of these things first

> I could have been

> One of these things first.

> I could have been your pillar, could have been your door

> I could have stayed beside you, could have stayed for more.

> Could have been your statue, could have been your friend,

> A whole long lifetime could have been the end.

> I could be yours so true

> I would be, I should be through and through

> I could have been

> One of these things first

> I could have been

> One of these things first.

> I could have been a whistle, could have been a flute

> A real live giver, could have been a boot.

> I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock

> As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.

> I could be even here

> I would be, I should be so near

> I could have been

> One of these things first

> I could have been

> One of these things first.

This could possibly be the only song in the history of popular music to have been written entirely in the conditional perfect tense. The conditional perfect is the most melancholy of the grammatical tenses: it's about what might have been, what might have happened, yet did not. It's unsurprising that Nick Drake, the arch-melancholic, should have written an entire song in the conditional perfect, since his own life was in many ways about what might have been, what might have happened, yet did not. The song of course takes on a particular poignancy given Drake's untimely death on 25 November 1974 at the age of 26. Yet in spite of this, there was always something of the young fogey about Drake, a maturity of outlook that belied his youth: already in this song, written not long before his demise, he's looking back over his past life and loves, and reflecting upon the better lives that might have been, in the conditional perfect. The possibilities start out conventionally, as imagined alter egos (sailor, cook, lover), but in another typically Drakeian move, quickly turn whimsical, as Drake starts imagining himself as not even human, but a series of inanimate objects (book, signpost, clock, kettle; whistle, flute, boot), as he explores what he could have been before the musician that he is now: one of these things first. Literally. At first it might seem ironic that among the list of possible lives (and objects) considered, there's one conspicuous absence: musician, songwriter. The reason is of course obvious: this is who he is now, even as he muses wistfully on who (or what) else he could have been instead. The song itself is evidence both of what he has achieved, while reflecting on what might have been.

"One Of These Things First" is a song about regret, of course, regret for what one might have been or become, yet did not; but it's also a joyous song, surprisingly buoyant among Drake's otherwise brooding repertoire, built around a jaunty rising and falling piano figure, an up-tempo rhythm, and an uplifting chorus that tempers its melancholy; or perhaps it's the reverse, with the melancholy lyrics giving an edge to the cheerful music. Either way, like all of Drake's work, its dominant mood is bitter-sweet, what Brazilians call *saudade* or the Japanese call *mono no aware*: the sadness of things.

As I'm driving home, it occurs to me that it's this paradoxical mixture of joyous regret, this conditional-perfect awareness of the other paths one might have followed yet did not, that resonates with the many people who connect with Nick's music - or at least with me. It's why I sometimes find my eyes misting over when I immerse myself in his songs, staring out of a train window or driving on an empty highway, as I too reflect, from my own more advanced age than his, on the people I could have become, the lives I could have lived, the things I could have been, first.

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conditional perfect

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