Nick Drake was never meant for the spotlight. His music wasn’t designed to fill arenas, or to be blasted from passing cars. It existed in the stillness—between dusk and dawn, in the moments when the world quiets down and reflection begins. Among the haunting gems that make up his small but extraordinary catalog, “One of These Things First” stands out as one of his most delicate, self-aware, and quietly devastating pieces. Released in 1971 on his sophomore album Bryter Layter, the song is a tender meditation on identity, possibility, and the subtle melancholy of paths not taken.
More than fifty years later, it remains one of the most beautiful existential musings in modern music—a song that whispers instead of shouts, yet lingers in the listener’s mind long after the final piano note fades.
The World of Nick Drake
By the time Bryter Layter was released, Nick Drake was already something of an enigma. His debut, Five Leaves Left (1969), introduced him as a singular voice in British folk—a melancholic observer with intricate fingerpicking and a voice that seemed too soft for the decade’s louder ambitions. But while his contemporaries were finding commercial success—Cat Stevens, Joni Mitchell, and even Fairport Convention—Drake remained in the shadows, uncomfortable with fame and painfully shy onstage.
Bryter Layter was his attempt at something more expansive. Recorded with help from producer Joe Boyd and members of Fairport Convention and the Velvet Underground’s John Cale, it blended folk with touches of jazz and orchestral pop. The result was luminous and bittersweet—an album that feels like sunlight passing through fog.
And nestled within it, “One of These Things First” feels like the album’s beating heart: reflective, wistful, and profoundly human.
The Melody of Possibility
From its opening moments, “One of These Things First” feels effortlessly inviting. A gentle piano—played by Paul Harris—establishes the track’s contemplative rhythm, with a slightly off-kilter swing that suggests both movement and hesitation. Drake’s guitar joins subtly, weaving in and out of the melody like a half-remembered dream.
The song’s chord progression, deceptively simple, captures what made Drake’s songwriting so distinctive. He could take traditional folk structures and imbue them with something otherworldly—shifting minor tones and unexpected transitions that made his songs feel simultaneously familiar and elusive.
His voice, hushed but firm, carries the melody with a kind of patient resignation. Drake never belts or strains; he doesn’t need to. He sings like someone thinking aloud, his words falling softly into the air as if afraid to disturb it.
A Catalogue of Lives Unlived
Lyrically, “One of These Things First” is a masterclass in introspection. On the surface, it reads almost like a list—a litany of roles he could have played in life:
“I could have been a sailor, could have been a cook
A real live lover, could have been a book.”
Each line is a small, poetic fragment, a possibility imagined and then left behind. He’s exploring the endless permutations of who he might have been—an exercise both whimsical and deeply sad. The song reads like a conversation with himself, an inventory of unrealized potential.
But beneath the gentle rhythm, there’s an ache. It’s not just about what he could have been—it’s about the quiet acceptance that he isn’t. The title phrase, “one of these things first,” implies not just choice but priority. It’s as though Drake is sifting through possibilities, unsure which part of himself to claim, knowing that life allows for only so many versions.
This idea of multiplicity—of many lives existing within one person—is timeless. We all have unpursued dreams, alternate selves that flicker briefly before fading into what-ifs. Drake captures that universality without melodrama. His restraint is what makes it so affecting.
The Philosophical Undercurrent
What sets “One of These Things First” apart from other songs of longing is its philosophical calm. There’s no bitterness in Drake’s tone, no self-pity. He’s not lamenting his choices; he’s observing them.
The refrain, delivered almost like a mantra, underscores this tone of quiet detachment:
“And I could have been one of these things first.”
It’s as if he’s stepping outside himself to view his life from afar. This detachment gives the song its meditative quality, transforming what could have been a sad confession into something closer to acceptance—or at least curiosity.
In that sense, the song feels like an emotional cousin to the works of poets like W.H. Auden or T.S. Eliot, whose reflections on time and selfhood carry the same blend of melancholy and intellect. But Drake’s version of existential reflection is gentler, grounded in the textures of daily life rather than abstraction. He’s not wrestling with grand philosophical theories—he’s sitting quietly, thinking about who he might have been.
A Song That Sounds Like Memory
Part of what makes “One of These Things First” so haunting is its sense of distance. It doesn’t sound like a song written in the present tense—it feels remembered, like a faded photograph. The warm piano and brushed percussion create a nostalgic haze, while Drake’s voice sits just slightly above it, as if he’s not fully there.
This dreamlike quality gives the song a timelessness that’s hard to place. It could be a lullaby, a journal entry, or a confession whispered to no one. That ambiguity is what keeps it alive. Each listen feels slightly different, depending on your own mood and memories.
And yet, despite its introspection, there’s something reassuring in its gentleness. The music doesn’t wallow—it floats. Where another artist might have turned these lyrics into a dirge, Drake allows them to breathe, to exist in a space between sadness and serenity.
Context Within ‘Bryter Layter’
Within the larger framework of Bryter Layter, “One of These Things First” plays a crucial role. The album oscillates between instrumental interludes (“Bryter Layter,” “Sunday,” “Introduction”) and vocal tracks that explore loneliness, love, and isolation. Many of those songs—“Hazey Jane II,” “Poor Boy,” and “At the Chime of a City Clock”—feature a fuller band, even jazz-inspired arrangements.
But “One of These Things First” feels intimate and minimal by comparison. It’s a moment of introspective pause amid the album’s outward motion. If Bryter Layter is about the search for connection in an alienating world, this track is the moment the search turns inward.
It’s also one of the few moments on the record where Drake sounds almost at peace. There’s no pleading or yearning—just quiet observation. That calmness gives the song its lasting strength.
Critical Reception and Legacy
At the time of its release, Bryter Layter went largely unnoticed, like all of Drake’s albums during his lifetime. Critics appreciated his craft but failed to grasp his quiet brilliance, often dismissing his songs as too subdued or introspective. The music industry of 1971—dominated by louder, more extroverted artists—had no place for someone like Nick Drake.
But over the decades, as listeners grew more attuned to subtlety and emotional honesty, “One of These Things First” began to shine. When the song appeared in films like The Royal Tenenbaums and Garden State, a new generation discovered its delicate magic. In the context of those introspective, melancholic stories, Drake’s voice felt like an old friend whispering from another world.
Today, the song is recognized as one of Drake’s defining works—a touchstone for countless singer-songwriters who followed. Artists like Iron & Wine, Elliott Smith, José González, and Sufjan Stevens owe a clear debt to the quiet emotional intelligence of “One of These Things First.”
Themes of Identity and Acceptance
What continues to make the song resonate is how universal its subject matter feels. It’s not about fame, romance, or heartbreak. It’s about identity—about the fragile process of becoming oneself.
In a modern world obsessed with achievement and self-definition, Drake’s perspective feels radical. He’s comfortable admitting uncertainty, acknowledging that he could have been many things and that maybe that’s okay. There’s a humility in that realization—a sense that life is less about finding the one right version of yourself and more about accepting the many that might coexist within you.
That’s what gives “One of These Things First” its enduring emotional power. It’s a song about being human—about knowing that the choices we make shape us, but they don’t define us completely.
A Life That Echoes the Song
In retrospect, it’s hard not to see “One of These Things First” as eerily prophetic. Nick Drake’s life was marked by unfulfilled potential. He released just three albums—Five Leaves Left (1969), Bryter Layter (1971), and Pink Moon (1972)—before retreating further into isolation. He died in 1974 at the age of 26, likely from an overdose of antidepressants.
He never lived to see the influence his music would have, or to experience the adoration that later generations would offer him. And yet, in his short time, he captured something timeless.
Listening to “One of These Things First” now feels like hearing Drake speak from beyond that history—someone aware of life’s fleetingness but unwilling to let it harden him. His tone is neither mournful nor triumphant; it’s quietly resilient.
Why It Still Matters
In an era of noise, “One of These Things First” remains a reminder of the beauty in silence. It doesn’t demand attention—it rewards it. Every line, every pause, every soft strum of guitar invites introspection.
It’s the kind of song you might stumble upon late at night, when you’re thinking about who you are and who you might have been. It doesn’t offer answers; it offers companionship. It makes you feel seen, understood, and strangely comforted by the realization that everyone wonders about the roads not taken.
Drake once said in an interview, “I just want to be remembered for my songs.” Decades later, that wish has been granted. “One of These Things First” isn’t just a song—it’s a philosophy, a whispered meditation on identity, impermanence, and acceptance.
Final Reflection
There are few artists who’ve managed to articulate the quiet complexities of human existence as gracefully as Nick Drake. “One of These Things First” is not a cry for help or a grand statement—it’s a sigh of understanding.
It reminds us that we are all many things—some realized, some imagined, some forgotten. That maybe, the beauty of life lies not in being one thing, but in knowing we could have been many.
In his fragile, gentle way, Nick Drake created a song that still speaks softly to the restless souls of every generation. And though he left the world too soon, his music endures as proof that sometimes, the quietest voices echo the loudest truths.
