Greatest Stories Ever Told - "Days Between"
By David Dodd
Here’s the plan—each week, I will blog about a different song, focusing, usually, on the lyrics, but also on some other aspects of the song, including its overall impact—a truly subjective thing. Therefore, the best part, I would hope, would not be anything in particular that I might have to say, but rather, the conversation that may happen via the comments over the course of time—and since all the posts will stay up, you can feel free to weigh in any time on any of the songs! With Grateful Dead lyrics, there’s always a new and different take on what they bring up for each listener, it seems. (I’ll consider requests for particular songs—just private message me!)
A generation was defined by knowing where they were, what they were doing, at the moment they learned of the assassination of John F. Kennedy. I have had a similar experience of the “generation” of Deadheads, over the years, talking with fellow Deadheads about August 9, 1995, the day we learned that Jerry Garcia had died.
I was at work, at the Kraemer Family Library at the University of Colorado, Colorado Springs. The campus is situated high on a bluff overlooking the city of Colorado Springs, with a view to the west of Pike’s Peak, surely one of the most impressive views I have ever spent time with on a regular basis. When a co-worker came to ask if I had heard the news, I first spent a little time online, making sure that it was indeed true, then I had to leave my desk, leave the building, and go for a long walk. I headed for the open space on the bluff above the campus buildings, where you could go and get a long view, and walked for about an hour, I think. My eyes blurred with tears, and the view shimmered.
“Days Between” has come to be an anthem that makes us remember Garcia in a particular way, and, in particular, the days between his birth date of August 1 and his death date of August 9. It’s a fitting song for such thoughts, with its big sweeping chords and its lyrics heavy with nostalgia and longing.
There’s a word in German, sehnsucht, that lacks a proper emotional counterpart in English, but which means, roughly, “longing.” It carries a sense of wishing you could see something—see something again, see something at all—that something is missing from your eyes and from your presence. I find that “Days Between” belongs with a raft of songs that induce this feeling in me.
“Days Between,” a late song in the Robert Hunter / Jerry Garcia songbook, was perhaps their last collaboration on a big, significant song, one that ranks with “Dark Star” and “Terrapin Station” as ambitious and intentionally grand. (I was talking the other day with a friend, about Garcia’s playing and songwriting, and the thought came up that Garcia, like few others, was unafraid of grandeur, and could successfully pull it off. Same with Hunter.)
It was first performed on February 22, 1993, at the Oakland Coliseum Arena, the middle show of a three-night run. The night before, they had premiered three other new songs: “Eternity,” “Lazy River Road,” and “Liberty.” Its final performance was on June 24, 1995, at RFK Stadium in Washington, DC. During its relatively short time in the live repertoire, they played it 41 times, always in the second set, and fairly frequently rising out of the Drums.
It appeared like the ghostly ships it describes, as if gradually from a fog and only slowly revealing itself as something very big, towering above everything around. It’s hard to say it any better than Phil Lesh did in his autobiography, Searching for the Sound:
“Achingly nostalgic, ‘Days Between’ evokes the past. The music climbs laboriously out of shadows, growing and peaking with each verse, only to fall back each time in hopeless resignation. When Jerry sings the line ‘when all we ever wanted / was to learn and love and grow’ or ‘gave the best we had to give / how much we’ll never know,’ I am immediately transported decades back in time, to a beautiful spring morning with Jerry, Hunter, Barbara Meier, and Alan Trist—all of us goofing on the sheer exhilaration of being alive. I don’t know whether to weep with joy at the beauty of the vision or with sadness at the impassable chasm of time between the golden past and the often painful present.”
Each verse in the song contains fourteen lines, and each evokes a different season of the year, although not in sequence. The first verse contains the lines “Summer flies and August dies / the world grows dark and mean.” I can’t hear that line without thinking about August West, in Wharf Rat, and, by extension, Garcia himself. “The singing man is at his song / the holy on their knees.” Who is the singing man, if not Garcia, when it comes to Hunter and his words?
There is something wave-like in the repetition Hunter employs with several key phrases: “There were days, and there were days, and there were days between…” like the waves upon the sand. And “when phantom ships with phantom sails set to sea on phantom tides.”
This is a song in which Hunter leaves wide open the individual assignment of meaning, as with many of his lyrics. But there is something so tender in his evocation of the past—of each of our pasts—that I really hesitate to say anything that could possibly put any of that into my own personal box of meaning. So I am going to err, possibly, on the side of not writing enough about this song, in hopes that I might not say too much.
I still miss Jerry. Where were you on August 9, 1995?
Sounds like the book "The Death Ship" by B. Traven.I also see the cover of Robert Hunters first album "Tales of the Great Rum Runners",a Rick Griffin painting of course. Also the image of "Ship of Fools" is invoked. I even see "Days Between" as July 9th to August 9th. Amazing song. Today August 9th would have been my brothers 65th birthday. Rick turned me on the Dead in 1968. As for August 9th 1995 I was driving to the job site in the Burro Mountains to build a section of Continental Divide Trail . I heard "Uncle Johns Band" from the T or C radio station. At the end of the song I heard the DJ say through the static "Dead at 53". Turned the truck around, headed to town called a friend, yes true. Back out to the Burros. Got the truck stuck for a couple hours. Turning the radio dial I could pick up Grateful Dead being broadcast on a half dozen or more radio stations from El Paso on the east to Tucson on the west. Got up to the trail did some work. Told stories of old to my fellow workers. That night visited a friend who played a vinyl copy of Garcia, including the masterful side B. I also listened to "Old and in the Way" and Live-Dead,feedback. My brother once said many heavy duty events happened on August 9th. Nagasaki, Nixon resigned. As for the time and space of the Grateful Dead, they began in May 1965. They played together for just over 30 years. "30 years upon my head".July 9th 1995 the Grateful Dead play their last concert. One month later Garcia dies. And without a doubt the Dead were masters of time and space. As Jerry said at Pigpens funeral, "It was a good rap".
I was barely 13 when Jerry passed on so I don't really remember where I was...I liked the Grateful Dead at the time but I wasn't on the bus yet.
‘when all we ever wanted / was to learn and love and grow’ or ‘gave the best we had to give / how much we’ll never know
So, I just want to say Thank You for the music you left behind and thank you to all the people that made that happen.
,,,and the fact that we can celebrate the few days between his birth and death and call it The Days Between, seriously blows my mind.
I remember at the time having mixed feelings that the Grateful Dead experience had gotten to the point where Hunter was explicitly commenting on it, as if to wrap it up. While Jerry was there to sing it.
It's like the elegiac flip side to An American Adventure, which tickled me beyond words the first time I heard Hunter read it, and still does.
because I was supposed to be meeting with a friend in the PR world about one of his clients. When I started the car, they were playing Grateful Dead music, which I correctly took as a very bad sign.
I decided to go ahead to the meeting, which was down on the Peninsula, but when I got there, my friend was nowhere to be found--because his wife was giving birth to their kid.
So then I figured I wasn't going to get any work done that day anyway, and found myself on Dennis McNally and Susana Millman's doorstep. Dennis was fielding endless phone calls; the rest of us hung out in a shell-shocked state for quite a while.
I was at work, and the news was broken to me by a jerk I worked with who hated the Grateful Dead. He informed me by saying, "Hey, did you hear that fat, over-rated guitar player you like so much died? Have a nice day." Of course I didn't believe him. Within minutes after turning the radio on, I knew he was correct. It's funny though, the night before, I woke up around 3:30 in the morning with a deep sense of dread. My buddies I toured with said they also woke up around the same time, with the same feeling. That still makes me think to this day. I think the Grateful Dead/Audience connection throught the years was deeper than most people think. Miss ya Jer.
Where was I on August 9, 1995? I was driving in my car when the horrible news came over the radio - on that (long ago) oasis of good music in the desert of what was radio in NYC, 102.7 WNEW. Does anyone else remember Scott Muni playing Terrapin Station every Friday at 3:00 in the afternoon?
The 3rd verse ALWAYS brings me back to my coming of age and illustrates how I and many of my Deadhead friends feel about those innocent times.
I still miss Jerry, too. And my old friend "Chet".