Robert Hunter, T.S. Eliot, The Grateful Dead and Me...

Walking down Madrone Canyon in Larkspur in 1969, you said some pretty mind-blowing stuff, how we were creating a universe and I was responsible for the verbal half of it. I said maybe, but it was your way with music and a guitar that was pulling it off. You said "That's for now. This is your time in the shadow, but it won't always be that way. I'm not going to live a long time, it's not in the cards. Then it'll be your turn." I may be alive and kicking, but no pencil pusher is going to inherit the stratosphere that so gladly opened to you. Recalling your statement, though, often helped keep me oriented as my own star murked below the horizon while you streaked across the sky of our generation like a goddamned comet!

Robert Hunter, letter written upon the one year anniversary of Jerry Garcia's death, 1996

***Skull & Roses*** (1971) signed by Jerry Garcia, Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, Robert Hunter, Bill Kreutzman

I met Robert Hunter, lyricist nonpareil for the Grateful Dead, during a soundcheck before his show at the City Winery in New York City in July 2014. I had last seen Robert perform many years ago in Boston during college. While his literary and lyrical talents abound, his music and singing is more of an acquired taste. One that I have not yet acquired. What I remember from seeing him then, was Hunter shouting “Promontory Rider” at the top of his coarse lungs. Over and over. Seeing him once was more than enough for me.

The soundcheck that night revealed a kinder, gentler Robert Hunter. He played “Loser”, “Sugaree” and “Touch Of Grey” from the Grateful Dead songbook. While his voice is not melodic, it was not as harsh and his finger picked guitar playing was interesting. After the brief set, I had the chance to visit with him, and I brought a couple albums – Workingman’s Dead and Skull and Roses – which I had the Dead sign more than twenty years ago ( another story for another time).

Robert was quite intrigued when I showed him the signed Workingman’s Dead album. I asked him where the photo was taken. He said he wasn’t sure, but the shabby clothes were supplied by Warner Brothers to reflect a workingman's vibe. I was surprised, I assumed the clothes were their own, as the Dead were never known for their sartorial choices. He said he loved the photo, but he hated the fake smokestacks that were painted on one of the buildings by an artist (right below Mickey Hart’s signature). I hadn’t noticed them before, but Robert was annoyed that Warner Brothers decided to mar an otherwise authentic photo.

***Workingman’s Dead*** (1970) signed by Jerry Garcia, Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, Robert Hunter, Mickey Hart, Bill Kreutzman

I told Robert that he was an amazing and prolific writer. Who were your influences? “Bob Dylan,” he immediately replied. Yes, I knew he had collaborated with Dylan on "Duquesne Whistle" and the entireTogether Through Life album, but what about before Dylan? 'I’m an old english major,’ I explained, 'T. S. Eliot? Keats?' “Well,” he replied, “I am very well read. I’d like to say (William Butler) Yeats (the great Irish bard) but that would be untrue, I didn’t start reading Yeats until a couple of decades ago.” He mused, “I have always enjoyed T.S. Eliot. In fact, I’d say “Dark Star” was very much influenced by Eliot.”

Interesting. The Dead’s great LSD magnum opus “Dark Star” influenced by T.S. Eliot?

A closer look at two excerpts is revealing:

Dark Star (1968)
Dark star crashes, pouring its light into ashes
Reason tatters, the forces tear loose from the axis
Searchlight casting, for faults in the clouds of delusion
Shall we go, you and I while we can, through the transitive nightfalls of diamonds.

The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock (1915)
Let us go then you and I, when the evening is spread against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table.
Let us go, through half deserted streets, the muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells.

I’ll take Hunter at his word: there are some similarities. As Oscar Wilde reminds us, “Talent borrows, genius steals.” It was an enlightening visit with Robert Hunter, one of the foremost lyricists in the ever widening Great American Songbook.

Hope our paths cross soon.