It is a strange, almost unsettling thought that one of the most weary, world-weary songs in the American canon was written by a sixteen-year-old. When Jackson Browne sat down in 1964 or 1965 to pen These Days, he wasn’t a grizzled veteran of the road or a man looking back on a lifetime of regret. He was a kid in Orange County. Yet, the song carries a weight that most songwriters spend decades trying to manufacture. It’s a heavy, echoing sort of sadness. It feels like the moment the sun goes down on a Sunday afternoon and you realize you haven't done anything productive, but on a cosmic, existential scale.
Honestly, the song shouldn't work coming from a teenager. It’s too cynical. It’s too resigned. But that’s the magic of Browne’s early writing—he possessed a terrifyingly precocious empathy for his future self. These Days became a vessel. Because it was written with such skeletal simplicity, it allowed other artists to pour their own specific brand of misery into it. From Nico’s icy, detached delivery to Gregg Allman’s soulful, bourbon-soaked mourning, the song has lived a dozen different lives. It’s a mirror. If you’re feeling lonely, it sounds like loneliness. If you’re feeling nostalgic, it sounds like a warning.
The Weird History of a Teenage Masterpiece
Most people think of the Jackson Browne version from his 1973 album For Everyman as the definitive one. It’s great, don’t get me wrong. It has that polished, Southern California country-rock sheen with the beautiful fingerpicking. But the song actually took a very circuitous route to get there. It wasn't even his hit first.
Browne was hanging around the Andy Warhol scene in New York City in the mid-sixties. He was briefly Nico’s guitar player. Think about that visual: a teenage Californian kid backing a Germanic ice queen in the heart of the Velvet Underground’s world. When Nico recorded her solo debut, Chelsea Girl, in 1967, she took These Days and turned it into something haunting. The arrangement had these stabbing, baroque strings that Browne reportedly hated at the time. He wanted something more folk-oriented. But Nico’s flat, almost deadpan vocal gave the lyrics a chilling quality. When she sang "Don't confront me with my failures / I had not forgotten them," it didn't sound like a teenager's poem. It sounded like a ghost's confession.
The song traveled. It shifted. It changed hands like a secret.
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Analyzing the Lyrics: Why "These Days" Cuts So Deep
What is he actually saying? "I've been out walking / I don't do too much talking these days."
That is the ultimate description of depression without ever using the word. It's about the retreat. It’s about the way the world becomes a series of things you just... observe, rather than participate in. Browne wrote these lines before he had even really lived them. He talked about "loitering" and "gambling," which in his context was likely metaphorical, but they carry the sting of real-world exhaustion.
The Shift in Perspective
There is a specific line that Browne changed over the years. In the original version, he wrote, "I've stopped my dreaming / I won't do too much scheming these days." By the time he recorded it himself in '73, he changed "dreaming" to "rambling." It’s a small tweak. But it changes the song from a static state of hopelessness to a more active choice of stillness.
- Nico's Version: Cold, detached, avant-garde.
- Gregg Allman's Version: Heavy, bluesy, dripping with the weight of addiction and loss.
- Jackson's Version: Melancholic but melodic, the quintessential "California Sound."
The Gregg Allman cover is particularly vital to understanding why These Days is a masterpiece. Allman recorded it for his Laid Back album in 1973. If you know anything about the Allman Brothers, you know that 1973 was a dark year. Duane Allman was gone. Berry Oakley was gone. When Gregg sings "Please don't confront me with my failures," you can feel the literal ghosts in the room. He slowed the tempo down. He let the organ swell in the background. It turned a folk song into a funeral march for the 1960s.
The Production That Defined an Era
When Jackson finally put it on a record, he used a specific fingerpicking style that became his hallmark. He’s a underrated guitar player. People focus on the lyrics because they’re so punchy, but the way he plays the alternating bass notes on an acoustic guitar provides the "walking" rhythm the song describes.
It's steady. It's unhurried. It feels like someone putting one foot in front of the other because they have to, not because they want to.
The For Everyman version features David Lindley on slide guitar. Lindley is the secret weapon of that entire era of music. His playing doesn't just add notes; it adds atmosphere. The slide guitar on These Days sounds like a distant train whistle or a sigh. It fills the gaps between Browne’s lines, giving the listener a second to breathe and digest the sadness. It’s a very "sunny" sounding recording for such a dark song, which is the ultimate Southern California irony. Everything looks bright and golden, but underneath, there’s this profound sense of being lost.
Why Does It Still Matter?
We live in an era of "aesthetic" sadness. We have playlists for everything. But These Days feels more authentic than modern "sad-girl" or "sad-boy" pop because it’s so unadorned. There are no vocal tricks. There’s no over-production. It’s just a guy admitting he’s not doing great.
You've probably heard it in movies. Wes Anderson used the Nico version in The Royal Tenenbaums when Margot gets off the bus. It was a perfect needle drop. It captured that sense of being a "former" something—a former prodigy, a former lover, a former person. That’s the core of the song. It’s about the "after." After the excitement, after the mistakes, after the noise.
Jackson Browne once said in an interview that he didn't really know where the song came from. He was just trying to write something that sounded like the music he liked. But in doing so, he tapped into a universal frequency. We all have "these days." We all have periods where we don't do too much talking.
Actionable Takeaways for Music Lovers
If you want to truly appreciate the depth of this track, don't just stick to the Spotify "This Is Jackson Browne" playlist. You have to dig into the evolution.
1. Listen to the 1967 Nico version first. Experience the song in its coldest, most experimental form. Pay attention to how the strings clash with her voice. It’s uncomfortable, and it’s supposed to be.
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2. Contrast it with the 1973 Gregg Allman version. Hear how a bluesman finds the soul in the lyrics. Notice the difference in tempo. Allman turns the song into a confession, whereas Browne’s version feels more like a diary entry.
3. Learn the "Browne Strum." If you play guitar, the fingerpicking pattern in These Days is a masterclass in folk-rock composition. It uses a Travis-picking style that emphasizes the 1 and the 3, creating that "walking" feel.
4. Watch the live versions from the 2000s. Browne still performs this song. Seeing a man in his 70s sing lyrics he wrote at 16 adds a whole new layer of meaning. The "failures" he refers to have changed, but the sentiment remains identical.
The song is a reminder that simplicity is often the hardest thing to achieve. You don't need complex metaphors or massive orchestras to explain what it feels like to be human and slightly broken. You just need a few honest lines and a steady rhythm. Jackson Browne figured that out before he was old enough to buy a beer, and we’ve been trying to catch up to him ever since.
To get the full experience, go find a copy of For Everyman on vinyl. Drop the needle. Sit in the dark. Let the slide guitar do its work. Sometimes the best way to handle "these days" is to just admit they’re happening. It doesn't fix the failures, but it makes them a little easier to carry.
Next Steps for Deep Listening:
- Compare the "Chelsea Girl" mix with the 2005 Solo Acoustic, Vol. 1 version to see how Browne reclaimed the song.
- Research the "Orange County Folk Scene" of the mid-60s to understand the environment that birthed Browne, Glen Campbell, and Linda Ronstadt.
- Analyze the chord progression: Note the use of the Major 7th chords that give the song its "wistful" rather than "angry" tone.