Photo by Jay Blakesberg

In August 2013, I had the opportunity to interview Robert Hunter in conjunction with his solo tour, set to take place the following month. It all came together quite quickly and, given the logistics involved with running the piece in print, only a small portion of our conversation appeared in Relix.

At the time, Hunter was returning to the limelight following an ailment that had hospitalized him the prior year. He told me: “I’m of two minds about whether I want to say anything about it because the last thing I want is pity. I didn’t let any information out but I was seriously ill with a spinal infection. I don’t know where it came from. I think it was Ebola or something like that, and it put me at death’s door.”

Prior to this setback, the longtime Grateful Dead lyricist had been in fine fettle, writing songs with Little Feat, Bruce Hornsby and Jim Lauderdale, as well as old friends David Nelson, Mickey Hart, Bill Kreutzmann and even Bob Dylan. In the following extended version of that interview, Hunter reflects on the totality of his storied career.

It’s been a while since you last performed live. I’m sure there are plenty of people who assumed that you had retired from the stage. What prompted your decision to return?

In a nutshell, I had the benefit of the experience of being extremely ill. When I got out of the hospital, I began thinking that time was precious and what I really would like to do, God willing and the creek don’t rise, is continue my performing career. I realized that I missed being on the stage. When I gave it up, it wasn’t the performing I was giving up—it was the travel, the hotels, the days between. Is there something about the live setting that calls you back time and again? Oh yes, nothing compares to it. I’ll devote myself to rehearsal and practice long before I commit to taking the stage and, no matter how intense that might become, it’s a far cry from what happens when I actually appear before an audience. Once I’m up there and I start playing, I find myself returning to a place of familiarity and, I dare say, comfort. I’ll forget what led up to that moment, which can involve a fair share of discomfort in terms of travel and all that. Especially being up there by myself, where it’s just the audience and me, there’s truly nothing like it.

Since you hadn’t played guitar in a performance setting for quite some time, was it a challenge to bring your chops up to speed?

Oh my God, yes. I get up before dawn and, as soon as the sun is up, I go out in the yard with my guitar. I find that’s the nicest place to do it with the birds singing, and I work about four or five hours in the morning. I’ve pretty much got my repertoire back together. My guitar playing is better than it’s ever been, by far, because I never really worked at it before. This time, I decided to sit down and put in the hours instead of just writing songs all the time. I’ve written plenty of songs in the time I’ve been off. I write what comes to me; I have no plan. What comes through me is what comes through me. Sometimes I think it’s incredible but I’m not my biggest fan. If I listen to something, I hear the flaws in it. I focus on the flaws, which is why it’s really hard for me to listen to recordings of my live shows.

How has your relationship with the audience changed over the years?

There was a period of time when I was not writing songs. I wanted to get away from that, so I was only writing poetry. Then I would go out on tour for poetry readings. This lasted for a couple of years until I was ready to start performing music again. But I will say that one of the hard realities that I eventually came to accept is that people didn’t want to hear me spouting off my poems. They wanted to hear my songs.

But at this point, I’ve been away for a little while. The last time I performed, they didn’t have the cellphones that you can take videos with. It used to make me feel a little bit weird when they would snap pictures, it would distract me. And I know this is going to happen— that people will be taking videos—so I’m prepared for it, but it’s going to be strange. I went to see Rodriguez a couple weeks ago at the Warfield and there they were, people taking the videos. That was hell of a show, by the way, the Rodriguez show.

But there’s no time for philosophical thinking when you’re giving a performance; you’re so heavily invested in all the things you’re doing at the moment and then, at the end, you can tell what people think by whether they clap.

There are those magical moments when you and the audience are becoming one unit. And then, all of a sudden, there’s the unit that is clapping and the other that is taking the bow, and you’re split again. There is a sort of chemistry that you experience onstage and then, afterward, it’s hard to talk about it. There are just moments and that’s kind of what you do it for. Sometimes the moment will last for a whole song or sometimes it’s a couple moments during a song, but hardly ever for a whole show.

Speaking of which, do you plan on incorporating any of the newer material from recent years into your show?

I’m planning to do “Patchwork River,” which I wrote with Jim [Lauderdale]. I’ve been working it up and I really like singing it. Just because a song is kind of good doesn’t make me want to sing it. The song has to command me to sing. When I get out there, every song I perform demands to be sung.

I’ve worked out about 40 songs, of which I’ll do about 18 when I do two sets. I generally do about six in my first set and a dozen in my second set. So, for example, will I do “Mission in the Rain” or some other one? I won’t know until I make up my setlist right before I go onstage.

I’ll be doing a couple I haven’t done before though. For instance, I’m going to pull out “Attics of My Life,” which I’ve never dared to do solo before because everybody knows it takes at least three singers. [Laughs.] But I’ve worked my way around it and I’m feeling confident with it. I’ll be doing a couple of songs that I’ve written for myself over a few years now, but I know what people are coming to hear and they’re going to get it. They pay their money; they’re entitled to hear what they want to hear and that’s largely Grateful Dead. I understand this.

You mentioned your collaboration with Jim Lauderdale, who is an acclaimed, prolific songwriter in his own right. When you’re working with him, is your approach any different than when you’ve written with others?

Jim is the only songwriter I’ve ever found who can keep up with me as far as speed goes. I work quick; he works quick. He can drop over for a couple of days and we have an album written. This is almost unheard of. The man is alive with songs. It continually amazes me the way the man can write, so we’ve written a phenomenal amount of songs. We write them, put them out and I listen to them once, which is generally about as much as I can handle when something comes out that I have anything to do with.

Why is that?

It’s just the way it is. We’re on to the next thing. My wife will sometimes play some of this stuff when we’re in the car and I’ll say, “Hey, I wrote this song. It’s not bad.” I’ll listen to it and it sounds like a real Nashville song. I don’t listen to my work. I’ve been writing a couple of books over the last couple of years and I don’t read the books either. My motto is: Move on.

I don’t know that I’ve listened to a Grateful Dead album in many years. I’ve listened to a couple of individual tunes—I buy them from Apple or from Amazon— when I want my memory refreshed as to how they go because I can’t find anything in my record collection. My CDs are scattered hither and yon, and my eyes aren’t good enough to read the tiny print on the CD packages, so I just pay 99 cents and get a fresh copy. [Laughs.]

In addition to Jim Lauderdale, you’re also one of the rare individuals who has written with Bob Dylan. He certainly has his own distinct voice. Did you come at that any differently?

I wrote a bunch of stuff for him to choose from. Although I gave him something that I give nobody else, which is license to change it to suit himself because he is who he is. Let me just say that I would rather hear a Bob Dylan record with lyrics by Bob Dylan than lyrics by me because I’m a fan. I love his stuff and I hate to be able to say that I know what these songs mean, because part of the joy of listening to him is you don’t have the vaguest idea of what he’s talking about—it just sounds good. [Laughs.]

So did that lead you to make those lyrics any more elliptical?

No, I write what comes through me, and then it had to filter through his muse, too. While we were working on it, he would ask me to write a different verse for this or that. It was very exacting. I hope people like it. I don’t know—I never read any reviews.

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You’ve also written with David Nelson over the years. How would you describe that working relationship?

We’re just comfortable with each other. Our relationship goes back to a time when we are all learning together, trying to figure it all out. Way back when, we connected with the same music at the same time, and that still informs what we do today. We’re both quite aware of what each other likes.

I listened to David Nelson’s birthday party over the radio the other day and, boy, they were good—Nelson’s band. Hot stuff.

He’s got a whole bunch of stuff that I wrote for him before I got ill. He’s working on it and I’m very pleased with the two New Riders records that we wrote the lion’s share of the stuff on. David doesn’t work fast though. He’s cautious and slow and he gets it right. You know, that’s the old gang, me and Jerry and David; we were making bands back in those days and it feels right. It feels like homey stuff; working with him is just right.

The same was true of Jerry. And when it comes to Jerry, I’ll just say right out front that I am one lucky lyricist to have had Jerry Garcia to work with. I never get tired of those melodies. The man’s genius is there. He’s with those songs. It’s part of what he’s left.

You first began working with Jerry when you were still in your teens. How long did it take for you to realize that you had a musical connection?

He was 18 and I was 19. I met him through someone I had been dating who was now Jerry’s girlfriend. We didn’t speak much at first but then, a few nights later, I saw him at a coffeehouse and that’s when we connected—just because it was so fun talking with him. Our real musical connection came when he poached my guitar. [Laughs.] Well, it wasn’t my guitar. We were at a party and someone had lent me a guitar. Then Jerry asked if he could borrow it from me and he never gave it back. I wasn’t altogether pleased with that but, in facility with the thing, there was no question it was in better hands.

That’s what led us to start our folk duo, Bob and Jerry. We kept at it for a little while until he moved out of bluegrass and into a jugband phase, but that just wasn’t for me. I couldn’t raise a sound from the jug.

Eventually, I left San Francisco and moved to New Mexico. Jerry had started with the Grateful Dead and I sent him some lyrics to “St. Stephen,” “Alligator” and “China Cat Sunflower,” which were from songs I had written and was performing. He wrote me back, which was surprising in its own right, and invited me to come back with an offer to write lyrics for the Dead. So I hitchhiked my way back up to San Francisco and gave it a go, starting with “Dark Star.”

Is that the way you worked with him over the years that followed—you’d pass along lyrics for him?

Generally, yes. I would have a stack for him, although his reaction would be different than what you might expect. I’d pass them along and he’d complain, “Not again, Hunter!” He is quoted as saying that he’d rather toss cards into a hat than write songs and I can verify that. Eventually, though, something would prompt him. Very rarely was it me.

A bit later, I’d offer lyrics to other band members. I’d put them aside in a file for everyone to use as they’d see fit. Jerry was the one who grabbed them most of the time, when he was ready to write songs, whenever that might be. My one lament is that Jerry would occasionally take the lyrics and then toss out whatever it was he didn’t need. I’d never see those pages again.

On other occasions, he might take something I had written and improve it, like he did with “Touch of Grey.” I performed my version for a few years and recorded it for an album with Jerry and John Kahn that we could never quite complete. Then Jerry asked if he could take it and recast it for the Grateful Dead. My version was much slower.

There were a few instances in which the band had written the music in advance; sometimes I would be there while they were doing it. “Uncle John’s Band” is the best example of that. I was handed a tape with maybe 30 or 40 minutes of music that they’d already recorded, and I took it from there. “Ramble on Rose” we somewhat assembled together on the fly, verse-by-verse. I wrote the lyrics while they wrote the music.

I remember hearing that “Ripple” came together during the Festival Express tour. I thought you had written the lyrics in London.

I did. That same afternoon, I wrote “Brokedown Palace” and “To Lay Me Down” with a bottle of Retsina at the ready, as I recall. But Jerry composed the music in Canada. The train had come to a stop. This was around dawn and Jerry was sitting outside. That’s not the memorable part for me, though. The memorable part is that Janis Joplin had invited me to share some breakfast with her, which was Southern Comfort, while he was out there writing the song. At one point, she sang Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday Morning Comin’ Down” real close, right into my ear.

You appeared on the cover of Workingman’s Dead, but then, to a large degree, you removed yourself from the public eye. Is it fair to describe you as reclusive?

I’m reclusive as far as fame-seeking goes, but that doesn’t mean I’m reclusive as a social human being. It’s just that what rock fame has to offer isn’t really something that anybody in their right mind, with any notion of what they’re getting into, would want. I’ve watched my friends have to go through that and I’ve said, “No thanks.” But I very much want my songwriting out there. I’m not indifferent to that, and I’m very pleased and proud and feel very lucky about that aspect. I also like to get up and perform, and there are certain things you do to perform. I’m going to do those things to a degree; although, I’m not going to go overboard.

You’ve written lyrics and poetry over the years. How about prose?

Yes, I’ve written a science fiction novel. I sent it out and I had an agent marketing it and whatnot, and I had a few nibbles on it and then the agent just disappeared. So after a while, I figured I’m just as well not publishing it. My mother read it, my sister read it, my wife read it. They thought it was nice. [Laughs.]

I’ve written a couple of books and I’ve put them away afterward. I consider they’re probably too weird for most human beings to read. The thing is, I don’t really care much to publish. I like writing but I don’t like all that goes with it—everything you have to do. I’ve figured that stuff is for posthumous distribution. I don’t mean to sound grim but I’ll leave it behind.

Although, as you resume performing, I imagine you’ll be asked to do some measure of press to help the promoters who have agreed to produce your shows.

It must be done and sometimes, surprisingly, it can be a pleasure because more often than not, you’re talking to damn decent people. But I don’t know what to say about my show. My show is my show, not me. I myself am not my show. I know it’s a strange place to be coming from, but if somebody recognizes me on the street, I’m almost mortified. It doesn’t happen that often and I’m very reticent about the idea of being known.

To what extent do you assume a role or responsibility in protecting the creative legacy of the Grateful Dead?

That’s been my mission in running Ice Nine Publishing. It’s being careful that the stuff is treated with respect and, if someone doesn’t mean to do it that way, then they can take a hike. It’s egotistical but I think that the Grateful Dead was better than all that. Way back in the day, I allowed “Truckin’” to be used in Canada for a week for a Dodge commercial, but I didn’t feel good about it, and I didn’t do it again.

What can audiences expect when they come see you on tour this fall?

They’re going to see a pretty excited guy. It’s getting closer to the time and I’m waking up nervous already. I’m looking forward to getting on the stage again, and this is a short tour to show me that I’m strong enough to do it. I think I am, but I’m not challenging myself with a huge tour at this point. And if I get through this standing on my head and wanting more, then I’ll book a longer tour for the spring.

I feel like there may be a change in the air. My daughter tells me that things are coming around again. She’s very invested in today’s music and made damn sure I caught Trent Reznor’s Nine Inch Nails show the other night over the good-quality broadcast. That’s just come so far since the Grateful Dead was doing that kind of stuff and it was great. So if you want to count me a Trent Reznor fan, that came a good deal toward making me one. I really liked that show a lot.

Do you feel comfortable performing all of your work from the Grateful Dead catalog?

There are a couple that would be difficult for me to do like “What’s Become of the Baby.” I possibly could do “Eyes of the World.” Somewhere along the line, it just seemed to me too rhythmically difficult for one guy to pull off. But maybe I could now.

This article originally appeared in the December 2019 issue of Relix, which acted as a tribute to the late Robert Hunter. For more features, interviews, album reviews and more subscribe below.