It starts with that finger-picked guitar. It’s a rhythmic, almost mechanical pattern that feels like clockwork ticking down toward something inevitable. Then comes the voice. Deep. Monotone. Heavy with a German accent that makes every vowel sound like it's being pulled through cold molasses.
When Nico sang These Days, she wasn’t just performing a song written by a nineteen-year-old Jackson Browne. She was essentially colonizing it. She took a piece of California folk-rock and turned it into a haunting anthem of European detachment.
Honestly, most people hear this song for the first time and think they’ve discovered a secret. It has that vibe. Whether you found it through Wes Anderson’s The Royal Tenenbaums or a random Spotify algorithm jump, These Days by Nico sticks to your ribs. It’s a song about regret that somehow manages to sound completely devoid of self-pity. That’s a hard trick to pull off.
The Jackson Browne Connection: From Teen Angst to High Art
There’s a weird bit of history here that people often miss. Jackson Browne wrote this thing when he was basically a kid. He was living in an apartment in New York, running in circles with the Velvet Underground crowd, and he was actually dating Nico at the time.
Imagine being nineteen and writing "Don't confront me with my failures / I had not forgotten them." That’s heavy.
When Browne originally wrote it, the song had a bit more of a country-tweak to it. It was fast. It was light. But when it came time for Nico to record her debut solo album, Chelsea Girl, in 1967, the producer Tom Wilson had a very specific vision. He wanted something that felt like the "Chelsea Scene"—artistic, cold, and a little bit detached.
Nico apparently hated the strings. She famously cried when she heard the final mix of the album because she wanted a more raw, rock sound. But history has a funny way of proving producers right. The juxtaposition of the whimsical, almost "Baroque pop" flute and strings against her deadpan delivery is exactly why the song works. It’s the sound of someone trying to stay composed while their world is quietly falling apart.
The Royal Tenenbaums Effect
You can’t talk about These Days by Nico without talking about Margot Tenenbaum. In 2001, Wes Anderson used the track for the scene where Gwyneth Paltrow steps off a Green Line bus to meet Luke Wilson.
It was perfect.
That one needle drop did more for Nico’s streaming numbers (decades before streaming existed, obviously) than almost anything else. It redefined the song for a new generation. Suddenly, it wasn't just a 60s relic; it was the official soundtrack for "cool, misunderstood melancholy."
The song captures a very specific feeling of being "in-between." It’s the sound of the afternoon when the sun is going down and you realize you didn't get anything done, and you're okay with that, but also kind of devastated by it.
Why Her Version Beats the Rest
There have been dozens of covers. Gregg Allman did a soulful, Southern version. St. Vincent has tackled it. Even Miley Cyrus has a go. And of course, Jackson Browne eventually recorded his own definitive version for For Everyman in 1973.
But none of them hit like Nico.
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Why? Because Nico doesn't try to "sing" it.
Most vocalists try to find the emotion in the melody. They swell during the chorus. They emphasize the sadness. Nico just states the facts. When she says she’s been "out walking," you believe her. You can almost see her wandering through a gray New York City street in a heavy wool coat.
Her lack of inflection creates a vacuum that the listener fills with their own baggage. It’s a psychological trick. Because she isn't telling you how to feel, you end up feeling everything.
The Technical Weirdness of the Recording
If you listen closely to the Chelsea Girl recording, there’s some stuff that would never fly in a modern studio. The mixing is lopsided. The flute is sometimes jarringly loud.
But that’s the 1960s for you.
The guitar work on the track is actually played by Jackson Browne himself. It’s a delicate, intricate piece of folk picking that provides the only warmth in the entire three-minute runtime. It creates this beautiful friction. You have the warm, Californian guitar style of Browne rubbing up against the cold, Teutonic vocal of Nico.
It shouldn't work. It should be a mess.
Instead, it’s one of the most influential recordings of the 20th century. You can hear its DNA in everything from Mazzy Star to Lana Del Rey. It basically invented the "sad girl" aesthetic before that was even a thing people discussed.
Breaking Down the Lyrics: What is She Actually Saying?
"I've stopped my dreaming / I won't do too much scheming these days."
That’s a brutal line.
Usually, music is about aspirations. It's about wanting things—love, money, escape. These Days by Nico is about the cessation of wanting. It’s about reaching a point of stasis.
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- The Failure Clause: "Don't confront me with my failures." This is the core of the song. It’s a plea for peace. It’s an admission that the singer knows exactly where they screwed up and doesn't need a reminder.
- The Time Element: "Please don't confront me with my failures / I had not forgotten them." The grammar is even a bit stunted, which fits Nico’s delivery perfectly.
- The Social Withdrawal: "I don't do too much talking these days." It describes the social exhaustion that comes with depression or even just aging out of a scene.
The Legacy of the Chelsea Girl
Nico is a polarizing figure. Between her stint with the Velvet Underground and her later, much darker albums like The Marble Index, she was never someone who played it safe. She was a fashion icon, a muse, and eventually, a tragic figure struggling with addiction.
But These Days remains her most accessible moment.
It’s the entry point. It’s the "gateway drug" to the rest of her discography. While the rest of the Chelsea Girl album is a bit of a mixed bag (again, those flutes!), this track is flawless.
It’s also important to note that Nico herself felt restricted by her beauty. She spent the rest of her career trying to sound "ugly"—using the harmonium to create dissonant, terrifying soundscapes. These Days is the last time we really hear her embracing a kind of conventional, albeit melancholic, beauty.
How to Listen to Nico Today
If you want to dive deeper, don’t just stick to the hits.
- Listen to the Chelsea Girl version first. That’s the blueprint.
- Check out Jackson Browne’s 1973 version to see how the song changed when it went back to its "father."
- Listen to Nico’s live versions from the 1980s. Her voice dropped an entire octave. It’s gravelly, dark, and sounds like a completely different human being.
The song has become a cultural shorthand. When a director wants to signal that a character is reflective or slightly broken, they reach for this track. It’s been used in countless commercials and indie films because it communicates "authenticity" instantly.
Ultimately, the song survives because it’s honest. It doesn't promise that things will get better. It doesn't say that everything happens for a reason. It just says: "This is where I am right now. I’m a bit tired. I’ve made some mistakes. And I’m just going to keep walking."
Actionable Steps for the Modern Listener
To truly appreciate the nuance of this track, try these specific listening exercises:
Contrast the Versions: Play Nico's version back-to-back with the version by The Allman Brothers Band. It’s a masterclass in how arrangement and vocal delivery can change the entire meaning of a lyric. Allman makes it a bluesy lament; Nico makes it a ghost story.
Read the Biography: If you're fascinated by the woman behind the voice, look for Nico, 1988 (the film) or the biography Nico: The Life and Lies of an Icon by Richard Witts. Understanding her background as a war child in Germany adds a massive layer of weight to her performance on this track.
Check the Tuning: If you’re a guitar player, try learning the Browne arrangement. It’s usually played in Open F or with a capo, and the finger-picking pattern is a great way to improve your dexterity. It’s harder than it sounds.
Explore the Era: Don't stop at Nico. If you like this sound, go down the rabbit hole of 1967-1968 New York folk. Listen to Sibylle Baier or the early demos of Lou Reed. There was a specific "cold folk" sound happening that remains incredibly influential in modern indie music.
These Days isn't just a song; it's a mood that hasn't aged a day since 1967. It's the rare piece of music that feels like it was recorded yesterday and fifty years ago all at once.