The Melancholy Ballad of Hope and Enduring Change
A haunting whisper from the twilight of a troubled genius, Gene Clark‘s “With Tomorrow” stands as a beautiful, bittersweet meditation on the relentless march of time, personal struggle, and the faint, persistent hope for a better day. Released in August 1971 on his critically acclaimed second solo album, White Light (or Gene Clark, as it was also titled), this song, like so much of Clark‘s profoundly affecting later work, did not achieve a chart position in the major American or British singles charts upon its release. This commercial oversight is a tragic hallmark of Clark‘s solo career; the man who penned some of The Byrds’ most enduring early hits (“I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better,” “Set You Free This Time,” “Eight Miles High”) consistently saw his brilliant, poetic solo albums—such as this one—miss the mass audience they deserved. It was only much later, in the ensuing decades, that critics and discerning listeners elevated White Light and its constituent tracks, including “With Tomorrow,” to their rightful status as folk-rock and Americana masterpieces.
The album White Light came at a crucial, if perpetually turbulent, period for Gene Clark. Having departed The Byrds in 1966 due to crippling anxiety and a fear of flying that hindered touring, Clark spent the following years grappling with the pressures of the industry, collaborating on brilliant but commercially minor projects like the country-rock progenitor Dillard & Clark, and battling increasingly severe personal demons, including a growing dependency on alcohol. The move to a more introspective, acoustic-driven style on White Light—recorded in Amsterdam and Los Angeles—marked a moment of raw, confessional clarity. The album, produced by Jesse Davis, stripped away the elaborate instrumentation of his ambitious 1967 solo debut and the pure country-rock of his collaborations, leaving the listener primarily with Clark’s rich, yearning tenor voice, his acoustic guitar, and the lyrical landscapes of his soul.
“With Tomorrow” is a prime example of this newfound intimacy. The story behind it is less about a single dramatic event and more about the ongoing emotional and psychological state of its author. It resonates with the feeling of a solitary traveler, weary from the journey, standing at a window and gazing out at an uncertain future. The lyrics are deeply mystical and philosophical, reflecting Clark‘s constant preoccupation with time—a theme he explored masterfully throughout his career. It’s a bittersweet tapestry woven from the threads of regret, the acknowledgment of life’s difficulties (“The way of life has shown its light / To be of struggle and of pain“), and a fragile, yet unwavering, faith that things must, eventually, improve. The meaning of the song lies in its profound duality: the world is difficult, change is constant, but tomorrow brings a new dawn, an opportunity for release and peace. It’s a message that spoke volumes to a generation wrestling with disillusionment in the early 70s, and it speaks just as powerfully to those of us today who understand that life is an uneven path.
The mournful chorus, “Tomorrow, tomorrow / Can’t we have tomorrow / Without you being far away?“, is an ache of yearning—a plea not just for the next day to arrive, but for it to bring the presence of something lost: a lover, innocence, sobriety, or perhaps just a simpler state of mind. It’s a tender, almost unbearably beautiful, folk ballad that captures the essence of Clark’s heartbreaking talent: the ability to turn deep personal pain into a universal hymn of fragile hope. It’s a song that settles into the quiet places of the memory, reminding us of the days when music felt like a confidant, sharing secrets about the heavy weight of the world and the enduring necessity of looking forward, with tomorrow.