Tim Hardin 3

Stray notes

I went through a weird two-day hole where I listened to every Scott Walker record in order. I felt horrible but it was great. Scott Walker is one of the world’s great geniuses. But what happened, when I woke up the day after, feeling well rested, at peace, wondering what the hell had been wrong with me the last two days, was I had a new appreciation for Tim Hardin.

Let it be known, I love Tim Hardin. I have always loved Tim Hardin, since I was in high school and this older guy we called Dirty Phil played me a Tim Hardin record. “Black Sheep Boy,” “Lady Came from Baltimore,” “Misty Roses”—let it be known, Tim Hardin was incredible. Not many songwriters are better than Tim Hardin. He had this tiny raspy creamy smooth voice that somehow hit you like a bulldozer.

Which is why it’s so strange that Scott Walker covered him twice. I mean, it’s not surprising, because those songs are perfect, but because you could never picture two more different voices, two more different sensibilities. I would almost say Scott Walker is bad at covering Tim Hardin, but that’s absurd, because as a singer, Scott Walker isn’t bad at anything. He had one of the greatest voices of all time, and he gave us five decades of masterpieces. You can count the number of people that can say that on one hand. Scott Walker is a titan.

But here I am, talking about Tim Hardin.

I don’t know the story of Tim Hardin’s life. He has the kind of voice that backstory makes absurd. I don’t really even connect it to a person. When I say “Tim Hardin,” I’m not really talking about a person. I’m talking about a voice and I’m talking about songs. Maybe that’s disrespectful, I don’t know. If I met the guy, maybe we would have gotten along, or probably not. Don’t really care. Tim Hardin’s songs are so dear to me they’re like an old friend sitting shotgun. We’re just riding, man.

My favorite Tim Hardin record is Tim Hardin 3: Live in Concert. If you’re new to him, don’t start here. Hit up the greatest hits or something. Listen to those tunes a million times and live with them and love them and let them love you. When you get them deep in your being, switch to Tim Hardin 3. It is a masterpiece. Full stop, no argument. Perfect record, on fire 360 dunk. There’s nothing like it.

The set is ramshackle, the audio cuts out a few times, there’s some weird problem with a mic that makes this horrible metallic throat clearing noise every now and again. The mix is weird, too much vocal, too much guitar, too little everything else. All of these things are pluses. You could cut them out with AI or editing software, and the record would be lesser. As with most beautiful things, it’s nothing without what is wrong with it.

Hardin’s voice is in peak form, that elegant shambling thing. He under-sings his hits (why the muted “Black Sheep Boy,” one of the most perfect songs ever written? And why does he sing his ass off on “Smugglin’ Man,” which kind of sucks?), but when he turns it on, like on “Lenny’s Tune,” it’s otherworldly. His band is unreal, kind of a jazz band, with the drummer going after that ride in a way only a jazz guy ever does. Also, straight up, the drums sound incredible, cavernous and room-mic-ed, just booming around. Atmosphere? This record’s got it for days.

But we’re really here for Tim, and for those songs. The highlight is obviously “Misty Roses,” as perfect a love song as any I’ve ever heard. And good god, how does he sing it like that? He’s right there in your face.

Sometimes a simple love song is performed so perfectly you can hear it forever and know you’ll never get to the bottom of it. People are like that too. You think of your favorite love songs (“Mystifies Me,” “That’s All I Ask”, “Something About What Happens When We Talk”) and that’s what they’re about too. Who is this person standing next to me? I will never get to the bottom of them.

Same with Tim Hardin 3. Listen to it forever, hope they have copies of it in Heaven for you when you die.