In the early 70's I supported Tim Hardin at a concert in a hotel in, I think, Liverpool. I was playing with my partner Graham Cooper at the time and we were both big fans. Tim was very small I remember, but friendly, and signed a photo for me which I still have. We did the first half to a full house and had a great gig. After the interval it was Hardin.
Now I'd never seen what drugs could do to someone till that night. He came out and settled on a chair, seemingly oblivious to the audience and began to go through his songs. Graham and I were absolutely transfixed. It's hard to explain, but it was as though he were writing the song there and then. It was nothing like the records we had. It was singing and performance that came from somewhere beyond anything I hd ever seen.
He never said a word between songs and never raised his head. The audience grew restless and after three or four songs people began to leave. I felt like grabbing them and saying "Don't go, you'll never hear the like again."
By the time he finished the audience left was about 25% of those who had started the evening.
Graham and I went over the night in the car going home and I think we both agreed we had seen something transcendant, but we both thought that no one could live for long in the place Hardin had been that night, and that it was not the place for us.
It was genius, but at such a high a price we thought. But we wouldn't have missed it for the world.