Reason to believe
t would have been in the spring of 1967 that Tim Hardin’s music first wafted in over my transom. I was 13. My older brother, who loved Hardin at least as much as I did and was something of a fetishist besides, forbade me to touch his copy of Hardin’s debut album, , not even the jacket. He had to be present when I auditioned it. didn’t especially float my boat, so my brother had it to himself. But the moment I heard , I took matters into my own hands, so to speak, and plunked my own $5 down.
