Tiny Tim - A Glimpse Of The Eternal Troubadour

Tiny arrived at Heathrow. At first we thought that he had not caught the flight from New York; everyone had come through the customs, and no sign of him. We were sure he could not have slipped through without our noticing him...The he appeared, pushing a trolley that was overwhelmed with The Eternal Troubadour's baggage. His face was thickly made up with white foundation, with two rouged Shirley Temple cheeks. The foundation powder had spilled down his jacket; there were ten pens in the front pocket. colours clashing wit ha dazzling silk tie, also heroically carrying its own foundation. He looked like he had come from another time - almost another world. "Mr. Tibet...?" And so I finally met my hero, the greatest genius of popular song that we have seen and will ever see. Tiny was to play a single concert in London, and then fly back to Minneapolis. He loudly proclaimed that a certain person had not turned up at the airport with his ukelele, because, he suggested, this gentleman was pursuing his second wife. We were immmeadiately taken into Tiny's fantastic and fascinating world of gossip about people we had never met. he would show the same obsession in anyone that one would mention, especially as to the state of their romantic life. Everyone - or nearly everyone - was incredibly beautiful. The important things Tiny had to say were spoken in italics. He manoeuvred himself into the car, kindly driven by one of the world's leading dealers in Outsider Art - how apt he should have the world's leading musical outsider in his vehicle! - and wrapped the seatbelt around his body, pushing his head through the loop. he had not got the hang, he said, of wearing this seatbelt, but did not want to act illegally immediately on his arrival. he talked nonstop as we drove to his hotel in Swiss Cottage. From his room he would ring me and tell me when it was possible to call for him; he spent a phenomenal amount of time Praying the Rosary, and was most keen not to be disturbed during his "Meditations", as he called them. Everyone who saw him recognised him, though his brief courtship with public awareness had ended, more or less disastrously almost thirty years ago. As soon as he signed into the hotel, his autograph was requested. I gave him some £300 that he was owed for sales of his Songs Of An Impotent Troubadour album. It was difficult for him to understand just how much it was in American dollars. He spent it in one day, through huge purchases of music hall sheetmusic, and by tipping the maid £10 every time she came into the room. Domino's Pizzas supplied him with vast pizzas, for which too he would tip them £10. My God, he was charming, my estimate of him rose with every thing he said and did. Each phrase was gilded with "ThankGodtoChrist" or "ThankYouBlessedVirginMary-MotherOfGod"; his whole speech was a Mannerist folly of bizarre splendour. Walking down the street was to have lorries slow down and have the driver shout: "Good on You, Tiny..." or "fashionable" Soho couples whisper in his wake: "Wasn't that Tiny Tim?... I thought he was dead..." Tiny was much impressed by the National Lottery: "Mr. Tibet, I;ve got a good feeling about this number" Oh, help me, BlessedJesusChrist!" He did not, of course, win. But, as in his life generally, his Faith never gave up.
At the concert itself, December 16 1995, he seemed tired. He had problems walking, but showed enthusiasm for everything, endlessly accommodating to interviews, requests for autographs, singing songs from his infinite repertory. His Heart was Vast. He rushed headlong through what he termed "A Century Of Song", leaving us all stunned with his energy and conviction.
I spoke to him the night before he passed away. He was lying in bed, ready to go to the charity performance at which he was to leave this world after singing "Tip-Toe Thru' The Tulips". He knew that the end was near, and he apologised for being unable to play with Current 93 at our performances in New York on Hallowe'en and All Souls Day. He wanted to know about my romantic life (again!). And everyone else's...(again!). His last words to me were: "You've got to weather the storm, Mr. Tibet..." He did. He meant more to me than I could ever tell him, and I miss him very much. God Bless You, Tiny Tim, Tony Russo, Texakhana tex, Larry Love, Herbert Khaury, Emmet Swink, Lester Lush, Darry Dover, Vern Castle, Judas K. Foxglove - whatever You called Yourself, You are now in truth The Eternal Troubadour...
I would like to thank Claus T. Laufenburg for taping the concert; Henry Boxer for his Outsider Driving Skills; Miss Andria; Miss Kat; Martin Sharp; Big Bucks Burnett; Miss Sue Khaury for her friendship and her permission to release this album by her late husband; David, alison, and Alan at World Serpent; Steven Stapleton; Tom Anderson; Gordon Baxter; Denis at Country Masters for cutting this album; and Ruth Bayer for her photographs. God Bless Them All, Everyone...!

David Michael Tibet, London 4IV1997