Old songs. New recordings. Same Tim Minchin — only older, wiser, and maybe a little softer, Time Machine isn’t just music, it’s memory.
Nostalgia, imperfection, and the sound of growing up
Tim Minchin’s Time Machine – A collection of songs from his twenties, pre-Matilda fame, finally brought into the studio spotlight.
There’s a strange comfort in hearing an artist revisit their younger self. It’s like flipping through your old notebooks — cringing a little, maybe, but also feeling a twinge of affection for the messy, earnest person you used to be.
That’s what listening to Australian (ok, born in Northamptonshire…) Minchin’s new album, Time Machine, feels like.
These are songs he wrote in his twenties. He was broke and barefoot. He played to tiny crowds who didn’t yet know they were watching a future musical theatre powerhouse. Some of these tracks have been floating around in the ether for years. These include live recordings, fan bootlegs, and half-remembered performances from a comedy festival in 2004. But now, they’ve been dusted off, re-recorded, and properly produced.
It’s part nostalgia trip, part emotional excavation — and it hits just right.
This Isn’t Just a Greatest Hits Album
Many of the songs on Time Machine were first performed live decades ago. Now, they finally get their studio debut.
Let’s be clear: Time Machine isn’t a cash-in or a victory lap. They’re songs that never got their moment, finally being given the studio space to breathe. And the result is something surprisingly tender.
What struck me most is how much grace there is in these recordings. You can hear the youth in the lyrics. There’s vulnerability, insecurity, and even a little performative angst. You can also hear the wisdom of the man singing them now.
“This is my Earth, and it’s fine. It’s where I spend the vast majority of my time.” (“Not Perfect”)
Highlights (Or: The Ones I Keep Replaying)
“Moment of Bliss” is the kind of track you almost miss the first time around. It’s subtle, delicate, and emotionally unassuming — until it hits you with this:
“And it’s in moments like this when all that surrounds me is coloured like yesterday’s pleasures. Like a child discovers his treasures,
I tend to measure my winnings on yesterday’s miss. Does it get any better than this?”
It’s not flashy. It’s just… honest.
“Ruby” is a tender, piano-led (as many are) portrait of a free-spirited woman whose spark is both dazzling and precarious. With his usual lyrical finesse, Minchin captures the mix of admiration and worry that comes with loving someone untamed.
A standout line:
“And if you’re feeling down, Ruby, don’t bear the weight yourself…
You’ll never be alone… ‘Cause you’re so fucking loved, Ruby.”
It’s warm, wistful, and quietly heartbreaking.
“I Wouldn’t Like You” is just as lovely:
“Don’t ask me to stop making you coffee in the morning. Everybody has their forte…”
“Don’t ask me to stop calling you anytime I want to.
Everyone has their addiction.
And don’t ask me to stop writing you stupid little love songs.
It’s just a part of my affliction…”
“I wouldn’t like you if you weren’t like you. I wouldn’t like you if you weren’t like you…”
Somehow, these lines land harder than an entire album of love songs. The whole thing is simply gorgeous.
And then there’s “Not Perfect”, which closes the album with these quietly devastating lines:
“This is my body. And I live in it.
It’s forty-eight and six months old [NB: he keeps updating this whenever he sings it]. It’s danced up it wasn’t built to do.
I often try to fill it up with wine. The weirdest thing about it is.
I’ve spent so much time hating it, but it never said a bad word about me.”
It’s going to rank as one of my favourite songs of this year. This is saying something considering it is now well over 20 years old!
Of course, Time Machine, wouldn’t be a Minchin album without some chaos. “Dark Side” and “Rock ’n’ Roll Nerd” still bring the drama and satire.
But tucked between ballads and philosophical musings, these songs don’t steal the show. They serve it.
The Production Debate
The album is beautifully produced, but sometimes, the polish comes at a cost.
Some fans might miss the charming chaos of Tim’s early live recordings. The crooked piano notes. The offhand humour. The occasional line that hits too hard because it wasn’t supposed to.
Here, everything is polished. Thoughtful. Safe, even. And maybe that’s okay. Perhaps it’s how we hold our younger selves — with a little more care than they thought they deserved.
Final Thoughts
Time hasn’t dulled Minchin’s edge—but it’s added something softer underneath.
Time Machine is an album that knows what it is: a memory, reshaped in the present. It’s not flashy, and it’s not trying to relive past glories. It’s trying to make peace with them. And that’s a rare thing in music.
If you’re new to Minchin’s world, this is a graceful way in. If you’ve been around since the eyeliner and foot-stomping comedy sets, this one’s for you, too.
He’s changed. You’ve changed.
But the songs are still here. And they’re still worth listening to.
Chris Garrod, August 5, 2025
“Rock and Rock Nerd”, from Australian TV, 15 years ago.