Getting lost in a van with the greatest rock band you never heard of
Find something that hits you and makes you cry
In five minutes I will officially be late to pick up my kids from school. Barely enough time to listen to one more of “Dad’s songs” before they jump in the car and hijack the music for the ride home. They really don’t like it when I’m late.
Grotto of Miracles. God, I love this song. I miss this band so much. Why does this song hit me so hard? Can the car next to me hear me? Why am I crying?
Pull over and pull yourself together, dude. You’re going to be late to pick up the kids.
This story is about meeting Silkworm—one of the finest and most underappreciated rock bands of all time, or at least of their time, from 1987 to 2005.
I could try to tell you why they were so great.
I would tell you about the strange, impressionistic storytelling. How in your face each of the players played, and how much space they left for each other. I would describe their chemistry, urgency and certainty. I would try to describe the piercing, wandering guitar solos that strayed far away from the song, disintegrated into nearly nothing on top of the rumbling bass and crashing drums before resolving and returning to home. But my words never do justice.
I think you had to be there. These are my vague, gauzy recollections about a time I was there.
I was at CBGB in New York City—the legendary East Village underground rock venue with a notoriously vile bathroom. It was my first time seeing Silkworm, and I didn’t want to miss a second, so I made a quick trip to the infamous bathroom before they started playing.
On my way out, I ran into Tim, Silkworm’s bass player, who was also preparing for the upcoming set with his own trip to the vile bathroom.
What happened next feels particularly dream-like. I knew Silkworm would be playing at the Middle East Club in Boston the following evening. I knew my friend Eric would be there, I knew I wanted to be there, and I knew I had to do it on the cheap. Normally, as a poor, carless college student, I would cram myself onto the sweaty, crowded, and miserable Peter Pan bus from New York to Boston—but my subconscious saw an opportunity.
I was nervous, awkward, scared, and embarrassed. But before I could let those feelings stop me, I asked Tim for a ride.
I think he was as surprised as I was. After checking with Andy and Michael, he said that if I could make it to a specific intersection in Brooklyn the next morning—and chip in for gas money—I could hitch a ride in the Silkworm van for the trip to Boston.
But first, they took me away when they played CBGB. Transcended? Elevated? I don’t know how to say it. I felt weightless, witnessing their chemistry and energy pour out on the tiny stage right in front of me.
This band, at this place. It was monumental. Once in a lifetime. How about twice in a weekend?
The next morning, I met them at the corner in Brooklyn. Michael was driving, with Tim in the passenger seat, Andy behind him, and I climbed into the seat behind Michael.
This was long before GPS or map apps, and we struggled with the route. Maybe we were trying to avoid highway traffic. We certainly weren’t on a highway. Instead, we wound our way through many quaint neighborhoods in Connecticut on our journey to Boston. It all looked like business as usual for the band—they passed a map around the van to debate directions while passing the time by debating the best way to spend $1,000: cigars or champagne?
A key focus of the debate was the duration of enjoyment. Champagne, they argued, would evaporate quickly, even if shared with only a few people. Cigars, on the other hand, would last longer. Cigars or champagne? I don’t think they decided.
I had no basis for an opinion (I now know the answer is Champagne), but I stayed quiet in my seat because I hadn’t shaken the nervous, awkward, scared, and embarrassed feeling from when I first approached Tim. What the hell was I doing here?
Being in the van with my favorite band felt surreal. I felt like I knew these guys, but I didn’t know them at all. I felt close to them, but they didn’t know me. I didn’t understand what a strangely asymmetric relationship it was until I was crammed into such close quarters with them. Faces I only knew from my favorite album covers suddenly alive and lost in Connecticut. I tried to soak it all in—an eavesdropper stowed away in the corner.
Our wandering route brought us to Cambridge later than expected. Michael parked the van around the corner from the Middle East, I mumbled a quick thanks for the ride, and handed over some gas money. I felt both eager to escape the uncomfortable, awkward confines of the van and sad the trip was over. The sadness was overtaken by the anticipation of seeing Silkworm for the second time in a weekend and the need to tell Eric what just happened.
It felt surreal then and it feels surreal now.
Definitely going to be late picking up the kids. They’ll get over it—I was busy.
I smile at the lighthearted chastising as my older daughter unplugs my phone and swaps hers in to take over the music for the ride home. Both girls are wearing T-shirts from recent arena concerts we’ve taken them to. The DJ skips songs she finds uninteresting, immediately plays her sister’s requests, and cuts the last 30 seconds of another because “it’s boring.”
So much about music is different these days—Spotify, TikTok, $800 concert tickets. I hope experiences like Silkworm at CBGB can still be found.
I don’t fully understand why Silkworm hits me the way it does, and I know it’s not for everyone, but I am so grateful I found them. Maybe you had to be there.
I hope everyone finds something that hits them the way Silkworm hits me.
I hope you find something that—25 years later—still makes you cry, and forces you to pull over to regain your composure.
What happened to Silkworm?
A few years after this van ride, Michael was tragically killed in a vehicular homicide.
Andy and Tim went on to form Bottomless Pit and I maintain hope they aren’t done yet.
In 2017, Andy released an amazing record with Light Coma from Chicago.
Tim’s lovely new project is called Mint Mile, and he also plays with Deep Tunnel Project.
Big thanks:
Huge thanks to Seth Pomeroy for the period-appropriate Silkworm tour photos. He made this spectacular documentary that tells the full story of Silkworm. It features interviews with Tim, Andy, Steve Albini, Stephen Malkmus, Jeff Tweedy and more of their contemporaries.
While hunting down the photos, I connected with Tim over email. After reading a draft of the story, he reinforced its dreamlike quality in my mind by admitting he doesn’t remember it at all—but he does remember the vile bathroom.
Thanks to Comedy Minus One for the embedded MP3 and for continuing to sell all kinds of great Silkworm-related stuff.
