ATN Road Report: Silkworm Discover That Missoulians Drink

Cover art from Silkworm's much loved Firewater album.

May 3; Beloit, Wisconsin

In the basement of a

frat-house-turned-dorm-room, waiting to eat spaghetti, waiting to play a show

in the Coughy Haus before we move on to Madison, before we move on to real life

in Chicago. We played here in 1992, when we were thrilled to make $250 and be

fed pizza... The last few times we were a little bewildered by the response

from the drunken horny frat and sorority crowd that frequents the place. But

the pay is good, the kids are nice. So what the hell, we come back for more.

The Missoula show was fine enough. We were all stunned by the amount of

boozing among the young Missoulians -- they don't drink to have a good time,

they don't drink to relax, they drink to get fucked up, which they can do with

the best of 'em. Certainly better than me. After the show I tried to break up a

fight between a scrawny kid with a baseball bat and a drunken riot girl. I

failed miserably and made a fool of my big-city self. But I just had to do

something -- no one says "lick my ass, bitch" to a budding feminist and gets

away with it when I'm in earshot.

The gal I was dying to see in town met

some guy in January and he's already met her folks, so I just can't catch up.

But don't you worry 'bout me, I'm nothing if not resilient.

The drive to

Minneapolis (Christ! I just heard it's prom night tonight!) was miserable. The

rain was crashing into us from the North on a 40 mph wind -- the van was sloped

at a 30 degree angle for a day and a half, It drove me crazy... Oh, but we

stayed in the cutest little grandma's hotel in South Dakota. It was just fine.

Though I couldn't sleep well -- I've got to get used to sleeping with little

Andy (Cohen) again.

Last night was our most pleasant and best sounding

Minneapolis show to date -- thanks, I'm sure, to James our soundman. I bummed a

smoke from a girl who said, "you guys rock, and I'm from Seattle, so I know

what rocks." I spit in her face and put my cigarette out in her drink.

Todd Trainer was there with his pal Chris, who used to sing for Bricklayer

Cake apparently but now drinks a fantastic amount and makes robotic puppets for

Walt Disney. Todd was quiet: "I'm tired, I've worked all week, and I've been

listening to Chris for 45 minutes." Jesus, it was indeed exhausting to talk to

(be talked to by) him, but entertaining enough -- at least he wasn't a

miserable and bratty drunk like the Missoula kids (Kerry that's the last of the

Missoula-drunk bashing, I promise).

Drove an hour or so and stayed in a

nice place near a K-mart. Woke in the middle of the night with Andy "spooning"

me from behind, rubbing against me and calling his girlfriend's name... I gave

him a sharp elbow in the gut. He said, "Mikey? Is that you?" I said it was, and

he faded back to sleep, mumbling apologies. He recalled nothing in the morning

and will of course deny the whole story.

Had an enormous

biscuits-and-gravy-laden breakfast today, so let me tell you I'm ready to

explode for these college kids.

I'm adapting to life on the road easier

than in the past. I've had a long enough break that it actually feels a little

like a vacation, which touring hasn't felt like in years. Hallelujah!

Okay, gotta go, my spaghetti's getting cold.

Michael D


Todd's entertaining drunk friend Chris, in Minneapolis, was in Rifle Sport, not

Breaking Circus. Sorry.