Comments on: Saying Goodbye / Recovered Memory Syndrome

By: Mark Barnes

Mark Barnes — Mon, 08 Oct 2007 06:47:49 +0000

I met Paul Dahlquist sometime in the late 70s and later I remember his boy goofing in the background somewhere. Motion, lotsa’ motion, hissing energy. His Father and I were usually deeply immersed in a discussion about some arcane chemical composition of silver iodide crystals in modern black and white films and thus I really neglected to observe Michaels mannerisms.
Years later I ran into Paul at a social event, we left the event and wandered off to a bar. Over beers Paul shared with me how he had just come back from visiting his boy in Chicago and how well he finally appeared to be doing. His summoning of a restless sigh of relief for the wont of Fathers to witness a succession of proud men in their family. We parted and I did’nt see Paul for another year or so. It was at another gathering, for which I cannot recall the reason, I ran into Paul. We stood in a corner and he quietly told me of Michaels’ death. He had no tears then, though I sensed his breath short and hesitant, as remarkable restraint against the pressure and burden of his loss. His narrative unfolded in my silence, and I watched him keenly, for any fracture that would require my hand, my arm. He told me of the woman, her mad dash to end her own life that tragically ended the life of his son and his companion instead leaving her to struggle with another punishment. It is after the shock and confusion of such a monumental loss that denial and anger companion their way forward into the language of grief. Paul soothed these encroachments with his humanity and generosity and memory of his love for Michael. There was something wistful and brief that night, perhaps the indication wounds never really heal they simply become disembodied wounds, and forgiveness ponders the eternal even with scorn.

By: Kitty Center

Kitty Center — Sun, 06 Aug 2006 20:07:24 +0000

Because I lost touch with the Silworm family I just found out via internet.
When I was 16 I lived in the Phlegm house here in Olympia. Michael was a paying resident and such a great role model. He was just so full of passion.
I knew him later in Seattle and he set me up on a blind date with Joel.
Michael always struck me. Struck a chord in me to live, to enjoy living , to be in the present and appreciate what I have, be grateful without groveling, just use what you have been given. Of course I was attracted but he is one of those souls that cannot be possessed. I loved him so dearly near and afar because he seemed to live in the now. He is one of the few people in my life that I do not see for awhile and yet we are still very much friends..no guilt, no games, just appreciating the existence of the other.
I am very sad that I cannot not talk with him again. Yet, knowing him is knowing that everything will be okay. He was one of the few great teachers that do not even know that they are teaching. My love for him exists. And his passion for existence will not end as long as we remember the gifts we have here.
Thank you
Kitty

By: Eric B

Eric B — Fri, 14 Jul 2006 19:03:32 +0000

Thinking of MD on this sad anniversary. RIP big guy.

By: Laure

Laure — Thu, 28 Jul 2005 21:50:27 +0000

it’s so much of a cliche but I really can’t believe it’s true that he’s dead. It’s easy to take so many of the losses (minor ones, really) and bury them with Michael D, I mean that so much is gone from that time, from my life, from the world, that Michael touched personally (or tried to touch personally, cue rimshot). And then there is so much I never knew and won’t. About everything, I guess.

By: matt engstrom

matt engstrom — Sat, 23 Jul 2005 16:34:16 +0000

thanks for the words and images.

and steve, thanks for an amazing memorial last week. those of us from shure (where Michael, John and Doug worked) appreciated it.

By: burmakitty

burmakitty — Fri, 22 Jul 2005 18:07:29 +0000

just wanted to share a Jon Strymish gallery photo link. really beautiful silkworm

By: CSTB

CSTB — Fri, 22 Jul 2005 03:34:40 +0000

thank you for that, Howard.

More than one person has commented that entry atop reads more more like a eulogy for a favorite rock band than a worthy rememberance of Michael Dahlquist. And for that, I can only apologize. Steve’s done a superior job here :

http://www.chicagoreader.com/pdf/050722/050722_letters.pdf

please feel free to scroll below the Crate & Barrel advertisement. Unless you’re looking for directions to Crate & Barrel.

By: howard brown

howard brown — Fri, 22 Jul 2005 02:10:38 +0000

I would also like to mention, for the record, that Michael was amazing outside the confines of smokey indie rock shows and micro-brew pool halls. I think this is one of the reasons he was so complete and so cool. His friends, fans and admirers would be impressed to know that Michael was an avid outdoorsman and incredible athlete. The guy had the stamina of a migrating elk and prowess of a horny mountain goat in the back country…I’ve never seen anything like it. Michael and Andy completed the strenuous Mountaineers certification course by bagging a dozen or so peaks in the Cascades and Olympics and even summitted Mt. Raineer (which claims an average of 5 lives per year). Michael was also a great snowboarder picking up the sport quicker than anyone I have ever seen.

And then there are the stories he used to tell from his cab driving days in Seattle…

The image burned in my memory of the last time I saw Michael (on the Consonant tour) is of him holding my two week old baby girl in his arms and and looking at her with that huge warm smile of his.

My gawd I miss the guy!

By: steve albini

steve albini — Wed, 20 Jul 2005 03:10:08 +0000

Michael was a great friend and awesome drummer. There were a couple hundred people at his informal wake here, and some of them had travelled great distances to be here. The quality of Michael’s friends is also a testament to him. Salut! Mikey! Salut! His friends!

By: S.T. VanAirsdale

S.T. VanAirsdale — Tue, 19 Jul 2005 01:48:27 +0000

Tonight, toasting to Michael’s memory, I recalled him always swinging the mic toward himself between songs as Andy would tune, rambling on about something impossibly funny after his simple, near-traditional opening line of, “Hey, can you guys hear me? You can? OK, well…” And then 30 minutes later: “No, Tim, not two more. Not two, I’m just, I’m , oh, Jesus,” and then swiveling the mic away to do not only two more, but probably a third and thenprobably a three-song encore.

It is this magnanimous humor I have missed since the moment I heard the news of his passing; it is really the most I know of Michael before shows, after shows, indulging my autograph seeking, discussing acoustics in far-flung upstate NY venues, shaking our heads as we waited for broken kick-drum replacements in SF, shrugging off everything disappointing and looking forward to everything mysterious and new and strange.

I cherish every memory I have of him and Andy and Tim, and my heart goes out–as it always has, through good and bad–to the entire Silkworm family and to the families of Doug Meis and John Glick.

“I know we don’t look like a family. But in this town, we’re heroes.”

STV