James Silin Musician and Farmer
Performed as Jimmie Midnight
By: Charles Giuliano - Jun 11, 2025
Ann called to tell us that her husband, Jim Silin, had passed. Recently he had a stroke and I tried to call every day that he was in rehab. I did my best to be cheerful though clearly he was miserable. It seemed he was getting better as he stated with pride being able to get up out of a chair.
At Brandeis he majored in bio chemistry but dropped out. It was the 1960s and many were seeking alternative lifestyles. He occupied the second floor of a large house on Cedar Street in the Fort Hill section of Roxbury. The top of the hill, next to a landmark water tower, was the commune of world savior Mel Lyman.
With humor he referred to the “Up hill zealots and down hill scoffers.”
It was the summer of 1968 when, after a trip to Mardi Gras, Arden and I found a place with cheap rent on Alpine Street. We wrote for Avatar, the cult paper, and were paid by being given copies to sell for twenty five cents in Harvard Square. That summer there was a split with the zealots and David Wilson took over. We put out some lively and experimental issues until that fall Dave went back to running Broadside. I moved on to Boston After Dark.
Often we walked to Jim’s house for dinner then smoke and TV. He was an excellent cook with brown rice as a staple. There was always tea. Jim had a wonderful black cat, Mr. Boston, who sat on his shoulder. There was also a terrible German shepherd which he dubbed Dogis Horribilis or Billis for short. The mutt ate her litter of pups.
Then and now was a time of turmoil and dissent in America. The CBS news had a nightly body count of a war we appeared to be winning until we didn’t. Jim had a deep knowledge of history and politics. Years later I relied on his astute analysis. He also had a lot to say about science and the environment.
It’s music where we truly connected. I grew up with jazz and Jim turned me on to blues and soul. He sang and played guitar. Musicians fell by to jam. By then Jim was married and Kathy, A.K.A., Blaze, became the lead singer for the Total Gonzo Band.
Somehow I ended up on drums for our only gig at the Plough and the Stars on Mass. Ave. in Cambridge. The microphone was taped to a broom which was taped to a bar stool. Her big number was “Love Potion Number Nine.” She let it rip.
There was a second marriage and a son, Ethan, a successful author.
Fed up with city life Jim wanted to move to the country. Property in North Whitefield, Maine proved to be affordable. The farm house was occupied but a dirt road led to the back acres.
With Arden we set off to explore the acquisition. Initially, we camped in a chicken shack. Meals were prepared on a Coleman Stove. It was rough but oddly exquisite. As winter passed he pored over seed catalogues. The upstairs neighbors, Dennis and Patty Dreher, were to join the homesteading adventure. There was much talk of the merits of Jerusalem artichokes. Jim planned to plant millet as a cover crop. The glacial soil was unpromising. He and Dennis spread manure acquired from local dairy farms. The intent was to be entirely organic.
After a couple of years the farm house came on the market. That made a world of difference, and kitchen gardens were productive. I often talked with him about planting and crops. That entailed waiting long enough to plant wet fields. With pride he told me that “They love my onions.”
He found Ann and ages ago I attended their wedding. His band provided the dance music.
I have his vinyl album “Out Ramin.” Over the past couple of years he talked about a studio album in process. There were weekly gigs and jam sessions at nearby pubs. He talked about the outstanding local musicians.
After Labor Day, a couple of years ago, Astrid and I went calling. It was a rainy Monday but the kitchen, with its ancient iron stove, was homey. Ann put out a chowder that she had made.
At my urging he sat on the well worn couch and played the blues for us. He had a unique style and slurring tone. There was melancholy and artful malaise as I hung on his phrasing. Jim had embraced many masters, from Muddy to Robert Johnson and Elmore James, but that melded into a singular voice that forever resonates with me.