Remembering BLAIR
by rememberingblair
Please use this page to share media, poems, thoughts with friends and family of Blair. If you would like your memory to be captured in the memory book for family and friends please indicate using (BOOK) by your sign off.
rememberingblair 
I met you ten years ago. I was a freshman in college. A shy kid that didn’t talk much. You introduced yourself, handed me a flier to a show, smiled and said see you around. For the next ten years, we would work together to get your music and poetry to the masses. We did great things. We laughed. We cried. We fought like brothers…but that’s what brothers do. And now you’re gone and I’m left here thumbing through unreleased poems and listening to unreleased songs thinking of the possibility of what could have been. But I will never forget what you were. You were more than just a gifted writer and performer. You were an inspiration. You gave so many people the courage to pick up a guitar, write a poem, write a song, march in a rally, and do the monkey to Beethoven. Most of all, you were a bridge. You introduced and connected so many people of all ages and races. You taught us how to love unconditionally. You taught us how to live life for the experience.
And for that, I thank you.
You took something from me with you passing. But the memories and lessons that we shared with stay with me forever.
So many people are affected by your death, but that is a true sign of how many people were affected by your life.
You may be gone, but you will never be forgotten.
I love you Blair.
Matthew Wisotsky
Manager. Friend. Brother.
There really are no words to express what you meant to me. There are just an ocean of feelings, a wordless sob that is unending within me. You gave to me my life as I know it and I’m forever changed because of you. I don’t sleep much lately, your ghost echoes down the hall and I know what you’re trying to tell me: don’t be afraid. Embrace life. I try to live up to the faith you had in me since the day we met, sine I was a scared kid on her own for the first time and you made me a new family. You never let me go, and I won’t let you go either. I take from your passing a passion for creativity, for taking risks and believing in me. You did and it fortified me and put on various stages and introduced me to so many people I still love. You were my only hero. You were my mentor and a shining beacon of what could be if you believed in yourself. I’m going to make both our dreams come true. I’m going to sing songs for both of us and spread your works to the end of the world, just watch. The world hasn’t heard the end of my beloved David Blair, and they’ve only just begun to hear of your little love Leah Elizabeth Dunstan. I know that would make you smile.
I am tearing up again. The NO that escaped from my throat when I received a text asking, “Is Blair dead, I heard today he was?” is still holding at the bottom of all of the feelings I have about you leaving your body. Once I learned it was true I paced the house and sobbed and begged you to stay with us. Then, I went “Behind the Garage” and prayed for you and those who love you. I apologized to God for my anger and said to you, “You are with us. I promise we will all honor you in song, dance, laughter, bear hugs, and looks that behold, patiently listen, never judge.” Thank you, Blair Poet for inspiring me to read deep, write more, share it out. I miss you. And I know you are here with me.
You know. Our conversations won’t end.I haven’t found very many words yet, but I will. I will move with you & your voice in my heart.
The next time I am in Charlotte, North Carolina, I will seek out a small, cheerful restaurant with the best banana cream pie and collard greens. I will eat them with solemn joy, and think about you with every bite.
My best memories of you are in hotel rooms, practicing poems – the way you could sit so quietly, focused and intent on whoever was performing, and then leap to your feet and make the room ring. You made me feel special, David Blair. Thanks for that.
On the city landscape was a ray of light that made us all see light better. It refracted through our dark and made slivers show. Today Blair, David Blair died. David Blair, hip-hop artist, teacher, and Detroit’s de-facto poet laureate. He loved Detroit and Detroit’s was his muse. He took to this city like a lover, who kissed the scares of his beloved.
He also was of personal inspiration to my daughter and me.
Once years ago, my young agitated daughter would shadow box. In such times one must go to Kronk gym and dance about the ring otherwise one lies down, to be stomped. She would sneak away in the night, down to Detroit’s dark and go to a place called “Bittersweet ” on Woodward. It was a café, she told me.
I am thinking coffee. I am thinking Starbucks in the city. I am thinking anything is better than hearing her shrill cacophony speaking to heartache and injustices.
I did not know that she headed home. I did not know that she climbed creaky stairs to an upper room, whose windows blackened through age had no need of window treatments. Bittersweet was a womb for poets. It was there she met a soul’s midwife, David Blair. Though my daughter was fey and suburban, he did not think her an interloper but knew he to be kin. Troubadours of truth, curriers of story.
This was many years ago. Before mid town was hip, when Cass corridor was home and not a gentrified playground. When anarchy was a life style not an apparel product. Those nights at the Bittersweet were the gestation of now. This was…in the beginning there was the word. Twenty or thirty would gather, to their mecca. A haven where there was a sanctuary. At the Bittersweet Café poems were read and lauded, syntax was destroyed and revisioned.
I was not there. I only witnessed how beauty was spawned from love. I was only an observer to this experiment of voice. I witnessed as my daughter became resolute and resonant. All quiver gone. In honor of her completion of high school, we put together an event. She showed her paintings and in July dusty light David Blair, with still boyish cheeks played music and sang. Was it singing…or billboard of truth?
His voice was like the summer sun, much glare. He held this microscopic vision to his city, himself, and others. See! See all. Thus, through his lens we could catch glimpse of beauty. Now again, it is July. I want to speak in clichéd metaphors about fading light, death.
But Blair knew torches. He knew. His expansive soul left candles glimmering all over this city. People, who took pen to page, paint to canvass, heart to love. He was a midwife. Yet without access to health care himself, he ultimately he died of disenfranchisement.
Today by chance, or divine design, a group of people gathered for coffee at my house. They came, as their passion and energy longed for home and witness. All were creatives, people who tended to their arts or stewarded others to their art. They understood that voice equals freedom. This gathering of people had not ever met before. But all were seeking a sanctuary to build voice for the disenfranchised. All were seeking the cure of their own ism. All were dreaming a dream “…that one day”.
They named their purpose “ Detroit Writes”, hoping to create not only a place where voice is revered, but also a synergetic connection and commitment to right the ailments of this urban landscape. We will create a place, a forum perhaps not different from Bittersweet, where poets are conceived, gestated, and birthed. As we sat in my own mind wandered, looking at my daughters art. Looking at how her art was a blanket made me dream. I thought, at that moment, of Blair and of Bittersweet. (This was before I received that heart breaking phone call the next morning). I thought how he urged her to sing and to trust. My sweet tender daughter who without Blair’s ministrations might have imploded like Amy Winehouse had just a few hours early. “Sing out,” he said. “Call out all.” All life is a call and response!” Those who know Blair, know of him, or know Detroit. Anybody who bleeds a bit on these streets or dreams a bit must turn up the lantern of light.
Blair:
Performing a show, or sharing a bill with you was always like a lesson on how to do it right. Your dedication to the local songwriting and performing community will be missed, but not lost. Our friendship and mutual love for music goes back more than ten years – back to the bittersweet and Urban Break days. Back then we were the kids and you were like a big brother showing us how to work hard and play our hearts out.
These are the memories we will cherish,
Tone & Niche
I will never get used to this news.
I am no poet. Merely a fan. But DB always made me feel love and kindness every time he saw me as if I were part of his special inner circle. Remember the MJ tribute at the Motown Museum?
He was one of the nicest an most talented of anybody in the arts I have ever met. How happy I was to find someone who loved Detroit as much as I do without shame! He was ahead of his time. One of the best ever.
I wonder…do you still want my tee shirt that you asked for? If it would change things, I would gladly give it to you. Funny that I was just thinking about giving it to you the other day…
Your sister misses you. Don’t forget to check in on her.
I will continue to love and claim the D without shame!
A-wop-bop-a-loo-bop a-wop bam boom!
I will never get used to this news…
BTW, my apologies for taking so long to write. I had this really immature idea that if I didn’t speak on it….it wouldn’t really be true.
“I’m working on it, I’m doing it, I did it, it’s done”. David Blair. Remember when we sat on that scaffold in times square drinking big bottles of beer and watching all the funny people walk by? The night you walked in on me having sex, intentionally, and then sat there for a second like there was nothing wrong. When we got pulled over by border patrol near the Rio Grande and the dog tried to jump in the van through the driver’s side window. The day, when we first met, that you brought over Jeff Buckley’s “live at Sin-e” and we learned so much about each other. On my 21st birthday when, around 5am, I threw up and passed out for a few minutes in the bathroom in what you so beautifully called “the piss mist” and then we played scrabble until dawn. The first time we went to Ida and everyone was calling Chris and Mike “The Budweiser twins and then Tom Foolery was playing mandolin naked on the tin roof while dudes on stilts threw fire around. When we stayed with Pam in Chicago and I got to see this totally other side of you that only comes out around her. When we drove my Neon down to Hattisburg, MS for just one show, went to New Orleans that night with Ethan and Matt Doman, met Claire, turned around and drove back. The next time when we were in New Orleans when we thought we got drugged at that red dragon place, we both performed not being able to see a thing, then you passed out in the truck and 80lb Claire and I had to carry you to bed. When we were doing that photo shoot with the Urban Folk Collective and Afeni was talking about Yams being brought by “the people” and for some reason it was really funny. I remember those times. Those ones and so many others. I am so glad that you were so prolific and hard working that you have left memories all over the world. I was telling a writer friend of mine about you yesterday and he said “well, from the sound of it, at least you can’t say he got cheated out of life. It sounds like he lived a full one.” Yes. Yes you did. I’m honored to have been a small part of it.
well said, dale. small parts are parts. and he was so full, so full, so full of grace. belly of the earth out of his mouth. a crown of morning glory on his head. i won’t miss him. his hugs, his taking anyone and everyone in with his eyes, his laughter. that i will miss. but HIM. he is in the air and in a chord or three.
I have no words just a hole in my heart.
I felt so disoriented after Michael Jackson died. But I didn’t have the words to describe why that was, without expression inside of a feeling of emptiness that I was embarrassed about because it seemed overindulgent. Then I heard you perform…I don’t know the name of the poem, I just think of it as “Michael Jackson Black”… And for the first time since Michael left us, I felt like the boulder in my heart was given form, something I could touch. Recognition. You took my breath away.
And then your poem about Joe Jackson made me cry in my seat.
Speaking with you only briefly, you made such an impression on me. Your warmth and brilliant clarity was such a gift. I didn’t know you well, but I am so grateful that I met you.
We grew up in a different world. I know you had a lot of pain from growing up in Newton. I looked at you as a friend and fellow classmate. You were a good friend. My first kiss. Oh the memories. I hope you know you are loved and missed so much. I’m lost in words. I know you would laugh at me for that.
I’m so grateful I had you in my life.
Dear Heart!
The very first time you came to feature at Dada, I had just begun as slam-master. I was full of spunky poetry energy, totally in love with slam. You met me there, on the novelty side of a bridge I’ve been walking ever since. We stayed up late late late, trading cover poems all the way to the beach and back again. I was SO THRILLED to listen and have someone to share my insane joy with. You came to visit us every year after that: it was always the reason I’d pull my best friends (who were not interested in slam, thank you) to the show. YOUR SHOW was incomparable. Its simple, really. And your giant heart bellowed out until everyone felt enveloped in your masterful voice. I remember this insane poem you read once, maybe 3 years ago? A remembrance of a friend, a night of playful harmless debauchery involving dancing on tables and “Don’t Stop Believing”. I remember you told me it was brand new, you wanted to try it out, and how EVERYONE was right there with you, every mouth was singing. What a joyful moment. I think, among all of them, its my favorite- you, onstage, cheerfully leading a parade of blissed-out party-goers in the spontaneously appointed anthem of Detroit.
You are still welcome in my home anytime. Road weary, drenched in sweat and still smiling. I’ll be seeing ya.
LOVE ALWAYS!!!
You and I had a standing date every Tuesday for over a year. You would come in an hour or two before the crowd. You’d call me “The Barista!” or “Michelle MatiyWOW” (still the best nickname anyone has ever given me) and I’d talk to you while you rearranged the furniture. You would ask me if I wanted to sign up on the list like you did every week, because you thought everyone had something to share. On the last mic night, when it was standing room only and there were 80+ people on the list, I wrote a poem to read just to make you happy. It was complete shit, but you made me feel like I had just done the most magnificent thing in the history of mankind. That’s what you did, that’s why people still talk about Bittersweet like it was Xanadu. You were always wrecked at the end of the night because it was 6 solid hours of people wanting your time, your attention, your Blair-ness. I had a terrible feeling the other day that I had never properly told you that you were the glue that held that whole thing together, you were the one that made it happen. You came to every show we booked, sometimes it was a crowd of just you, me, and Cathead, but you always managed to make the performers feel like it was the best show they’d ever played. Remember the day Kid A came out? You made me lock the door so we could listen to it in is entirety with no interruptions. Remember the “brainstorm meetings” so we could figure out how to buy Bittersweet? Not that I wouldn’t have loved co-owning a money-pit coffee house with you and half of the Detroit folk scene, but it’s probably a good thing that never went down 🙂 The last mic night went till 4am. You and I held each other and cried because we knew it was the end of an era. Then we had a giant slumber party and you and I and George giggled till sunrise, we looted the place in the morning. You told me a few years ago that you kept that last mic night list because it felt important. As much as I regret not having more quality time with you the last few years, I truly can’t complain. The time that I had with you was one of the most significant and influential periods in my life, and you were a huge part of that. Tuesdays will always and forever be “our day,” I love you Blair.
you used to yell Yvonne!! when ever you saw me.
and everyone knew that wasnt my name
but
its my sisters name and you were so affectionate and i let you call me that
for so long that i knew
you’d be devistated so
i would tell people ‘don’t tell him, don’t say a word’
i could take my neice and nephew to see your show
and they’d never get bored and it was so
encouraging.
i am so sorry
i told someone
this wasn’t just a person we lost
it was an entire body of work.
we love u
and we love u
and we love u.
Blair, I remember your poetry long preceding my meeting you, but when I finally did I found that you were one of the most down-to-earth individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Running like crazy people up and down Cass for Erica’s video shoot for your song, stumbling across each other around campus and chatting, watching you perform, you were always able to make me smile every time I saw you. I just remember talking to you and having every other person who walked by smile and say hello to you, how well-known and well-loved you were. Somehow, even though I didn’t know you nearly as well as most, you always made me feel like I was a close friend, and for that I’m thankful. I’m sorry I never got a chance to make it to any of your last several shows. I know I kept telling you I would and never did, I guess I always figured there would always be a “next time” to look forward to. I promise I’ll make it to your next gig, when we meet again…
Victoria
Blair, The world seems so lonely without you. I have a million regrets and what ifs but mostly I feel blessed to have met you. I was mesmerized by your voice and presence with the first words out of your mouth. I’ll always have your poems and music. You were also a smarter, deeper, and more passionate mind than the professors I have to see at UofM. But I’ll treasure even more that you became part of our family—an uncle to my daughter and the only person I ever went on dates with besides my wife.
One story that I hope Dan will appreciate: Blair never got to see the show Passing Strange live on stage, but he loved Stew, the writer/star of the show. It’s a semi-autobiographical rock musical about a young African American male who feels suffocated singing in a church choir and yearns to go to Europe to explore his sexuality, play folk/punk music, and cavort with anarchists.
We went to Ann Arbor twice to see an interview session and back-to-back Stew shows last fall. Blair was so nervous he could barely raise his hand and ask Stew a question. But he eventually said, “You stole my life.” And then because he saw so much of himself in Stew, who went from dive bar and coffeehouse performer to a Tony Award, Blair said, “All I can say is that you make me feel like I’m not insane.” Stew said, “That’s probably the best complement any artist can get.” I bought Blair a Stew T-shirt that says, “What’s inside is just a lie.” If you see him wearing it in pictures and videos, it’s a reference from Passing Strange.
After the show we were joking about how Stew had done all these things before Blair. And then we found out that Stew’s next project was about, no joke… Michael Jackson’s dad! Now that was unreal. Blair only half-mockingly lost it and got it in Stew’s face. But actually, Stew was the one following Blair this time.
You were a true original, my brother. You were the heart and soul of my Detroit, and you changed my life.
p.s. Blair told me he played the Stew song “Arlington Hill” at the all-cover show he did a few months ago. I’d give anything if someone has a recording.
Very sorry and hurt that Blair has passed so young. While I didn’t know him well, I would see him now and then at an art event or on the streets of Detroit and we’d always acknowledge each other. I always admired his talent for writing and I think he admired my artwork. Ironically we were both born in September as well. Yay, September babies! I will miss the brother.
Blair, you had a way of making everyone you came in contact with feel special and loved. I met you at a sad time in my life, and you were so warm and supportive and encouraging. The last time I saw you, you were wearing a lego heart pin, and your happy exhuberance gave me hope for the world. You have spread hope and grace and beauty and love everywhere you’ve been. I somehow feel ill equipped to express anything other than a profound sadness here, but I want to remember you with the joy of our last meeting and try and hold onto that. You have given so much to all of us who are lucky enough to have called you friend.
When I left Detroit, I never imagined anything would happen to you…you would be there- always- like a rock, steady in the middle of the stream, forever altering the flow of so many…and yet, here you are- and there I am…so far away…so far away from you, for so long it aches. I find it hard to imagine a world without you, without your solidness…you will be missed–for so many reasons. For who you are…for who you were…for what you stood for…for what you stood against….and for what you did. Peace be with you always, brother. Much love.
Brother Blair, I recently went to Jacoby’s where their was to be a meeting where people could say a few words. I had a dinner alone in your honor and remembered when i first met you in 2001. A neophite to Detroit, I was told to go to a certain open mike and the host’s name is Blair. I came down wrote my name and was last on the bill to perform. I’m blessed to have that cassette recording of your introduction and my set which included the song “Oh Why” which i wrote in memorial to 9/11. I asked the same question when i heard your passing. The answer I don’t know except to say for 10 years we have seen each other play,have done benefits together and hopefully encouraged each other. My biggest compliment from you was when i did one of your benifits and you knelt down to your knees and bowed after my set. I bow to you now and know I had the extreme pleasure to tell you I enjoyed your music and when i got your latest CD “The Line” at your release party which I thought was outstanding, I asked for your autograph. I waited patiently until you found a pen to write your name. Your album encouraged me in my writing of my next CD “Blue Collar Man” Thanks for the humanity you brought to Detroit. You will be remembered by another fellow acoustic guitar player ,who like you wanted to bring some light to the music table of a city called Detroit.I wanted to say rest in peace,but where ever you are now Blair you are working !!!! peace and blues Paul Miles
Your talent and your personality, your caring for so many people and for life itself will be missed by so many. What a wonderful person you grew up to be from the young Classmate my daughter Janine became friends with. May you be at peace with God and be an angel to look down upon those you left behind. Katheen Ann Bianco, Mother of Janine Marie Bianco
Dearest Brother Blair,
I love you so much. Thank you for everything that you’ve done for our world, our community, and our family. I have been unable to sleep this week, so I have written ten different poems since hearing the news that you passed: your parting gift, I know. Here is one of them; I’ll try to post more: http://divadiba.wordpress.com/2011/07/29/dearblair/
Little T misses you too, her “Uncle” Blair.
Rest in Peace and Poetry, my friend.
Blair,
I know your up in heaven with God. I know you through your best friend Jessie and your sister Joy who works with my daughter Donna. You have many friends who love you and you brightened up their lives by just being you. Rest In Peace. God Bless you.
June and Henry Johnson and Family
Truth’s Troubadour
For Blair
Truth’s troubadour,
tilting words at warped tyranny,
sword-toothed tongue
and tart irony,
throat of a raging nightingale,
a Cassandra-hearted visionary.
You spoke to me,
you spoke to me, Bro,
with your out, incendiary,
in-the-know critique
of injustice and hypocrisy,
your busker brio
with a tender underbelly.
We need more not less
fighting seers like you.
Young poets, musicians
gird up your artistry!
There is a battle to be won
for the future of humanity.
Margery Parsons
July, 2011
Dear Blair, Dear Community,
I am still in shock from the news of Blair’s passing. My first selfish response was feeling the disappointment from losing the chance to make some more music together. Upon deeper reflection, I know that this will still be possible.
Brother Blair, your life was lived as a true poet, singer, indie rock star, friend, artist, activist, and creative spirit. I remember being on a songwriting and poetry panel together at Marygrove College and sharing the understanding that music saves us. We agreed that we make music because we have to, because it helps bring us out of ourselves and connects us to something much greater.
This is what I witnessed you do beautifully countless times in Detroit, Ann Arbor, and on your extended tours to Europe and the US. You helped reconnect me to my roots in Michael Jackson and in love for Detroit. Your words helped to shape a vision for the world that includes all people, and that gives us all a voice.
Your music lives on, your poetry is eternal. You have written it in the hearts and minds of all of us dreamers and artists, visionaries, and common folk, in all of us who try to see beyond lines of discrimination and separation. Your music, your poetry will continue to be shared and sung, screamed and danced to, and through those expressions, your generous spirit lives on.
So please trust us dear Brother Blair, that we will take the torch you carried so well and be your continuation in the best ways we possibly can. I love you, I bow to you, I sing for you.
Joe Reilly
writing from Paris, France, on my way home…
Missing you…
Years of formal education, travel around the world and 50 plus years of life experience never taught me as much as a single poem by David Blair.
I can honestly say that everything I need to know-I learned from him.
You don’t get to die David-we won’t let you.
Your truth, your beauty, your words will live on and change the world….
feelin a big hit , .. and i hope detroit can recover from his loss ,
such a talent , this guy a mountain (peter Markus said that ) ,,,,and he bein soft and gracious then risin up on stage !! killed it in nyc and brooklyn !!
havin him and the others hang and crash at our crib in brooklyn- talkin art , song , about tryin to be better , laughin and ragin about the hustlin , the hang ups , listening to lottsa tunes , ..
alotta range in that man .. keep on kids , try hard .
Blair came to my classroom several times. He, along with the other YARTS poets, ignited a flame in my students that has yet to be extinguished. Thank you for your commitment to the youth of Detroit. God bless.
The first time I saw Blair perform, it felt like I had discovered a small universe. Words had meaning again. Music had depth again. There was no longer blame, but hope, and I can still hear him crooning, “The things some do in the dark…” I later learned that he hailed from New Jersey, yet considered Detroit his home. That a man could enter a city known for its blackness and only see people rich with culture and talent is extraordinary in itself. But he didn’t stop there. I know so many who he mentored in spoken word, who all have expressed nothing but love and admiration for him for years.
When others chance a stay in Detroit, they complain about crime, and how barren the city is. David Blair came to Detroit and struck oil. For that, I’ll always remember him as the quintessential Renaissance artist. May he live forever in his words, his rhythm, and his love for people everywhere.
Thank you for being a friend Blair, and inspiring me and our city. I’m still gonna look to you a lot for support and write and organize harder and smarter than ever. I feel very, very lucky to have got to work with you so much, I thnk more than any other musician or poet i’ve had the honor of knowing in the 12 years since I have been back home. I particulary appreciate your support while Audra and I were having such a f’d up time, it was invaluable and so too being supportive of Clara recently as she moves out into the world of artist violin teacher for youth.
We worked on Drawing Resistance, lots of Upside Down Culture stuff like the harvest celebration when the cass co op moved further down into the Cass rather than stick around for the coming gentrification, Folk the War, over at the Matrix and so many other shows at the Plex. I’m so selfish, but i really wish we could have done this last one we planned for next weekend, the flyer came out awesome. I was just heading out the door to flyer and call you to see if I could drop by and give you some when I got the call. Wow.
At least Kameron got to meet you during the Summer Camp you did this month at the Soup Kitchen. I was holding back the tears of joy as you closed out the event celebrating youth, community and art and in the end I had to shed a few because it was so beautiful. I heard you say as you got those 30 kids to line up “so, who’s ready to have some fun, let’s sing” and I was already blown away, again, before you all even sang a note. I thanked you later and you just said “it was your pleasure the kids are an inspiration”.
So getting ready to try and go make some noise for you and with you with all those who love you so much and will keep your spirit alive.
Thank you for the shooting star over CFA the other night, that was a nice touch, i never saw anything like that, it was so you. BEst, Jhon
I was stunned by your passing and amazed by your poetry. We were at a coffee house on Woodward and you did a poem regarding sexuality and I was speechless and approached you to say how much I liked it. You will not be forgotten in the D.
I have been at a loss for words over the past week and I am not quite sure I will ever “accept” that he is gone. As much as I appreciate and adore his written and spoken word, Blair will always be a friend in my memory first and foremost. As years dragged on and people moved in different directions, Blair would always be there no matter how many months had elapsed. The first point of order from him would be one of his renown embraces. Without exaggerating in some hipsteresque irony, his hugs were greatest ever.
I will never forget how welcoming Blair was to me when I was just some 18 year old kid hanging out with Eric at their apartment on 2nd and Prentis. I will always hold the memories made at that apartment close to my heart. That apartment became a second home for me. Even though many of us drifted apart, the intensity of our relationships during those years was of the highest caliber.
We spent afternoons engaged in exciting (and in retrospect, obviously cliche) philosophical musings on the back porch and on the front stoop. Sometimes, we would all spend our nights inside as we watched/riffed cinematic masterpieces and campy kitsch in the living room, instead of going out to be the social butterflies that we felt obliged and pressured to be. Eric and Mikey would mix records well into the morning, as we would all bask in the “milieu” of the apartment and each other’s company. Neighborly exoduses to Brandon and Kristy Jo’s apartment next door were frequent. We were a micro-community.
I have always been shy about many parts of my life, including guitar. I’ve never been great at it, but when Blair would let me play around on his guitar, I felt like I had Thor’s hammer in my hands. The first time I spoke to him about how I regarded his cover of Karma Police as being better than the original, he, in good Blair fashion, explained how easy it was to play. He taught me how to play it on that back porch, although I could never do it justice the way he did.
Now I’m rambling because I don’t know where to end it. I am realizing that it isn’t over and it won’t end just because he’s gone. Blair set the bar high, but he would constantly remind us, in his ever so humble way, that he was no better than any of the rest of us. This is our time to show him and ourselves.
Bye, Dave Blair. I met you so long ago. I didn’t see you for so long. But you were so huge and so warm to me. So it felt like a second. Then a second later, you were gone. We’re too young for this, aren’t we? I’m trying to figure out how to mourn you, but I haven’t figured it out yet. http://lhdwriter.wordpress.com/2011/07/31/how-to-mourn-david-blair/ (BOOK)
I wish you were still here. I only knew you for a moment in time, but during that time I remember thinking, “Wow, now I know why my cousin brags about you so much : ) ” I still have your original Moonwalking manuscript. I feel so honoured to have it. MJ would have been proud. I hope you meet him. Rest in peace David Blair. I will always carry you in my heart.
I admit, I didn’t know you nearly as well as a lot of the people posting here. But I can say I knew you. While working a Xhedos (Zay-Dos) you would come in and order your drink of choice for that day, I remember you tipped well. I remember you would almost always share a smile, and if there wasn’t a smile on your face someone would walk in the door and whatever was on your mind at the time would turn into a smile. You always had a kind word or a joke or a laugh and when open mic night came around (which was every night) and you showed up the room turned electric. Whether you had your guitar or you where trying out some new poem the anticipation of the crowd was palpable. I knew all of this because I was a people watcher, a writer of characters for some potential story I was writing in my head and the reaction you created in people was unique, and that’s how I knew something magical was about to happen on stage that night…and it usually was. After a while of working open mic nights at various coffee houses in and around Detroit you hear your fare share of what I call forgettable music, or poetry that would stir nothing inside me, but when you would hop up on stage and thank the crowd for their thunderous applause something happened and time stopped for the 15 or so minutes you where at the mic. Though I didn’t know you very well I can say this, Detroit will not be the same without you, and time will never slow down the same way again.
After I heard that you had died…I was profoundly saddened. I still think about you in one way or another, everyday since I found out. All of your performances I got to see, the passion you had for everything you did…I feel lucky to have been able to experience. Today I was complaining about how tired and busy I am, and I walked outside of the tattoo shop and saw you staring at me. Your face on the metro times. And I remembered how lucky I am to be tired…and busy…Blair to say you were an inspiration to everyone you met would be the understatement of the century. I hope you know how much you are missed. Born in Jersey. Made in Detroit. Loved and missed everywhere.