seth davis: blog

The next to last time I saw my brother was on august 1, 2001.  Jenn and I were in the middle of a move and our new apartment in shambles, he’d left tons of lugging to us and  disappeared (as he often did) and I went to look for him.  From the boardwalk I saw a scant figure walking knee deep at the shore, looking out at the endless sea, rising up onto his toes every time the low tide came in.  Exhilarated as I’d not seen him in decades, he approached the ramp and when he saw me he smiled.  His pant legs were rolled up, but not high enough.  I asked when the last time he’d been ‘in’ the ocean was.  “Thirty years”.
I spun into a fairy tale summer in which he was living near me and enjoying the beach he’d grown up blocks from and liking himself and making respectable friends who cared about him and putting my parent’s delicate minds at rest.  I flashed to teen me & twenty-something him going to [...]

The views from the kitchen window of the 5th floor apartment I grew up in in Queens were often spectacular.  Polluted pink and orange sunsets over Manhattan and the steady flow of nighttime air traffic to JFK and La Guardia were an endless fascination from the day we arrived there when I was four years old.
 
The second of the Twin Towers was nearly complete and I felt so special, in spite of the cramped space and the roaches to have such a view of the world’s tallest buildings. 
On the couch with my dad once, when looking at a magazine spread featuring impressive pictures of the buildings, he said “They shouldn’t have made them so tall…if they fall over they’re gonna fall on everything for a quarter mile in that direction.”.  And we both assumed, I assume, that we’d never live to see his theory tested.
 
On a school trip I remember a few things.  The giant Picasso in the lobby.  The elevator ride in the oversized [...]

I question bringing this up, but I keep thinking about it.  
 
Sometimes when I meet a celebrity or a hotshot I experience this confusing mix of awe and compassion and  sameness and  frustration and pride and envy.
Going to hear Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger (Sean Lennon & Charlotte Kemp Muhl’s project) I was interested in seeing how he was and how their new materiel translated to a live situation.  I wanted to see some of my friends and meet a few more there at the sanctuary, which I think of as a second…well, third home.  I expected the music to be decent and thought that meeting Sean might be cool. 
The show was really great.  Sean’s singing and playing are smooth and sweet and the songwriting is interesting and thoughtful.  Conspicuously artful and literary and not-self indulgent in the least.  Charlotte sang beautifully with him and played accordion, melodica, banjo, guitar, bass, recorder and a load of percussion.  [...]

 I was 19 in 1984 when my brother, Kim impulsively bought a rusty 1962 Chevrolet Impala.
He lived at home with our aging parents and wasn’t working and was trying to finish up his long-winded philosophy degree.  A long chain of poor choices kept the fighting regular at home.  Money and privacy infringement and disappointment and alcohol and drugs....My mom was always writing him checks for unpaid parking ticket fines.  My dad always cursed him as he forked over the money my brother begged him for in order to maintain his insurance policies or pay private debt.  Shady "friends" came calling at all hours and his real friends were ending up in jail or with AIDS.  This car raised all kinds of new hell.  
It was light blue, long, low and very pretty.  It was pepperred in rust and dented and lopsided but anyone could imagine how proudly it would have rolled through town back in it’s glory day.  Especially my brother.  Driving [...]

Love is a verb.  It’s something you do. Writing a song that begins with those 2 lines...coming soon.    I desire more love in the world.  In my world.  In yours.  It’s a remedy I have seen heal profound hurts.  It grows dreams.  It makes it seem OK.  Who can’t use a little.  You might not want to accept it for whatever reason.  You’re wounded or cool or skeptical or weird.  You hate men or women or Jews or Arabs or political party or style of music.  Or you hate yourself.  Bingo.  But then that person smiles at you.  Or that puppy runs toward you.  Or Al Green sings that song for you.   Don’t deny it.  The word is nice.  But it doesn’t DO anything.  We do it.  When we love.   So I know this.  Therefore when I say nothing to make it better, when I fail to listen well, when I don’t notice the niceness before me, when I [...]