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Adam Farouk's Official Blog

Explorations into art, humanity, and personal development, by musician, ideasmith, creative adventurer, and social entrepreneur, Adam Farouk.

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Help Them to Learn

10/16/2023

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This has been one of those years where it’s just never quite felt like the right time to post on this site. Personally, there’s always been something more pressing going on. Globally, the same; whether through cases of political scandal, civic heartlessness, or outright armed conflict, fear and alarm have gripped the world with stunning efficiency.
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About halfway through the calendar year I considered writing a post about peace. Now, as anyone who even vaguely knows me knows, my relationship with the subject is ambivalent at best, though to be fair most of my nuclear wintering finds itself directed either at “that asshole Gandhi” or else at those pesky so-called “empires” of Austria and Venice (those were MY city-states!)—either way, in life, mercifully, I am generally more of a peace-monger.
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medium.com
As with eastern philosophy my understanding of peace begins with non-striving. Letting go of need or desire, it is said, frees one from one’s agenda. This allows one to see more clearly what really is, not what one wishes were there. It’s a freeing perspective, one that can lead to profound spiritual insight and powerful personal development. 
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It also, in my humble opinion, rather misses the point of why we’re here. 

We, the sentient inhabitants of planet earth, I might posit, are not here merely to impartially bear witness to events as they unfold. This may be a means to a particularly worthwhile end (enlightenment…so I’m led to understand) but a means to an end still it is. Whether we observe it or not we are born into duality: light and dark; hot and cold; Marvel and DC, and so on. We have at our very fingertips the power of decision.
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I’ve heard duality referred to as a false god. And overall I agree with this. The paradox of opposites may be solved with the cunning use of dialectics: “I love and accept all that I am, *and* I can improve.” Without this approach I may never have escaped the bedlam that was my existence prior to age forty-two. And yet, despite the clever appropriation of everyone’s favorite coordinating conjunction, I stand by my assertion that duality’s status as de facto metaphysical pariah can and ought to be repealed.

To say that duality is a false construct is like saying that human beings have no sex (mind out of the gutter, please, I’m talking biology). Metaphysical convictions from a number of schools of thought may understand this to be true on the “soul” level, but that does little good to an organism who depends upon meiosis to sustain the very life that allows it to contemplate such matters in the first place. Practically speaking, a metaphysics that embraces duality is much more useful to us than one that eschews it. How so?
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It’s often touted that by zooming out from the duality of our daily lives, we get to a place called unity. Here we are at one with the universe and all is at peace because events take place not to, at, or before us but rather through the unbiased prism of our consciousness. But what this observation fails to reflect upon is that, if you stay in this state for long enough, you eventually have to go pee. 
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Peace is not the absence of intent. Rather, it’s absolutely dependent on its executor making a very specific choice under varying and often uncertain circumstances. I know I have the tendency to drone on about how yoga isn’t the cure to the world’s ills. This time I’m taking a different route. Any practice that provides a participant with a safe space to bring their mind to somewhere that chooses lovingkindness over cruelty is good and well in my book. Just remember, just because I can pretzel my way into yoganidrasana, doesn’t mean I’m better than you.
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I am not a pacifist because I am anti-war. I understand that in a dualistic metaphysics like the one to which we humans on earth belong, conflict is not only a sanctioned form of dispute resolution, but in many cases is a necessary one. (Or we could all make like bonobos and use sex as a means to negotiate our differences—feel free to take to the gutter, and, if need be, remain there for the remainder of this post.) That we have taken conflict and turned it into the hideous art form it is today is regrettable, but I have no qualms against its existence any more than I do the existence of inclement weather.

Nor am I a pacifist because I am a pushover. As a matter of fact it’s this part of duality that I have a problem with. While dualistic language with intelligence combines to create the likes of Plato, Kant, and Meister Eckhart, dualistic language without it quickly devolves into demagoguery, jingoism, and unrelenting stupidity. There’s a broken belief right now, one that no one seems either willing or able to challenge, that you’re either a military hawk, or a colluder. I reject this summarily, because it’s moronic. Being a chest-thumping loudmouth doesn’t give anyone a monopoly on strategic intervention. If there’s a bully, you bet I’ll intervene. I’ll speak gently, dulcetly, kindly even, lulling them into a false sense of safety as I quietly sew their ass cheeks together, feed them miralax, and wait for the results. 
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We are souls living a human journey; the early 00s was rife with this kind of sentiment. In a post-9/11 world, we craved the oneness message, hungered for any philosophy that transcended the unstable and shockingly terrifying world we suddenly found ourselves living in. But it’s as though we all stopped at “we are souls” and forgot the second half, equally important, that we are all living a human journey. As such, we are prone to disagreeing, we are vulnerable to each having our agendas collide with those of our neighbors, no matter how noble our intentions. In this life, this human life, we are, in short, dualistic beings.

And as such we approach peace, not as the only truth available to us, but as one of many options, and because we choose it to be, we choose to focus our attention, we choose to train our consciousness on creating life and prosperity, not murder and destruction. This is our authority, our license to create the world, any world, that we envision—in a world where our lives are small but our words and actions reverberate through the cosmos, what have we but our convictions?

I am a peace-monger in humble ways: because I choose not to engage in a motor race with the car behind me who thought going the speed limit was too slow; for the simple act of giving a smile and a nod to the grocery clerk who made a well-intentioned but awkward attempt to connect. I am a peace-monger not because it is the right thing to do, but because it is my right to do it, my right to see the world I see, and make choices.

This is the world I see. This is the choice I make. Choose peace. 
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Yes. That’s probably the kind of thing I would say, if I were to write a post about peace. Maybe another time, eh?
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Travel safe. Talk soon.

Title Inspiration: Pipes of Peace (McCartney), Paul McCartney

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Watershed 2022

12/31/2022

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We no longer live in a world where to be someone of renown means to have produced something of actual quality and value. I need to remind myself of this day after day, knowing that the only way one can change an existing system is if one accepts it in the first place. This is an important first step for any changemaker, possibly even more so than realizing that change occurs less by fighting against existing circumstances and more by creating ways and means that render them irrelevant.

There is a sharp divide between those who seek to do this (produce something of actual quality and value), often quietly and far in the background of major events, and the exalted influencers of today, those who revel in their ability to execute what they espy as exceptional (but that this writer sees more often as sophomoric), such as “playing the top ten songs on the radio using only four chords,” or “re-harmonizing the Beatles’ masterpiece ‘Hey Jude’.” One might argue that none of these bring benefit to humanity, and one might be right. These are activities that bring aggrandizement to the ego and self-image of their performer, and little else. I have very little time for this, which likely means I have very little time for 95% of the developed world’s Gross Creative Output aka GCP.
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A thought experiment was once put forth to me by a friend of mine. A quick-witted entrepreneurial jack-of-all-trades hailing from Canada/the People’s Republic of China, he asked me and a few other friends who were over for drinks one evening to consider the dueling, conflicting goals of a) a writer, b) an editor, and c) a publisher. The writer, he said, if they’re being true to themselves, should only care about putting the story down in as authentic and accurate a way as possible. Once this is achieved, the writer in pure form will care about nothing else. 

The editor, on the other hand, if they’re being true to themselves, wants the book able to be enjoyed by as many eyes as possible. As such, they go through the text and make changes to meet this criteria, and in doing so, may in fact alter the book in a manner such as to move it away from the writer’s perfect version of the manuscript, thus creating conflict between the two individuals’ visions. 

The publisher, he went on to say, if they’re being true to themselves, wants to sell as many copies as possible—they don’t care how authentic the manuscript is, nor do they particularly care about the readers’ experience, so long as they can sell enough copies to have made the investment in the project worthwhile, so they create a spanking, shiny cover (which the editor might hate) and find celebrities (whom the writer might hate) to write praise for it on the opening pages. They get the writer on talk shows (which the writer, perhaps an introvert, hates doing), and they make available an audio book version (hiring a famous actor, and director, to interpret it, thus negating all the work that the editor did). 

These three goals are in direct conflict with one another, yet done in the correct order they create a synergy and a process via which an idea goes from nothing to success.
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This is where the thought experiment ended, and, at that time (being around 2002), there was very little else to think about; in order to create art, one still needed to go through gatekeepers, publishers, record labels, distributors, and so forth. But then, somewhere in the mid-00s, seemingly out of nowhere the "Creator Economy" sparked into existence. People began to be able to simultaneously inhabit all three of the roles proposed by the thought experiment’s rudiments. You now not only had people who believed they had something to say, but who were furnished with the tools to create, from start to finish, content which would become the platform through which their ideas could reach the world. How marvelous!

Of course, as with anything, there are ups and downs.

For better or for worse, the old way, with its editors and publishers, was equipped with a built-in system of appraisal; at least two sets of eyes (and likely many more) other than the writer’s would read the manuscript and decide whether it was a worthwhile project to invest time and money into. On one hand, this might mean that many books (films, music, etc.) that were ahead of their time or in other ways risky might have been passed over, but on the other hand, these eyes could act as a sort of filtering system, only allowing through content with something (they believed was) meaningful and valuable to say.
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Is the fact that this system of appraisal has all but disappeared a good or a bad thing? The question is mostly irrelevant; for creators and the audiences they reach, the new way is here. A massive democratization of creativity is upon us, and, sadly, in this writer’s estimation, humanity hasn’t much risen to the occasion. There’s more junk on the internet than there ever has been. Products like BandLab, while believing (and genuinely so, I believe) themselves to be bringing power to the masses, merely make making music a casual affair; taking the challenge out of the creation of art also strips the endeavor of its magic, and much of its meaning. 

So what is there left for the real craftspeople in this new frontier of ready-made, boil-in-the-bag ersatz creativity? I’d like to think that, for them, remembering that there was a time before machines started making chairs and tables and silverware, that these now-commodified goods were once produced painstakingly by passionate and proficient women and men. There will always be space for quality and value—remember this. Just because Ikea exists doesn’t mean that the hunger for beautiful and personal hand-made furniture has abated.

​We the conscious artisans of the world must hold on to this, this faith in higher humanity. We must not succumb to what the sellers of slick and synthetic would have us believe, that the success of their new reality should see us surrender to second-class citizenry in the creative landscape.

I end this year, this back-breaking year of love, labor, and deep loss, with a blessing. To quote (or rather paraphrase) the Jester himself:
May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always see the light and know the truth surrounding you,
May you always be courageous,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
May you stay forever young.
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To all you true creators: remember how special you are, and know how much you are supported. The counterfeiters and false prophets may reign for the moment, but soaring through the cosmos are the angels of the universe, crying out in passion and delight to remind us that we remain, forever, heaven blessed. Our song, the beautiful adventure that we set forth for the benefit of humanity, is fundamental, and unchanging. Remember this, always. 

Travel safe and talk soon.

-AF


HAPPY NEW YEAR, TO ALL, 2023.

Title Inspiration: Watershed (Saliers), Indigo Girls

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An Ace That I Could Keep, Part 2

8/5/2022

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Art is not easy. So many people think they are doing it every day. I’m not saying I know the difference between who are and who aren’t; to paraphrase John Cleese’s Pope Julius II, “I may not know a lot about art, but I know what I like.” In today’s anti-normative world, it’s truly impossible to say which one of a so-called pop artiste dressing herself up in bubble wrap, a rapping idiot-savant calling himself Jesus Christ, and a sixteen year old girl clothed in a tube top and little else singing “Sweet Child ‘o Mine” is art, and which isn’t (do any of them have to be?, is to me the obvious question).
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Having this kind of discernment has, on the surface, very little use in today’s surface world. But I believe there is a purpose to being able to tell the difference between those in it for vainglory—Bruce Lee would refer to their journey as the Art of Self-Image Aggrandizement—and those who are in it for true excellence, and the truth that comes with it, for the sake of not merely making an impact on the world, but making a positive one, at least so far as their beliefs and conscience can guide them. I think what makes it easier to tell who’s doing what is to consider the concept of *effective art*.
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What is this thing that I propose exists: effective art? I believe what makes effective art effective is that it touches us in a way that is significant. But what does this mean? Effective art (think of a song that still makes you cry even after you’ve heard a thousand times) creates a process through which the audience member not only passes but is also changed in a way that is both indelible and irreversible. Aristotle speaks of mimesis in the Poetics. Mimesis is a large part of this process. By employing the mimetic aspect of art, the artist may create a work that is somehow both broad-reaching enough to apply to all persons yet specific enough that one person will feel as though the work of art has been created just for them.
Because of this personal connection, the viewer will come to see themselves in the protagonist, and will share in their failures and their success. This brings us to the second part of the process, which is catharsis. Via the experience of the protagonist’s highs and lows, the viewer (or listener) experiences the artistic journey not only as the trials and tribulations of another person, but as part of one’s own story, and at the point of conclusion, the viewer (or listener) feels a very real sense of having been transfigured, cleansed, or else having experienced epiphany on a deep level. This is one of the ways the artist can employ their skill and acumen for the good, by creating and layering positive change (which, note, does not assume a “happy ending”) in the conclusions of their art. 
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I find I can often tell between art that is created by the artists for themselves and art that is effective by locating where I experience what I often refer to as “the tingles.” When a work of art is high intensity, our autonomic reaction is to feel that intensity somewhere in our physical body. I’d wager that all of us have cried during certain movies, songs, theatrical performances, and many other expressions of art based on our preferences (visual art, dance, performance art). In my experience, art that truly touches the soul can be felt in (of all places) the sides of the arms, and the shoulders. Almost without fail, when I notice a tingling sensation there in my body, emotional catharsis is nearby, whether it manifests in the form of a deep cleansing breath, laughter, or crying.
In contrast, art created to serve the artist’s ego can be felt almost anywhere else. I’ve been confounded by this in the past, watching films or theatrical performances and feeling stirred yet also feeling a sense of emptiness and not knowing why (I’m looking at you, “Hancock” (2008)). I’ve felt my head swell in agony over a protagonist’s dramatic fall from grace. My heart has bled over a main character’s crippling anxiety. I’ve even cried watching a community be destroyed for hypocrisy and lack of oversight. But one common factor insists itself upon these three scenarios: I never felt anything in my shoulders, nor did I feel something in the sides of my arms. It seems so odd that this—the precise location of “the tingles”—be the determining factor. But, sure enough, when the dust of high emotion settled in each of these (and, certainly, many other) cases, I was left with a feeling of having witnessed something created not for the benefit of my edification, but instead for its own thirst and need for attention.
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And herein lies the danger, and is why art can so easily by hijacked and turned from an activity that is intrinsically benevolent to one whose sole purpose is to fulfill a narcissistic personality’s need for self-image aggrandizement. I disagree with the (relatively recent) adage that “the head can be persuaded, but the heart is not so easily changed” (I think it’s from “Frozen” (2013) (he says, having seen it seven times)); it’s actually fairly easy to manipulate the heart, just look at how many toxic relationships remain unexamined due to family loyalty. There’s not really anything that can be done about this. As we perfect the expression of form e.g. the play, the song, the novel, the movie etc., it becomes easier for art pirates (to coin a phrase) to plunder these forms and mine them for their own selfish needs (see “United Passions” (2014)—actually, don’t.)
I would humbly put forward that awareness is the best weapon under these modern day circumstances. For me, a key component to a better life as an art consumer has been to be relentlessly conscious of the art I was consuming. I found when I was willing to question what was placed in front of me, I became far less willing to leap into the jaws of the predatory pseudo-art that found it way into my purview simply because its creators owned all the distribution outlets (now who might I be talking about? … I still like Frozen.) It’s certainly made me less hip—to this day I have never heard the radio offering known to many as “Uptown Funk,” in fact I’m not sure I’ve heard a new song since 2012, except for that Mendez/Cabello duet from a few years ago (to be fair I was just out of inpatient and was trying to find my roots among free humans by listening to *anything* that came on the radio) and something by Taylor Swift about how some people need to calm down—I actually like that one.
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No, I’m not a doom and gloom, everything after 1986 sucks, kind of guy. There are always new, wonderful discoveries to be made as a consumer of art (the jewel that is “Ted Lasso” to name one.) I wonder if we’re not on the precipice of a new *slow art* movement, perhaps similar as to what happened at the transition from the 80s into the 90s, except, hopefully, a little wiser, and this time truly shedding the skin of artifice for a new kind of authenticity, where artistry and artisanship find their place again among the pantheon values of self-expression. For better or for worse I think the “influencer” is here to stay, at least for awhile, and it might be that all you need to do is film yourself eating cereal with hot sauce to be called a “creator” but to quote Keith Carradine: it don’t worry me. (Nashville (1975))
I do what I do the way I do it (this is a surely a quote). No amount of sanitized prefabricated mindless cookie-cutter entertainment can take away my love of creating art to help others. I was told at a young age by an uncle who would turn out to be one of the strongest influences of my early creative life that I should always remember to give back to society. At the time I was busy getting the crap kicked out of me by racist mobs in a Dickensian all-boys boarding school, but, thankfully, the words stuck with me. Art is the greatest blessing (shared; my wife, obviously) that I’ve received in my already pretty blessed life. It seems a natural choice to pass it along.
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Some might still call me unsuccessful, and in some ways they’d be right. I have no community of crazed fans (yet/who cares, my wife would say), I have no mantelpiece full of trophies or awards (again, yet/who cares, she’d say, because she’s amazing). But in the past seventeen years, I’ve had the time and space, away from the joneses, away from the restless throng, to gruelingly put myself through the ropes; I’ve gained mastery over the fundamentals of harmony, counterpoint, lyricism, rhyme, wordplay, music production, storywriting, MIDI programming, arrangement, transcription, voice, performance, and many more areas of study that, in my opinion, form only the very basics of what it means to be an artist, a real creator. At least that’s what I think. And sure, maybe all of this is not a route to success. But I believe it to be a path to self-mastery, and, with that, a means to unlock the secret to wellbeing and abundance, in a world that truly needs it.
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Travel safe. Talk soon. -AF

Title Inspiration: The Gambler (Schlitz), Kenny Rogers

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An Ace That I Could Keep, Part 1

8/1/2022

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One of the advantages of being unsuccessful is that very few people, if any, want a piece of you. I remember well my days of pseudo fame—you know, the kind of which everyone is said to experience fifteen minutes. I remember the unspoken imperative that you at all costs keep up with the Joneses, the incessant expectation that your itinerary be scheduled around this allstar compilation album audition or that appearance at so-and-so’s fashion awards run, rather than your actual needs as a human; all of this turned my young brush with celebritydom into an exercise of being chewed, swallowed, and spat out, time after time, at the best of times.
I remember being asked once, in my state of pseudo-ascendancy by a pseudo-gatekeeper, what I wished to be. Now, I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. But I knew at the time that giving this answer would bear little fruit, so I turned to the closest and most genuine response that I felt would suffice, and said that what I wanted to do was write songs, I wanted to be a songwriter. We debated the subject for some time (meaning, he spoke and I listened, this is Asia after all), and eventually the conclusion was drawn that I would only be a songwriter when I wrote songs and got paid for doing it. That would be my one definition of success.
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I carried this charge around with me in my young life as a musician. When I left the bright lights of Malaysia’s cultural capital in 2005, I also left behind a burgeoning career, a move that many friends, even close ones couldn’t comprehend. I didn’t have the guts to say it at the time, mostly because it felt laced with a sort of John Lennon-esque man-child helplessness that I had long sought to avoid. But the fact of the matter was, I left to be with someone, for love if you will, specifically the love of a kind and beautiful woman, wise beyond her years, who looked deep into my soul with all its charred scars and fetid wounds, and said: we can do this.
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The years went by. I remember hitting thirty. Still, not a cent from anyone for the songs I was painstakingly writing in my home basement studio. Young puppies became pets in their prime, who became mature dogs, their love unflinching, their attention unwavering. I miss the ones we’ve lost to time, and cherish that moments I am spending with all of them, but especially the oldest ones, who despite our general avoidance of the subject we know are over the proverbial hill. Hairs turn grey, joints become more brittle. And need I mention the colonoscopies? (Well, I’m still just forty four, but I hear their approach like the tick-tock of a hungry crocodile hell-bent on horrors untold.)
So here I am, in my mid forties now, the amount of money I have been paid for my songwriting (or other musical work, for that matter) since I arrived on these shores unable to buy me lunch at the local deli. I live with my wife, who has remained married to me now for reasons unknown for seventeen years, on a decidedly unflashy New England farmstead with six dogs, three goats (one more on the way), two horses, and an open door to those dear to us. I’ve written, say, a hundred and five songs give or take, from orchestral works to acoustic ballads, some organized into sprawling rock operas and musicals, others barely a minute long, just enough to get a single idea across and hopefully elicit a smile.
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<sidebar> Don’t ask how I live. The answer is not a soundbite. Separate from my wife’s professional and business successes, which are considerable, my financial situation is a stultifyingly tedious and rancidly complicated tale involving a patriarch who is richer than Trump (and possibly just as disagreeable), and a grandmother who died far too young. The bottom line is I find myself in a place where my day-to-day needs are more or less taken care of (more of less) </sidebar>
Still, it’s a far-cry from being Malaysia’s new “it”-boy who could write his ticket and command a six-figure salary for a month’s work (somehow, don’t ask me). And for my life’s circumstances, my interlocutor that day at lunch would surely insist that I am not to be considered a songwriter, because the cumulative offerings I have received for said activity are too paltry. Now, the lifelong student that I am likes to say silly things like, “What do we really know for certain? Can we be really sure of anything?” 
But in this instance, I’m pretty sure of myself when I say: you know, I don’t think he was right.
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TO BE CONTINUED...


Title Inspiration: The Gambler (Schlitz), Kenny Rogers

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Composed AF: Still Walking

3/25/2022

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I’m often asked, “How do you go about writing a song?” More often than not it’s a murky and amorphous process, filled with uncertainty and difficult to quantify, but it occurred to me that it would be helpful, both for me as well as those who had posed the question, to see if I could shed a little light on the commonalities that exist from one song to another. In doing so, I came across the idea of the “Concept,” the creative germ that exists long before the writing process begins, a blueprint that, when followed, triggers a set of actions the inevitable result of which is a finished composition, whether it takes ten minutes or ten years. Today I share one of these concepts with you.

​In 2010 I wrote a blog post titled Ten Years and Still Walking. “Strange feelings abound,” I wrote. I remember tremulously hitting “post” on only the second blog I’d ever written, wondering if I was an idiot for sharing my thoughts so, and specifically for having shared a demo of a piece “so early on in its development.” Twelve years later and I find myself knee-deep in the process of writing a fantasy ebook series, releasing a concept album, two singles, and a live EP all in the space of a year while surprisingly not  burning out, and Still Walking, which had fallen out of my direct purview for the better part of eight years, suddenly appears within the crosshairs in the form of the musical project Continuity. And thus, the question, “How did I write the song Still Walking?” What was the Concept, and how did it precipitate the process that would lead to the composition?
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With Still Walking the Concept is musical. One cannot understand the underlying DNA of this song without being familiar with another two pieces. Still Walking is part of the greater work Continuity, a rock opera that explores mental illness and which is the thematic sequel to States of Matter, the first major piece I wrote, back in 2000. In States of Matter there is one song in particular that has generated a sort of musical meme that has permeated at least a few of songs that I have written. That song is Walking Away, and its (known) scions are the songs No Need to Hide (States of Matter), Light Up These Eyes (Ray of Sunshine), and finally, Still Walking (Continuity). 

With Still Walking, part of the song’s raison d’être was to be a link to its ancestor Walking Away. The respective characters in both songs are trying to convince themselves that they are strong enough to “walk,” be it away from a toxic relationship, or physically, having suffered a debilitating illness. To quote Walking Away, I started with a syncopated vi-I/3-IV chord motif. Along with the phrase, “I’m still walking,” this became the song’s underlying Concept. (Incidentaly, I also wanted to quote the song Rain from States of Matter, which I managed to do in the last line of the chorus plus in the background accompaniment in the bridge).
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Once I was solid on this, the remaining process was more engineering than anything else. The vi-I/3-IV progression in the beginning of the chorus brought about an ascending ii-I/3-IV-V chorus hook, returning us to the tonic.
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Once that was determined, the called-for complementary progression, which would be used in the verses, almost inevitably, had to be descending. I decided upon a descending bass line—1, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2—with corresponding harmonies, with a II7-V turnaround, using the “secondary dominant” (for the geeks out there—you’re in good company), for a little bit of extra tension to propel us into the chorus.
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As I touched on previously, the bridge mirrors then entire harmonic universe of the other two sections, by being almost entirely ascending harmonically. It even contains a modulation, one whole-step upwards; after the contemplative introspection of the verses and choruses, the song felt as though it needed some lift. The downchorus returns us to a sense of uncertainty, with the final two choruses a defiant statement of self-belief in the face of overwhelming odds.

In many ways the lyrics of a song are the most difficult component of the songwriting process, in my experience because they are messy, emotion-bound, and while not everyone can claim to be a musical composer, everyone deep down kind of thinks they’re a writer (I should know, writing a fantasy ebook series with absolutely no qualifications to do so). Similar to Walking Away I wanted to keep the lyrical content of this song simple. That said, I’m a huge sucker for the jumble of internal and regular rhyming patterns, in this case ABCD, ABED, as such, in the second verse:
You said (A)
Goodbye (B)
Gotta find some (C) place to play (D)
Eyes (f) red (A)
Won’t cry (B)
Gonna shed (*A) these (E) skies (*f) of grey (D)
If I may say so myself, I was especially pleased with the internal “tapback” rhyme (A) of “eyes red,” and “gonna shed,” as well as the unnecessary, unintentional, but very satisfying rhyming of “eyes” with “skies.” Love it when a plan (or, maybe, sheer dumb luck?) comes together. Generally speaking, any thoughts I have about lyrics are humble ones. I don’t really have much by way of technical know-how to this process; it’s mostly a lot of probing and asking the song where it wants to take me. I do, however, use perfect rhyme, however, for example: (not from Walking Away)
half/imperfect rhyme :
"Do it right,
Do it kind,"

full/perfect rhyme :
"Do it right,
Through the night,"
It’s just a school I grew up in (from Carole King to Stephen Sondheim) and I find it way more challenging to do, and also way more satisfying (probably explains why I stopped listening to pop radio around 2011). I supposed I might recommend, lyricwise, staying connected with the emotional core of the character in the particular moment that the song is taking place. What are the chemicals (hormones, emotions, cognitions) in their body trying to make them do? What are their deep desires (doesn’t matter how dark)? And then relay them as accurately as possible. 
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​:)

I’ll look forward to possibly doing more of these. I’ve got a whole mess of songs, each of whom came with its own version of this process. I hope you found this interesting and that it gave a little clue-in to what can often be considered a baffling if near impossible process. As you can see, with this entry, I included notated music as an aid to the various explanations. If you’d like to hear audio, or even see video, I could look into doing that for future entries. 

Many thanks. Travel safe and talk soon. 

-AF

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Watershed 2021

12/31/2021

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I’m starting to think the adage might be true, that, as we grow older, our sphere of give-a-damn starts to tighten. A gabillion zillion things happened this year, and I’m not sure I caught any of them because they weren’t in my direct purview. Also, I tend not to be of the “like, subscribe, switch on notifications” persuasion, so, when all is said and done, and for better or worse, I imagine myself a little less “influenced” than your average small-town bear. There’s a flip-side to this, of course, being that I easily made over a thousand *important* decisions this year, that no one gave a shit about. No harm, no foul.

A lack of abatement from COVID meant that, once again, the musician’s primary source of reception and feedback—the live gig—was not an option. However, knowing that the AFO once again could not come to as a performing band freed us to focus on finishing the project that we started in the murky waters of early 2020: Ray of Sunshine, specifically an AFO concept album featuring songs from the rock opera Ray of Sunshine.
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More generally, though, we (being BlueDorian Media Entertainment’s 2021 squad, including the AFO, guest vocalists and instrumentalists, designers and artists, producers and engineers, and the organization’s core team) started to see this year as one in which we would be focusing on content, setting ourselves the underlying goal of not just producing but producing our socks off, committing to going above and beyond what we thought ourselves capable of doing, both in terms of quality as well as quantity, all the while retaining our focus and, more importantly, staying sane.

​That we succeeded at all was a surprise, that we were able to achieve what we did, a wonder, and to all involved in the past two years worth of curriculum I feel a sense of gratitude and pride—it’s one thing to pump out great material in your *prime* (such an arbitrary assessment) when everyone is cheering you on and you have the will of the fans on your side, it’s entirely another to do in the silent cave that is modern COVID-based life. The work is there, for anyone who wants to check it out (
shop.bluedorian.com). It was a thrill and a delight to work, soup to nuts, with such a talented crew of artists—I look forward to working with them again in the upcoming years.
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I took part in a QnA session focused around the music of Ray of Sunshine, and I was posed the question, “How can you allow your music to stream for free? How do you get people to pay for your music so you can make a living?” These are good questions, ones that I do not have the answer to. Now, granted, we at BlueDorian have yet to apply a marketing plan to our template. Our first step, still in process now, is to populate the commercial web presence (the store) with content. Anything outside of that goal, I’m not interested in, for the simple reason as to create good product requires focus, and if I’m trying to figure out how to sell my goods before I’ve built my goods, I’m not focusing. 

Still, I’ve often self-reflected that music and visual arts, despite being in the same taxonomic “class” of activity, are such polar opposites, in terms of the logistics that their practitioners are required to go through to succeed. Visual artists more or less obey the commercial maxim, that 80% of your business comes from 20% of your clients, so really, you just need to secure the 20%. Music has no such luxury. Predetermined market values are placed on our commodity in such a way as if I spent two minutes throwing together a selection of pre-written beats, versus if I spend two years composing a piece that painstakingly fuses the sounds of a symphony orchestra, renaissance vocal group, and gamelan ensemble (all of whom I had to hire), both products costs about a dollar in the marketplace of ideas.

Anyway, like I said, that’s outside of my purview, at least for now. We’ll come up with a plan at some point, when it does seem relevant. In the meantime, 2021: cheers! It feels like we hardly knew ye, but I know that’s a lie. We live in formidable times. It’s time to step on the gas, and ride off into the sunset. To that end, here's this awesome fellow:
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Travel safe and talk soon!

​-AF

Wishing you all a HAPPY NEW YEAR 2022 :)

Title Inspiration: Watershed (Saliers), Indigo Girls
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Anyone Who Had a Heart...

2/24/2021

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I had an interesting conversation with with one of my producer friends, where he sort of summed up the state of music right now, saying that musicians appear to have two options—one, they can work and come up with new songs and sounds, or, two, they can “sit around trying to come up with a hundred ways to basically sound like Despacito.” Now Despacito as a song doesn’t necessarily bother me per se, but I definitely agreed with him that what constitutes art right now is more akin to world of sports and competition than it is to what has constituted art since forever ago.

An example of what this looks like is 1) you get "Person A" who’s an insane e.g. bass player, then 2) he/she does a “sexy” cover of a super well-known song, showing off their chops, until 3) they acquire the holy grail (subs, lah) because a) the song is well known and b) they’re racing up and down the fretboard like Usain Bolt. Many artists are doing little more than shooting at targets, because, by doing so they believe they become “influencers,” whatever on earth that means.
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This is 90% of music today, I would wager.

So there’s a small 10% who are spending their time coming up with actual new ideas, which is ironic, because that is exactly how that song by The Who or Led Zeppelin or Michael Jackson came to be in the first place. Not by the efforts of the “musical bodybuilders” showing off their guitar-playing glutes, but by people who were so plugged in to the actual source of art (which, in actuality, at least in my experience, is a rather quiet and solitary place) and worked hard at cultivating that connection, that they came up with gems that we love and that are lasting, the likes of Penny Lane, Dear Prudence, and Here Comes the Sun.

There’s nothing we can really do, because it’s just easier, frankly, to learn how to show-off running up and down scales than it is to put together new musical ideas, or to write a truly authentic song that’s actually really good as well. That’s why, again, frankly, youtube musical bodybuilders, regardless of their number of subs and followers, are more of less a dime a dozen (type in a famous song and the word “cover” and you’ll see what I mean), while there’s only one Paul McCartney, there’s only one Burt Bacharach, there’s only one Beethoven.

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I make this point strenuously, not in order to dissuade others from participating in the musical arts. I’m not talking about a six-year old (or a seventy six-year old, for that matter) who’s recorded themselves playing “Let It Be”—their first attempt at live performance. These moments are authentic and magical, and why not celebrate them as such? Rather, my goal is that we might be conscious of the landscape that we are populating as so-called artists. Who am I as a composer, in this world that values instantaneousness and fetishy familiarity more than it does values and the perspiration involved in birthing new ideas? I’d be lying if I said my encouragement was a blanket affair; as for the musical bodybuilders—godspeed and good luck—there is a LOT of space for you in today’s lip-service-paying, self-image-obsessed, instant gratification-based world, and some of you will go far. 

But to those of you in that small, terrifying 10%: I know what it’s like to be you, and I’ll tell you, it’s fucking hard. It really is much easier to sell yourself down the line and focus on self-image and self-aggrandizement than it is to hone what it means to hold yourself true to the realm of new, real ideas. How do I know? I know because I’ve done both. In my twenties, I was all about puffing up my self-image. Heck, if I’d been populating a youtube channel then as opposed to a myspace page (thank you, the early 00s), I might have been able to show you now some streaming material of me doing a “cover” of a number by Train, Gavin Degraw, or Jason Mraz (to further cement me in linear time).
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But that was then; it was a bit of a prison, and I’m glad I got out of it. I’m lucky, I guess, that the world culture of the early 00s hadn’t moved so far into the direction of instant gratification that I could navigate my way out of it and not become stuck simply by default. Now, in my forties, I am focused completely on the realm of new ideas. There are certain mitigating circumstances that help facilitate this, but I’ve still made the decision to walk this path—that was my choice, no one else’s. Honestly, it’s not super comfortable. I feel like a constantly-pregnant giraffe, except my young take rather longer to learn how to walk. But I’d rather it to the alternative. 

I am told by pop culture that I am supposed to feel old, because I am no longer a marketable sixteen-year old hormone-ridden singing haircut. That’s fine. While we’re on the subject, I’m told by other people, that because I was born a muslim, I’m supposed to feel “wrong,” “bad,” “scared,” or, I suppose, “foreign.” And then, ironically, I’m told by yet other people that, because I do not practice religion, including the one of my birth, that I should feel “guilty” or “ashamed." I care little for and heed even less the proclamations of those who do not walk in my shoes. I feel like Will Hunting in that scene in the bar: All that they say "may be, but at least I won’t be unoriginal."

And, I guess, that would be my humble recommendation to you “terrified 10%ers.”Dare to be original.” Har har, right? How many people say that to you every day? Ad execs, the world over. Insurance companies, credit unions, people who promise they’ll fuck you like a champion if you just give them your money? (Not talking about prostitution here, at least they’re honest about what they do--think about it.) How would any of these people know the first thing about originality? Your youtube bodybuilder wunderkind, here name one, I can name twelve off the top. Be original, they say, while they rattle off Giant Steps at a hundred miles an hour for the fiftieth time this month. The fuck do they know? 
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Not this guy. This guy knows plenty.
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Take it from me that those people haven’t the slightest idea what they’re talking about. How do you know if you’re being original? If you’re truly living in the world of new ideas? I don’t bloody know, I’m not you. But I know what happens with me. Firstly, I’m terrified. Every day I wake up and, as much as I know I’m on my path, I’m terrified. Blank, empty, white pieces of paper stare at me, and say, make me shine. How the heck do I do that? You tell me, how? I don’t know. That terror is the first step of this process. 


Secondly, am I doing everything well? If so, get the fuck out. Nothing proves the leading edge than that feeling that you suck at something. Not the “why am I doing this thing soul-draining thing that I hate” kind of suck, but rather, the “oh my god I really want to conquer this but I don’t know how or even if I ever will”-type suck. It’s like when you first learn to do anything that you adore doing, riding a bike, doing a cartwheel, writing fiction. There was a time when you sucked at those things, and the motivation to move past that stage of not knowing was pure art. 
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The last one is perhaps controversial: do you love yourself? Now. Here, I do not mean do you love the beauty within yourself and your connection with the heavenly force and the solemn, sad, splendid satisfaction that you feel from your own company and the inner knowledge of fullness and peace that you possess inherently. No, that’s awesome. Keep holding on to that. What I mean is: are you a self-loving twit? You know, like that guy on the charts, whose name is--OH damn, I almost slipped up and mentioned some celebrity by name—no, I’m not going to do that, it’s low-hanging fruit and it’s none of my business to judge people in particular, just, you know, the ugly qualities that some of them might inhabit en masse. 

So, you know, that would be the last tip I would humbly submit. Stanislavski, in my opinion, put it better than I could ever hack up, so I’ll quote him directly: "Love the art in yourself, and not yourself in the art." Put the art first. Always. That’s all I’m going to say; that’s all the needs saying, really.

I’m off to go write a song. Maybe one day I might record it. Maybe release it. Maybe I’ll do everything in line with what some of those influencers do. Create a social media campaign around it. Who knows? I feel a sense of freedom, a sense of openness, that I do what I do for the love of doing it. Thank you for being on this journey alongside me. 

Travel safe. Talk soon.

-AF

Title Inspiration: Anyone Who Had a Heart (Bacharach, David), Cilla Black
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Watershed 2020

12/31/2020

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itsyourturnblog.com
I’m going to keep this brief as, to many of us, this year has indeed been a bear, and I would be the first to cheer on and endorse time away from devices, social media, and even the internet—if possible, as 2020 draws to a close and its successor winds up to bat.

I think my primary takeaway from this year has been the annoyingly not-obvious observation that the future and the past, despite looking as though they are on a linear spectrum with one another, are very much not, and that the present moment can be used as a tool, at any point, to alter the trajectory of what comes next by making changes, even infinitessimal ones, to what is happening now. And I say this as someone who is by no means an optimist. But there were many realities at the beginning of this year that defined my life. A borderline episode landed me briefly hospitalized, and my intrusive thoughts (OCD) were putting me on a constant state of high-alert (I was registering them at 4-5 out of 5 every day), meaning I was spending most of my days with my eyes closed, at least when I didn’t have to have them opened. I had no idea how I was going to live through these symptoms for another year. 

We get to the end of this year, and my life couldn’t be more different. In many ways I don’t understand how it happened. How, somewhere along the way, did I start being able to keep my eyes open during the days. How is it that now I see life with a sense of calm, that when I read journal entries written by me from years passed, trying to make sense of all the pain and suffering that was going on inside every minute of every day, I don’t recognize that person, let alone identify with him. Yet I know I was him, that I am him. And that moment of recognition is always a little tricky, because if I am that person, then those feelings, the ones that overrun and sweep me away, the ones that make cooperative dialogue difficult and relationships impossible, the ones that think, every afternoon quite casually, that I would be better off dead than alive, are still inside me.

I try not to dance down this road too much. The prettier (or, in this case, more dramatic) the flower, the farther from the path. I have a good set of therapists now (as opposed to the one from Mclean who refused services to me because she was convinced having just met me that I wasn’t being serious enough about my recovery. Someone out there might call her a b****, but I know three female dogs personally, and, they are some of the nicest people I've met. So, she’s a dickhead. There you go.) In any case, I have a good set of therapists now, one of whom often reminds me not to look for silver bullets. And, despite my predilections towards doing so, I agree with him. We’ve discussed how progress is often a thousand tiny steps, or nudges, or anything, small and seemingly fleeting, the culmination of which can steer that steamship out of the way of that iceberg. Tiny, tiny steps. And thousands of them. I suppose, for me, the key was to develop a practice. To keep going, no matter how stupid I felt the work was, how little it helped me at the beginning, even days when I didn’t have faith, to bear down and do what little I could to forge a different reality, a different life.
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The other thing I take from this year is a sense of gratitude. I use that word a lot (thankfully, I think it does mean what I think it means).This is the counterweight to the above idea. The ability to look at everyday and just feel a sense of fulfilled contentment about the work done for the day. And the ability to lose that sense of goal-orientedness, to be able to laugh and smile and be in love with the journey you’ve taken, today, thinking nothing of how far away you still might be from your ultimate goal, letting go of grasping to things that will inevitably be swallowed by the forces of time: dark-colored hair, optical and aural acuity, effortless joint strength, a vociferous appetite, relationships, people, places, and things; these are all what I mean by gratitude. It doesn’t involve incantations or prayers or any kind of gobbledegook that ritualizes a process that is so deep and inscrutable that the experience of it really goes beyond expression. When I look into my darling dog Mia’s eyes and she looks right back into mine, I have no words for that moment, but I know it’s special.

So. Have an excellent start to 2021. I generally don’t like telling people what to do, but I might go so far as to share something I’m doing for myself this new year’s, which is: stop saying how 2021 will be “better” than 2020. I mean, seriously, folks. Why would you do it? WHY would you DO IT?! :) But seriously, for anyone who’s read this, thanks for sharing in some random musings of a random muso. I look forward to seeing you at some point next year, which I now graciously accept, free of expectation. 

Salut!

-AF

Wishing you all a HAPPY NEW YEAR 2021 :) 

Title Inspiration: Watershed (Saliers), Indigo Girls
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Please Release Me

12/24/2020

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mccall.com
Greetings. It is I.

Here is the year-end summary of 2020 #BlueDorian publications and releases. If you didn't get to check them out the first time, here's a list of all of them, in one place:

Commercial Releases

The following products are now available for sale at the bluedorian online store.
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  • Faerworld Daughters of Time, Season One, Episode One
  • Faerworld Daughters of Time, Season One, Episode Two
  • Faerworld Daughters of Time, Season One, Episode Three
  • Faerworld Daughters of Time, Season One, Episode Four
  • Faerworld Daughters of Time, Season One, Episode Five

Demos

The following music tracks are available to stream, either on their respective BlueDorian project page, or (coming soon) on Soundcloud.com.
  • ​Breathe My Air Today (feat. Renée Dupuis) - Continuity
  • We Can Have It All (feat. Renée Dupuis) - Ray of Sunshine
  • Make My Day (a cappella) - Vox Globale
  • Gwen's Theme - Daughters of Time
  • Vagabond (a cappella) - Vox Globale
  • Four Seasons Theme - Daughters of Time

Visual Art

The following illustrations and designs are available, to view, as follows:
Gwen (Daughters of Time, character design) - Daughters of Time
Cameron (Daughters of Time, character design) - Daughters of Time
Roya (Daughters of Time, character design) - Daughters of Time
Anneka - (Daughters of Time, character design) - Daughters of Time

Wishing you all a happy holiday season :) from all of us at BlueDorian.
All material is © BYIP Creative Media 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Title Inspiration: Please Release Me (Eddie Miller, Bobby Dean Yount, and Dub Williams), Engelbert Humperdinck
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In Other Words...

12/21/2020

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A busy year has been had by all at BlueDorian Media Entertainment:
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Though the COVID threat has kept us all bound to our homes for the better part of our days, mastering the art of remote communication has proven very much within the organization’s grasp, allowing an effective collaborative environment to be assembled from the ashes of our previous, in-person-dependent superstructure. As a result, with a little bit of front-end effort, this has been our most productive year to date.

New faces

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We have the privilege of once again being able to list Andrew Goldin among the volunteer members of our general creative team. Andrew brings with him decades of experience in the fields of operations and human resources, in addition to an unflinching love for and dedication to the creative arts. A talented artist in his own right, Andrew has already made his mark earlier this year at BlueDorian, as a member of the creative team for Faerworld: Daughters of Time.
Valerie Larsen, a seasoned vocalist and longtime BlueDorian creative partner, has taken on the additional role of associate musical director for this year's In-Concert performance of States of Matter (she is also performing in it, playing the role of "Music"). Valerie is an adept and natural leader, and brings intelligence as well as poise and confidence, not to mention proficiency with music, to her role as AMD. Over the summer months, she took SOM cast through its paces, all to great effect.
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Vocalists Anthony Rodriguez and Michael Spaziani brought both passion and competence at their craft to the task of bringing to life the parts of “Heart” and “Rhythm” respectively in States of Matter. We look forward to future opportunities to work with them and the aptitude and wherewithal they bring to the roles they play.
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And finally, last but by no means least, the project Ray of Sunshine brought with it two new vocalists to the BlueDorian roster. Michael Kassatly, a longtime collaborator with Adam Farouk, playing the role of “Dredd,” and Derek Dupuis, a fierce multi-instrumentalist in his own right, playing the role of “Ray.”
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The AFO - 2020

The AFO continues to be the main driving engine for BlueDorian’s live music curriculum, though this year we've traded in our typical late-year event for a series of "at-home"-style filmed performances. It has been once again a privilege and a pleasure to have on board such honorable and talented individuals as:

  • Tim Reppert (bass guitar, sound engineering)
  • Elizabeth Lorrey (guitars, keyboards, vocals, sound engineering)
  • Renée Dupuis (keyboards, vocals)
  • Dave Lieb (guitars, vocals)
  • Andrew Jones (drums, percussion)
  • Jenga (mascot)
Do check out their stuff—I’ve linked their names to their various respective web presences, and if you are involved in music or putting together a team for some creative project or other, I could not recommend them more (or, for that matter, any of the newer names on this list). They’re all awesome musicians and fantastic folks, doing great work at a time when the life of the creative artist is rife with more than its fair share of curveballs.

In addition to all these wonderful people, working on these projects brought us back in touch with a couple of familiar behind-the-scenes faces: i) Tim Bongiovanni, the wunderkind behind Northgate Studio, and ii) Ray Tarantola, music copyist to the stars and for good reason. It's always sheer creative goodness to work with people such as these who embody true professionalism, and we look forward to more opportunities to work together.

Recording Projects

We were back in the studio again after an eight-year hiatus. It's been a thrill to work with Anthony J. Resta and Karyadi Sutedja at Studio Bopnique again. I'm super excited to announce right here and now, in my trademark low-key way, that we'll be releasing, in the new year, five new tracks, a collaboration between our two studios: a studio release of "Seasons Come and Go," a new #AdamFaroukMusic single; and four live tracks from the AFO Performance "AFO 2016: Undivided - Live at the Lilypad": i) These Games We Play, ii) Light Up These Eyes, iii) Never Look Down, and iv) Passing Moments. Look out for more info on these releases in early 2021.
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As part of the process of putting these releases together, we've been lucky to work with some fantastic designers to put together collateral and cover and release artwork: Jay Nungesser, Daniel O'Rourke (Blue Fox Studios), Mark Field. Please check out their work, and give them a ring with your design needs!

Story Projects

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The Faerworld Universe continues to grow; Daughters of Time in particular has been cantering along, with five "episodes" available at the BlueDorian Store, and more soon to come in the early new year. We've also started a companion series to Daughters of Time and all other Faerworld titles, called the Apochrypha Enigmatis. I've been told to be sparing with what information I share(!), but suffice it to say, a compendium of articles, stories, and other miscellany, the Apocrypha is intended to enhance the reader's experience by providing backstory, context, and other vantage points from which to view the principal story.

In sum, despite (or perhaps due to) what the universe handed us in the form of a singularly absurd year, including a relentless pandemic medical crisis (I, like you I'm sure, still remember where I was when news broke that my state would be going into lockdown), global and multiple humanitarian crises, collective crises of faith, in leadership, in our own ability to see through prolonged periods of emotional darkness, 2020 ended up, somehow, as a year for the books.

Go figure. I suppose 2019 was a nasty year for me with a capital N, so maybe I'm just out of sync by a year. In any case, what I take home from this most of all is a real sense of gratitude. Being able to to stick to the itinerary that we set up for ourselves, in this year's early January, when no one could have possibly predicted how this year was going to turn out, took guts, and grit, and gumption, daresay it - a little greatness? - from everyone who showed up and made things happen, even when, any day, they could have quit or stopped walking or done anything other than participate, and no one would have blamed them.

I am humbled by their efforts, and filled with pride that I might call them colleagues.

Travel safe, and talk soon.

​-AF

Title Inspiration: Fly Me to the Moon (Bart Howard), Astrud Gilberto
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    at a glance

    Adam Farouk (born April 6, 1978) is a Malaysian musician, producer, writer, and entrepreneur, currently based in the United States. He is known for his integrative approach to the creative arts, and frequently infuses his works with unlikely combinations of style, influence, and genre.

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