Category: Story

A Memory in Three Parts, Chapter Three

1/23/2020

Continued from Chapter Two...

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3) One Hundred Percent

We start rehearsals.

Okay. This seems like a good place to go back to the point about there not being a show, because we do keep landing on there, thus far with very little sign of finding any resolution. As mentioned, it wasn’t as though the show lacked content. We had songs. We had characters. We had scenes. We even had set pieces. What was it lacking?

There are two aspects to this question. The first one is fairly straight-forward, and, being so, was relatively straightforward to solve: the show lacked cohesion. The numbers it was missing were those that, somehow, turn rag-tag lists of songs into a show, or at the very least a song cycle or revue. As we began rehearsals, it soon became apparent that some sort of main through-line, and the basis of a main character, were being called for to help this happen. This led to the development of some of the more dramatically involved numbers in the show, including the You Can Make Me Smile/Departures sequence, the romantic duet What Would You Do, and the psychological nightmare Nocturne. It also became clear that, while not, strictly speaking, the story’s protagonist (this is one spoiler I’m not giving away today), Soul was indeed the main character of the show—the one through whose eyes we and the audience were to traverse the proceedings—and needed to be treated accordingly. It is at this point when I cannot help but recall, somewhere between rehearsal and rehearsal, in a half-hour flash of white fury, that the epiphany song When Tomorrow Comes came into being, and solidified the character’s role as group conscience, albeit at times a reluctant one.

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The second aspect of this question, or rather, how it was solved, has remained something of a marvel to me, since SOM went into its final week of rehearsals, even though I lived through it, second by hyper-aware second. Now, as mentioned, I had written the show as a revue, meaning it would be a collection of thematically-linked songs, scenes, and sequences, in the musical theater style. It was balanced in terms of where the peaks and troughs were, and the resolution at its conclusion was clearly delineated. We had added elements of theatrical flair, such as an airplane, built out of four stools, for the number With Wings to Fly, as well as moments to showcase the vocal virtuosity of the cast members, not to mention their dancing chops (Find the Sun, and Swing!) But on the night before performance, something about the show just wasn’t working. Fiona, our tireless director, called an emergency meeting at her house. The show’s ending, she was convinced, needed an overhaul. I was exhausted—we all were. We bundled up into enough vehicles as were needed to fit us, and headed downtown, ostensibly to save the show.

For my part, I had no idea what was wrong, nor what the solution was for it. I would imagine the same could be said for the cast. However, we’d come to trust Fiona implicitly over the course of rehearsals—she had never led us astray before, why would she now?

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We began to plunk out different combinations and permutations of how the ending three numbers would play out together, until at some point probably close to midnight, the idea appeared out of nowhere. Fiona instructed me to find a segue directly linking the fourth last (preantipenultimate, I suppose?) song to the closer, effectively erasing two songs from the show’s ending. I’ll admit, I was a little skeptical—it was a lot of music to leave out of a show that was already struggling to find its length quota. But, and this was the most significant moment that I would come to experience over the course of putting on this production—this wonderful, shoestring production—possibly one of the more remarkable collaborative moments I have experienced in my life: I simply trusted her judgment, knowing that this cut was going to make the show work, and, in turn, at least so I imagine, she trusted me, that I would be able to make that vision happen in a way that was authentic and satisfying. By then, folks had started to conk out in front of a silent TV screen with half-eaten packets of Doritos strewn across the coffee table. I put the finishing touches on the new arrangement, woke up the cast, and we ran it, once more, with feeling.

It was magical.

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As for the first—and only—performance, it went well, with hardly any hitch, which was a nice way for things to befall, given how much effort we had put into putting together a show, almost from scratch, with hardly a soul noticing, in under five weeks. The airplane flew, the tap number came together, the “blind” waltz elicited tears, the reworked ending even more so. What’s interesting to me, to this day, is what that “cut” (i.e. the omission of the 2nd and 3rd last numbers from the show) ended up doing. Rather than serve the audience a perfectly balanced meal on a silver platter, it made them jump a little bit, with a jarring switch of gears that, by rights, shouldn’t work, but, I’m finding out as I continue to grow as a creator, almost always does. The song Rain (the show’s closer) in light of this becomes less of a conclusion and more of a catharsis, as the audience struggles to catch up with the emotional roller coaster created by the sudden acceleration of the characters’ collective journey.

4) Live to Tell

Flashforward twenty years. I had plans for States of Matter. In the early aughts, I remember that I was hoping to workshop it, apprentice with preeminent theatricians in various places, exotic (well, places like Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, which, to me, would be considered less “exotic” and more “home”), and turn it into a “real show,” something that might be relevant beyond its years, a piece of immortality in a fleeting world. As the years passed, I was faced with disappointing reactions to the work. The Malaysians didn’t think it was Malay enough. The Singaporeans weren’t convinced it had relevance in Singapore. I started to wonder when it became acceptable for the identity of art to become so provincial—it would have been one thing, and possibly easier to accept, if consensus had simply been that my music was terrible. Eventually, I shut the project down, in favor of more commercially viable ventures.

Yet, every so often, I would take it out of mothballs, and look it over, maybe do some rewrites, sketch out a new song. In those times, I find myself having this ongoing conversation with myself, wherein I’d pose the question: isn’t it about time to say goodbye to States of Matter? To let go of this ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen-year-old show once and for all?

I think of Fiona’s revisions. I consider them deeply. I’ve become very clear on the fact that they were not only necessary, not only ingenious, but likely integral to the success of what I like to refer to now as “SOM 2000.” Without them, I imagine, that, while audience members would likely have still been supportive, I don’t think we would have seen the droves of moistened-eyed pundits urging their way into the green room to say hello to the cast and crew, who had worked so hard to create something so out of the ordinary that night. It was an incredibly emotional set of moments, put together by an incredibly rare combination of energies. I certainly was blind-sided, and I don’t imagine we’d be able to create this catharsis again.

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But maybe that’s just the point. We cannot recreate the magic that was SOM 2000, and perhaps nor should we. It will always have had its place in history. We have the memories, but the energy is long passed. We have all since been influenced by the ebbs and flows of time and the world song. We are different beings than we were then. What remains, if anything, of that SOM, are that which was written down, audio and video recordings of the performance, yes, but moreso, notated scores of songs, that can be read and learned by musicians, actors, and produced, and mounted on a stage. But to try and find our way back to that which was, in my opinion, would be folly. And maybe that’s all well and good.

Think of the experience of living history. I have friends who participate in this, and I have a passing interest in it myself. The idea of cooking a meal from scratch upon an open hearth to me holds in it an incredible sense of romance and adventure. So, one day I hope to create circumstances that will allow me to do such a feat, and, once done, have myself and my loved ones enjoy the fruits of our labors. But that doesn’t mean I have a wish to live in, say, the 18th century. I’m happy, in this case, to let the past be the past, while allowing, even chasing, for certain experiential aspects of this past to exist in the present. This is what’s called a dialectic, two contradictory poses that exist as one; life is full of them, and, I’m learning, the more of these apparent paradoxes I can come to understand, the more of them I can accept in life. And the more I can accept in life, the more opportunities there are, and the more options open up. At least, that’s what seems to make logical sense to me.

What is States of Matter, and what is its relevance in my life? On one hand, it’s a twenty-year-old piece of music theater that doesn’t particularly represent who I am now as a writer. Yet, and on the other hand, I have a great deal of love for it. And I do believe that, in all its sentimentality and generic inspirationalism, it still has things to offer in the marketplace of ideas, especially to young people or anyone who might be undergoing a process of loss of innocence, and a re-deciding of who they are, and, more importantly, who they would like to be. We are all the fearless explorer. We are all the shrewd pragmatist. We are all the turbulent psyche. And we are all the wise sage. We all wander through the rain, and we all long for home. This year we mark the 20th Anniversary of States of Matter’s first, and only, performance. In honor of it, we will be presenting, “States of Matter: In Concert”—an abridged version of the original show, in concert form, with select new material, and brand new orchestrations. Details to follow at bluedorian.com. We look forward to joining with you, in heart, music, rhythm, and soul.

States of Matter, The Company, from left to right: Jennifer McDonald (Music), Steven J. Engelbrecht (Rhythm), Elizabeth Geuss (Soul), Adam Farouk, and Bill Meakem (Heart); image courtesy JM.

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A Memory in Three Parts, Chapter Two

1/22/2020

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Continued from Chapter One...

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1) Sail Away

Flashback to the fall of 1999. I’m a newly reinstated junior at Cornell University, Ithaca, New York, having spent the previous semester on academic leave of absence, in order to, ostensibly, decide whether or not tertiary education was indeed the thing for me. In truth, a lot of me was still unsure, but for the most part it seemed like the thing to do, to keep me out of trouble, so to speak, and, in retrospect, given the influence my being-there has had upon so many factors of my current existence, it’s hard to imagine what my life would have been without my having returned as I did. By then, I had had several bouts of musical theater fever, and was firmly ensconced in its grasp. I found myself spending time with its practitioners, including dating, on, then off, then on again, then off again, a woman of rare talent in the field. Through osmosis and exposure alone, I found myself lucky enough to glean no small amount of education in what for me continues to be a noble and fascinating subject.

source: nystagereview.com

“States of Matter” had come a long way. Over the summer of 1999, I found myself in something of a writing glut, scratch-crafting songs that would go on to become some of the cornerstones of SOM, songs such as: Walking Away; With Wings to Fly; and Call of My Life—these titles may not be familiar to many of you, which, I’m realizing, is one of the reasons why I am writing this blog. But more on that to come. Over the fall, I took on my first major writing challenge, which was a mini-musical story that would eventually serve as the basis for SOM’s Memory and Visitations, Part One. I had long been a fan of R.C. Sherrif’s “Journey’s End,” and with more than a passing interest in World War One history, it felt natural, for me at least, to draw from both to create the backdrop for the Sail Away segment of the show. Unaccustomed, at the time, to writing music that served either characters or a story, writing the plucky young soldier, around whom the plot was centered, was fiercely uncharted territory, and brought with it no small complement of fears and concerns.

source: www.irishnews.com

Fortunately, I had not arrived at the gates of this endeavor empty handed. Over the years, I had been fortunate enough to work with some incredibly talented individuals in the arenas of choral singing and a cappella. Even more a blessing, however, was that, among this community, there were individuals who were as rapt by musical theater as I was. In this way, three of the four cast members of States of Matter were found: Bill Meakem, who brought a stunning, lilting tenor, and an irrepressible energy to the role of the idealistic conscript; Steven J. Engelbrecht, whose commanding and charismatic baritone, not to mention his dance prowess, perfectly suited the roles he was to inhabit, and Elizabeth Geuss, whose sassy and sagacious coloratura infused her part with all the wit and wisdom it was calling for. Fortuitous, and fortunate, it would turn out. To this day, I remember nervously bringing sketches of Sail Away to Bill’s apartment, and playing them in so tentative a fashion as to border on contriteness. Thankfully not only were the eyes and ears supportive, but yearning, as I was, for involvement in an original work.

Sail Away was originally intended to be part of First Edition’s introductory showcase, to be held in December 1999, but for whatever reason, it never happened, which was probably all well and good, as it allowed the mini musical to be workshopped without the pressure of a looming deadline. In the meantime, songs continued to be written and workshopped, such that by the time winter break rolled around, myself, our producers Edmund Quirin and Rice Majors, and the three-quarter cast we had assembled had just about half a show under its belt. Of course, it was around this time when I also learned a very important lesson when it comes to production: better to have one thing done one hundred percent, than to have ten things done ten percent.

source: sg.news.yahoo.com

Why, you ask? Fast-forward to 2000. It’s five weeks to curtain up, and, yup, you guessed it: we have no show.

2) Music

Now, by this point it should be clear, that when I say we “had no show,” rather than the total, complete absence of anything resembling a work of theater, what I actually mean is something a little bit different, linked—perhaps unsurprisingly—to the “very important lesson” mentioned above. Indeed, we had added to the inventory of working songs, including both the opener and closer, respectively: Just One Look, and Rain, the latter of which was based on the very original chord structure I had come up with, all those years ago, at Interlochen Arts Camp. We had found ourselves, in Fiona Santos and Jason Brantman, a director and stage manager with unquestionable bona fides, who were both, for some reason, willing to step onboard for the cause and take the helm of a novice production of a half-written show by a first-time composer. (When put that way, it seems almost foolhardy, like some sort of theatrician’s fear-factor challenge, the kind of thing that isn’t considered complete until someone’s devoured a whole raw fish.)

The most glaring omission at this point was the role of “Music,” one of the show’s four principal characters. We had already gone through two performers for the role, one of whom was a one-time stand-in for the ill-fated First Edition showcase, and the other of whom passed on the role in favor of a part in a concurrent student organization’s production of “The Lion in Winter”: understandable, even if I was a little incensed at the time. Backing up—over winter break I had put significant effort into the show’s opener: Just One Look, and it was then when one key component of the show was solidified: there were to be four cast members, two men, two women, and each character was represent one of four “states,” namely: Heart, Music, Rhythm, and Soul. Don’t worry too much about what this all means—it’s a bit like the characters from the movie “Inside Out,” except derived from metaphysics rather than from emotions. This becomes one of the key precepts of States of Matter, in addition to which is the idea that all of these characters are created equal. Among them there is no top billing, and the casting of the show must reflect that, which, at present, it did.

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Flash forward to the spring. We’re starting to panic. We’re going through a comprehensive list of candidates the likes of which would make an election year blush. Fiona, our fearless director, has stepped in at times to play the role, and while she’s convincing, we all know it’s no long-term deal. The idea is even floated to me that my girlfriend at the time might step in and play the part. Now, she’s a professional actress, with years of training under her belt, while the current members of the cast, talented and dedicated as they are, are ultimately student amateurs. Such a disparity in experience and practical knowledge of the craft would only serve to highlight any inequality that may exist between them, in addition to going against one of SOM’s core precepts (see above). It’s a glaringly obvious fact, one for which I gain no points whatsoever in pointing out to her. No big deal, I’m told, by everyone; the fact that I find myself newly single by midsummer is surely just coincidence.

We finish going through the list, and no one is particularly suitable. The actors won’t handle the intricate musical numbers. The singers are lacking in character. I’m about to lose hope, when who do I run into in the university chapel’s basement (a common hangout for choral singers—trust me, it’s not as weird as it sounds) other than one of my oldest of college friends, who quite literally walked up the slope with me on the first day of class: Jennifer McDonald, who, I’d often thought, would have been a shoe-in for the part of “Music,” with her clean belt and natural sense of introspection, but for the fact that this was, ultimately, a student production, meaning cast members would have to balance academics, social lives, and other competing extracurriculars. Aware of her full schedule, I simply didn’t think to ask, until the date of the production started to loom, ever closer, and politeness was swiftly trumped by practicality. We needed a full cast; the worst that could happen was that she said no. Once again, whatever the driving force behind her taking on well more than a student ought to in a single semester, the production was blessed by her decision to participate, as it was too with now SOM veterans Bill, Steve, and Elizabeth, who were playing Heart, Rhythm, and Soul, respectively.

Continued in Chapter Three...

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A Memory in Three Parts, Chapter One

1/21/2020

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It was late January, the year 2000, and who could have ever predicted that such a rag-tag crew of haphazardly-organized, multi-passionate but painfully-inexperienced wannabe producers would have grown into a steadfast company of creative entrepreneurs, bound and determined to bring to life a theatrical production, whose success, be it artistic, financial, or otherwise, was far from assured. The presentation in question was an experimental musical revue I’d been writing on and off for the past three, or six, years, depending on to whom you spoke. By winter’s end, still 2000, the fledgling student organization “First Edition Productions”—who was mounting the production—had found itself a director, a stage manager, a good three quarters of the cast, the band (such as it was—one single pianist), a producer, and a venue. The other components, it seemed, could still be picked up along the way, with ample time for rehearsal before curtain up. There was, however, one small problem.

There was no show.

Flashforward twelve years. The Mayan apocalypse approaches, and I’m inventorying my body of work as part of a comprehensive website redevelopment effort. The lead designer, going through the list of current BlueDorian projects, arrives at a collection of documents grouped together under the three-lettered acronym: SOM. I’m asked about it, and I clarify that SOM stands for “States of Matter,” which is a show I wrote, back in college. A follow-up question is posed—nothing pointed, just to gather more info on the subject; I’m asked: That’s a twelve-year-old project. Does it still have relevance in your life?

www.mynorth.com

Flashback to the summer of 1995. I’m attending Interlochen Arts Camp, a jumbled mess of emotions (me, not the camp—I take that back: also, at times, the camp), playing piano for one of the institution’s jazz bands, alongside a charming, kind, self-possessed young lady named Norah, who, unbeknownst to all of us at the time, was slowly preparing herself for when she would eventually go on to become a worldwide superstar and leading expert in the field of a mellow, mellow, oh so mellow, jazz. Meanwhile, I’m spending most of my time trying to figure out life, without ever pausing to think about whether life ever took the time to try and figure out me. My closest friend at the time is a consummate New Yorker, with an ascerbic tongue and offbeat sense of humor. We bond over the original score of the musical “City of Angels;” he introduces me to the William Finn masterpiece “Falsettos,” and a firm friendship is forged.

We decide per breakfast one day that he and I should collaborate together and write a musical. Naturally, we decide on coming up with the title for this magnum opus first (priorities, priorities). Unable to conceive of any better means for such a vital task, the method we settle on ends up being a game of word association. Somehow, from goodness knows where, we stumble our way to the phrase “States of Matter” and decide that it is fitting, which is saying very little given that we’d yet to decide on subject matter. But with the grand excitement of a new project to sink one’s teeth into, by the end of the next week, I had put down the basic chord structure to a song. My thinking was that my collaborator would finish it, by writing its lyrics. This was not to be. By then, he had made plans to withdraw from the wooded cabins of northwestern Michigan, and return to the pulse and fervor of the Big Apple. I shelved my new creation, not thinking it likely I would ever see it again.

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I remember the question as though I were being asked it today: Does States of Matter have relevance in my life? It—the question—tingles up, in, and around my brain, like a hyperactive triangle player, filling me with dread and incertitude. Earlier that year I’d brushed it off as a possible put-forth for some theater festival or other. A colleague of mine, whom I was speaking to on the phone at the time, validated this decision, responding with something along the lines of: Yeah, you don’t want to submit something you wrote in college. I was quick to agree back then. Now, as I find myself on the precipice of what will be States of Matter’s 20th Anniversary year, I discover that I am less assured of my convictions, wondering instead if there is a place, not merely in memory, but perennial, for this piece of barely pre-twenty-first-century art, in all its heartfelt theatrical naiveté, a place in the world dialogue, as we all stumble along together through the beginnings of a new millennium, a place in our hearts as we each take one step closer to finding the sun.

Continued in Chapter Two...

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You May Ask Yourself...

9/25/2019

AF Thoughts from April 8th 2019.

source: https://www.fool.com

My Dearest Mack and Tosh,

Thought it would do to be back in touch. These are in all likelihood going to look a little different moving forward. How? No clue. Just a hunch. In any case, the end (i.e. the entirety) of last year was quite hectic, what with the worsening health issues, and also the move. We’re settled now, here in Concord MA, where, fingers crossed, we’ve found ourselves in a situation with a little more stability. (*spoiler alert*: We did not.)

BlueDorian continues its step-by-step march to bringing new and awesome things into the world, its current focus being steeled on the Daughters of Time story project, which mostly involves a lot of typing. I never thought the notion of tens-of-thousands of words would be appealing as an aspect of professional practice, but the reality of it has very much grown on me, and, until we find adequate means of creating anything more complex, say an illustrated novel, comic book, or animated series, it seems that eBooks are an honest and smart bed for successful project completion, at least in a way that is manageable and satisfying, in addition to feasible, for the team.

- Daughters of Time -

Cameron

Gwen

Roya

Anneka

I do miss the creative jamming that comes with ensemble work (AFO went on medical leave (mine, not theirs) starting September of last year. To that end, one of our goals is to reform one or more version of a “new” AFO, later this year. Last year the ensemble repertoire diverged into two distinct sets: a more “traditional” rock-pop set, and an experimental electro-pop one, which was very exciting, but also tricky to sustain, as, being an entirely new type of beast, no one knew exactly how to communicate with it—with only a handful of songs (pieces, really) in the repertoire, and no scores per se, there was scarce material with which to populate rehearsals, leading to feelings of positivity, but, when it came down to it, very little productivity.

Still, I in many ways preferred performing in such an ensemble, as it side-stepped the aspect(s) of performance that give me greatest pause, which is lead vocal work—which has always been a source of great anxiety and ongoing trauma, and to which I find great peace and satisfaction in my recent decision to adopt of a stance of acceptance towards it, rather than continuing to spend the rest of my life trying to fight through. Also, the AFO, being a “rock band” in the more traditional sense, requires of it a “front-man” approach, to which I find myself more and more ill-suited (as can be judged by the style of this writing, which, frankly, is much more “me” than, to wit, “Hellooo Cincinatti!!!”).

As a point of nostalgia—if you can call it that—I was made to give a lot of speeches when I was younger, suffice it to say I grew accustomed to the “talkie-talkie” that being a singer-songwriter, and then, later, front a band, necessitated. But I’ve always hated it lol; I much prefer the role of playmaker and occasional featured soloist—preferably keyboards, my first love—to anything else.

Anyway, the thing that holds me/us back is the fact that we will not realistically be able to embark on any such project without at least two additional members of personnel, one to be the project’s manager (coordination of various aspects and logistics), and the other to be its artistic director (facilitating rehearsals and coordinating audio/visuals). Not having these roles filled while trying to produce the scope of project worthy of the time it would take to do it (might be a bit circular there—getting up earlier and, while perfectly alert, still not entirely used to it) will without a doubt result in major burnout for all parties in the current team; none of us are willing to put both health or the quality and success of any at such risk ever again.

So, we’ll be keeping a sharp eye out for people who are able and willing to do this sort of project in those capacities. And I suppose, my dear friends, if any one you know might fit the bill, or if you yourself are motivated by life and ready to be part of something awesome, I believe there’s probably a contact form somewhere around this site—you are most welcome to employ it to that and any other worthwhile purpose: you never know what conversations can lead to what.

In the meantime, our to-do list remains full and fulfilling, with a happy dose of self-competitive pressure as we intensify and accelerate towards our first eBook release for Daughters of Time (DoT). Yes, did I forget to mention that earlier? I probably intended to ;) I am so, so excited about sharing these characters, this universe, and the opening steps of this story, with you; after four years of development (granted, not just of this story, but pretty much the entire universe and cadre of easily a dozen stories that go with it—see, I’m tantalizing, sorry, marketing) and what has felt like eons of chasing away demons, it finds fixed form in the magic of .epub. This is the culmination of years of people telling me I would never achieve anything in this field, that, as a musician, I should know my place and leave the writing to the writers, and me, somehow, finding either the will or sheer bolshery to summon the words of everyone’s favorite “Dude” and say:

source: https://www.gamespace.com

From the twisted weirdness of my warped mind, to you lovely people. Enjoy.

And a final shout-out to the fine musicians, artists, and practitioners who made up last year’s AFO. Please check out their links and show them some love; they are just brilliant people and fantastic musicians to boot: Tom Appleman (bass, vocals); Renée Dupuis (keys, vocals); Andrew Jones (drums); Dave Lieb (guitars, vocals); Elizabeth Lorrey (management & coordination); Elizabeth Geuss (producer).

Travel safe and talk soon.

-AF

source: https://www.liquor.com

Title Inspiration:
Song: ONCE IN A LIFETIME
Artist: TALKING HEADS

Enjoy! -AF

Watershed 2014

12/31/2014

This has been one of the toughest years I have experienced to date. And also, somehow, it has been one of the most fulfilling, and one of the happiest. It is possible this is all part and parcel of the process of retaking my life. January was a month-long wakeup from a decades-long stupor, realizing that all the things I thought I was were actually lies, that I had concocted to keep myself trapped in a system of thought wherein I could never gain enough momentum to find my potential, let alone shoot for it, let alone achieve it.

For so long I thought I was wrong. Simply put together badly, incorrectly. And somehow, in this light, the best recourse seemed to start again, just press the reset button, and, if you believe in that sort of thing, hope the chips fall better next time. Hey, it works in video games. Sometimes. But this sort of thinking was, again, against social codes of conduct, no matter where in the world you are. You don't feel depressed. You don't feel suicidal. You certainly don't feel depressed, suicidal, and murderously rageful at the same time, not unless you're a comic book character with a big clown-smile on your chalk-white face. If you're not that guy, then what you do is you suppress whatever you feel with witty banter and clever comments, and hope to fit in. You get a friend, or a girlfriend or boyfriend, maybe a string of them, heck maybe a string of them at the same time, and you hope to fit in. You do what they--whoever they are--tell you to do, and you hope to fit in. But in the end, all this stuff isn't you, so you end up feeling, and probably acting, like a fucking moron, and you hate yourself more for it.

The tricky situation here is that it is often difficult to spot who is and who is not going through this, exactly because of the above situation described. I, for example, was peppy and outwardly positive enough that, on occasion, I had folks leaning on me for strength and direction, which, I should add, I was happy to attempt to give (it made me feel validated), but that I had absolutely zero capacity to provide in any way that was healthy for anyone in that situation, least of all me. Luckily I never figured out exactly how to press that reset button, or maybe I just never decided on the method in time, and thankfully, the keen eyes of an attuned, empathic, and self-aware human being got to me before I could do anything idiotic.

Meds have been an interesting kettle of fish. I stopped writing blogs mid-year, for a number of reasons, some creative and happy (more on that later), but the other was for time spent just needing to keep track of how things were progressing medically. After a near scare with lithium toxicity towards the end of the year ("So, my hands aren't supposed to be numb all the time, then?"), which incidentally, is nasty if and when it happens, things have leveled off to a good equilibrium. I'm still getting used to the ongoing periodic blood tests. You know, if I'm being honest, I always thought myself above the healthcare system, so this is perhaps a good ego check (you can't yoga or exercise your way through everything), and I can't but feel blessed and thankful, for so much. The weird thing, though, about all this is that, well, lithium toxicity is, as mentioned, nasty. In fact, with a large enough dose, lithium is fatal. My medication, it seems, that which facilitates my reemergence into the world with a greater sense of capability and self-command, is also a poison. It is chilling to me that that which would, in the past, have been a means to the reset button that I longed for, has become a different sort of liberator, one of the gift of healing, rather than harm; light, rather than darkness.

Well, enough about that. The past and present are moving further apart for me, and that is a blessing. The one thing that still plagues is what apparently are called "intrusive thoughts." Now, this makes it seem pretty harmless. Unfortunately, as always... For me it's been visions, uncontrollable, of violent and painful self-harm. That's about as far as I'll go in terms of detail, so don't worry. The challenge is that these thoughts can be triggered by anything. I'm making toast, I'm driving down a one-way street. Then all of a sudden, bang, one such thought-stream occurs. It's unpleasant, yeah, and, if driving, dangerous, but it is especially difficult when the imagery is so strong as to become debilitating. I tell you: not fun. If someone had told me this year I'd find myself doubled over on a daily basis, head in hands, unable to get up, practice, get any work done, because of incapacitating day-mares, I would have been very skeptical (I realize I'm paraphrasing here, for all you Mass Effect fans out there). Anyway, very interesting. It's basically taken months of what feels like Jedi-style mental practice to create effective firewalls, shields, and a capable arsenal of tools and counter-images to allow me to basically just get up in the mornings and get shit done. But, the shit, as it's said, is getting done, so, and you'll hear me say this a bunch: I am thankful.

So, if you see me twitch randomly in the middle of a conversation, now you'll know why :)

Now, for those of you still here lol, onto the fun stuff.

This year had seen something of a boom, creatively speaking. It makes sense. I haven't been spending all my time trying to keep rogue emotions and thoughts in check. It stands to reason it would allow for more time to be spent, I don't know, actually doing my job. Yay, doing my job. Anyway, so the major thing of awesomeness was the development of AFO (the Adam Farouk Orchestra, if we must). Those who were around last year will remember its re-debut after a few years of dormancy, with a roster comprised of some fantastic local musicians: Tim Reppert, Jeff Berlin, Raleigh Green, and Kelly Riley. This year, I reconceptualized a little but to emphasize guitars and voices, and moved to an ensemble that I haven't really seen much of around (no idea why, it's an awesome combo!), of three guitars, one bass, all musicians being vocalists, and no drums (which incidentally, is more of a challenge than I had anticipated, especially with rhythmically demanding music, and while everyone is singing in counterpoint, yeah seriously, wtf is wrong with me?!)

But, as mentioned, this is a super fun concept, that warrants some developing, so we'll likely be building on this in the coming year. I'm tempted to add keyboards and drums, just because I love the big sound, but there's a lovely purity about this setup; we'll see. We were fortunate enough to be able to video and record our last rehearsal of 2014 (December 6th), and so far initial soundbites sound great, and we're looking forward to checking out footage next. Keep an eye out for clips of this on youtube (and elsewhere) sometime this year!

The AFO 2014 roster included at various points: Elizabeth Lorrey, Tom Appleman, Nate Leavitt, Tim Reppert, and Raleigh Green. Live-jam credits: Tim Reppert (sound); Chris DeSanty, Seth Wood (video), Elizabeth Geuss, Andrew Goldin (production), The Inner Space, Brookline MA (location).

Finally, last but not least, I got back into the writing chair big time this past year. Really, it was like I caught a fever, and the only cure was more cow-bell. Except I couldn't find a cow-bell, so I started writing, and that worked pretty good. The first half of the year was spent redelving (#mymadeupword.com) into Heart, Music, Rhythm, Soul, specifically, repurposing it as a series, fleshing out the characters, and finding a new sense of purpose in a story that's been near to my heart for over a decade, since the original States of Matter went into production for the very first time, all those years ago. Look out for more news on this project next year (2015). But the biggest news has to be the genesis of an entirely new project line. It's spanking new, so there's not that much to share, and in any case I'll be sparing, given just how mutable details tend to be at this stage of the game. What I do know is that it will be a Faerworld story (i.e. fantasy); its working title is Daughters of Time; and it will follow the adventures of a team of four super-powered heroes, as they journey down that treacherous path that is self-discovery, while fighting against incalculable odds to stop unstoppable foes from destroying the world. I'm looking forward to this one. My Joss Whedon-roots are showing here as well lol. I've been feeling moved to do a story with a strong all-female team for a while, and I am definitely buoyed up, even at this early stage, by working on this project. Definitely keep a look out for news on this one! And if you don't see or hear anything, feel free to bug me :)

So. We made it. This has been a year to survive, but also a year in which to thrive, and to celebrate, whether in joy or defiance; but either way, to stand up, or leap in the air, or simply raise your arms, and declare, I am the light. No darkness shall stand in my way. I will shine all that I am, across the universe, over and throughout this world where I dwell, and I will be me, and I will be heard, and together we will sing the song of victory. Happy 2015.

Thanks for sticking with me. Travel safe, and talk soon.

-AF

New Demo - Be Right Here (from "Open Mic")

2/19/2012

FEATURING VALERIE LARSEN ("MICHELLE")

And then there are those projects you really take your time with…

I guiltfully sat down to do a proper mix on this song, remembering full well that I had intended to post it to the blogstream sometime in late 2011… no, wait, 2011? Something about that doesn’t seem right…

Oh, because I had meant to post this song sometime in LATE 2010! Erk!

And this rediscovery only when I opened the ProTools file, and saw that it read “Be Right Here DEMO 2010-10-23”. Very embarrassing, though props from me to me for having an organized labeling system

In any case, here it is. I opted for a more raw approach than I was going for originally, which I feel allows Val’s natural expressivity to shine through more clearly (So, you see, it was good that I waited so long *snigger*)… more on this below.

Adam Farouk's Official Blog

A Memory in Three Parts, Chapter Three

3) One Hundred Percent

4) Live to Tell

A Memory in Three Parts, Chapter Two

1) Sail Away

2) Music

A Memory in Three Parts, Chapter One

You May Ask Yourself...

- Daughters of Time -

Cameron

Gwen

Roya

Anneka

Watershed 2014

New Demo - Be Right Here (from "Open Mic")

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