Russian food is not bad, at least for these Russian Rock Stars (I can't speak for the general population). The next morning began what became a ritual for us. Wake up, wander two flights to the kitchen, and be treated to a bowl of some form of pork soup (I soon learned was a major delicacy there), some fruit, and wait to be debriefed for the day visa vi a cadre of interpreters. At some point Barry Alibasov (Russia's true rebellious and powerful James Dean - more on him in a second) would enter like Obama at a South-Side Chicago rally. I say that because you could just feel his power, his confidence, and charisma despite being overweight and in his mid to late fifties (unlike Obama of course). He got that way the only way you can in Russia - by bucking the system and winning. It turned out, that no less than 20 years earlier he was lead singer in a heavy metal rock band (I'll have to look at my CD collection to remember the name - though the average American, including me, wouldn't know how to pronounce it anyway). They sang anti-USSR- subversive music in the underground music scene. This made him a massive hero and the band got so popular he was plucked off the street one day and sent to jail for dissidence. This, as everyone, except dictators, know only serves to make them MORE popular and he instantly became a living martyr. When Glasnost kicked in circa the mid eighties the pressure to release him became so intense, he was reluctantly set free.  After that, and from what I could grab from the various translators and the few English words the guys in the band spoke over then next couple of weeks, Barry went on the become the not so creepy Russian version of Lou Pearlman (Think Backstreet Boys, N SYNC, and the poor members O-Town who seemed to get "tickled on the couch" a little too frequently for most viewers tastes on TV). The main difference outside of being clearly NOT interested in young boys, was that Barry loved music, and emerged from prison with the power and backing to create whatever he wanted. At the time, Europe was starting to see a resurgence of Boy-Band music (yes thanks in Part to Lou's Backstreet Boys) and Barry saw the financial writing on the wall. Out went the auditions for Na-Na and in came some of the most talented Russian singers, dancers, and instrumental musicians that the Vast former Soviet Republic had to offer. Let me just add to this, that after having gone on to see and work with the various US pop groups up close during my tenure in 2GE+HER, that Barry wasn't just searching for pretty faces and rock hard abs to sell albums. Since he had an entire country of young eager talent at his fingertips, he literally found and formed a band of guys that could all sing like Ryan Tedder (One Republic), dance like Justin Timberlake, and shred their instruments like John Mayer. What I was doing there, I immediately thought, was absolutely beyond my comprehension...I played a little guitar, fake danced ok, and could sing decent harmonies but only a few passable solo's which (in my own estimation) placed me squarely above O-Town, but just below N SYNC in talent... However they chose me though I'm glad because, as I said earlier, this was to be one of the experiences you get maybe once in your life if you're lucky, and is only marginally believable in written form, and would be totally unbelievable in any cinematic production. And this was only day two! Ok enough background. We were dutifully eating our pork soup when Barry emerged and started to hold court. Today's roster would include a dance rehearsal, and then another photo shoot (In an indoor studio this time) to make new posters announcing the newest member(s) - Soap Guy and Me for the upcoming tour. This began violations numbers 3 and 4 of the very explicit contract my agent so meticulously hammered out. I was only officially there to observe and to make a decision as to whether this was going to work out. According to Barry (who always does and gets what he wants) I was his now. Anyway, in preparation for the shoot they ushered us to a wardrobe closet full of clothes that were all 3 sizes to small and asked us to squeeze into a couple of outfits for tailoring. Immediately my voice became soprano, and I prayed they didn't ask me to try and dance in those jeans. Then came the explanation of the shower. In Russia (at this time) hot water was still very much a luxury, so much so, that the guys in the band still thought nothing of taking cold showers for the most part, but took great pleasure in explaining that they could afford one of the only hot water heaters on the block, and that we were welcome to try it out. The water was hot but for only about 2.5 minutes, which made my soprano voice return again... Hmmm maybe they wanted a soprano? Then we were instructed to put on sweats (thank god) and meet up in the dance rehearsal space where we spent about an hour learning the choreography for their current hit song and title track of their latest album PRY-KINDA. Again through translation, this song, like many of their's was lyrically tongue and cheek. The loose translation (I'm not making this up) is: "Good luck baby, cause you're so ugly, take a couple of bucks and go and buy two banana's and stick them where the sun don't shine." The music video for the song had the band members wearing louvered sunglasses that they could close to avoid retinal damage at the site of this ugly girl and dancing among various rooms full of banana peels. The dance moves we were learning were only slightly more modest than the lyrics would suggest. Then away we went via a caravan of sports cars (mostly mustangs they must have imported) on an hour or so drive to what seemed like the middle of nowhere, through un-groomed streets of high grass, garbage, abandoned buildings, and otherwise very drab, cold architecture. Now I was sure I was going to die - this was exactly what you picture doomed characters in a third world political movie experiencing as their last few moments. But yet again, I was amazed that in this seemingly abandoned building that we were ushered into, was a tricked out, full blown, photography studio buzzing with make-up artists, directors, and a lot of extraneous staff. Our bodygaurds waited outside with their uzi's - no joke. In the back I noticed what would become standard for every event or outing, a buffet of caviar in hollowed out hard boiled eggs, and other as-sundry Russian delicacies - including copious vodka, bottled water that tasted like sea water, and beer. As much as I would see these guys drink, eat, and smoke (Parliament's were they're preference) over the next few weeks and NOT ever work out besides an occasional hour or two dancing, I have no clue how they stay in peak physical shape. I had to force myself not to eat and, out of vanity, would slip out and do a hundred crunches and push-ups before they asked me to take my shirt off for any of these shoots. Shirtless was also standard fare for these guys. Even if I wore a shirt I was almost always instructed to leave it fully unbuttoned, which meant I spent A LOT of time sneaking out to do pushups and crunches! Whatever - My mom couldn't see me... After this photo shoot which must have lasted about 4 hours, we were driven home to the "castle" and were instructed to get some rest since we would start recording that evening. Just like in the United States (I found out that during 2GE+HER recording sessions) most musicians and producers -for some reason- prefer to record through the middle of the night. I think recording actually violated the 5th major component of my contract, at least if they intended to use it in anyway... Soap Guy couldn't have been in heaven more, and seemed to have absolutely no concerns or even the slightest discomfort over not having any clue what anyone was saying, and the bizarre disregard for our contract or the wacky way we were on call 24/7. All he seemed to care about was whether they would let him get a small poodle to take on tour with him -no shit! But his evident interest in taking the job (onus off of me) and otherwise confidence that we were going to survive this strange journey actually gave me some comfort - even if it was a false sense of security, and I would eventually find out it was! Though I couldn't sleep for even a second, by ten o'clock pm (I had since calibrated my watch correctly off of a bodyguard's watch) we were summoned to the top floor recording studio. For about the next 5 hours we recorded an English version of another of their singles "Tell Me Why," and a pop (English and Russian) version of a Russian folk song "Those Were The Days My Friend." In classic boy-band fashion - we would each take a solo and then bust out a few harmonies for the choruses. It took me awhile to get the appropriate pronunciation of the Russian lyrics, but I managed to their satisfaction eventually. Soap guy, it seems had been daydreaming about actually being Russian so much had very little problem faking that part. And, incedentally, he still continued to speak with a fake Euro-accent that hovered somewhere between French-English, and Russian English... It was becoming difficult for ME to understand this mid-westerner I had boarded the plane with at JFK only 3 days earlier! At any rate, I think because Soap-Guy and I looked so exhausted they let us go down to get some sleep (it was about 3am) but by the time the Elvis Phone rang for breakfast, we soon learned that Politav, and Hacimov had spent the entire night mixing the tracks and hadn't slept yet. They did seem happy with the results though. I also learned from the Busty Female Producer (Frenchie) that they had decided to cut three versions of each song, one with me in it, one with Soap-guy, and one with both me and Soap Guy...Just in case. My only thought was good - at least I may be able to escape without causing too much ruckus. I was sure, at this point, that Soap Guy wanted very much to stay in his new little fantasy world. I, on the other hand, was still very dubious, if not anxious. It was probably the third upcoming day that this slight distinction started to change everything for me and the way the band viewed and treated me....TO BE CONTINUED

Probably the the most memorable aspect of my first encounter with Ha-Ha (pronounced Na-Na - which means "Come and get it" in Russian Slang) was how matter of factly Soap Guy and I were embraced by the guys in the band. They didn't seem overly excited, but they were definitely not very skeptical either. My only conclusion after all these years is that their day-to-day lives were so far beyond my comprehension of "Normal" that to wake up and be told "Yeah we have a couple of Americans swinging out to be a part of your gig - perhaps forever" was actually not that big-a-deal to them. And it couldn't have been that they were once starving-line-waiters as children and now are so grateful just to wake up each day because I was able to determine, piece by piece, that most of them came from "The Chosen Pool" (as I like to call it) plucked from an early age to be trained to be Uber-Talents ala white nights and therefor well cared for....to some degree anyway. At any rate, I had officially strapped on the seatbelt (double shoulder aerobatic harness) for the ride. After the Red Square shoot, we walked with our entourage of - I was soon to find out heavily armed - body guards around Red Square, up to Lennon's Tomb, and down through the Arabat, Moscow's famous outdoor market place. This was the first time I learned the rule about American cash which reads: It's VERY illegal to use, and it's VERY desirable to obtain by merchants. I decided to buy a set of Russian Dolls for my Mom, (the ones that open up to reveal an even smaller doll several times till you have a little baby nub) whipped out my billfold of greenbacks and, all at once, was descended upon by not only every merchant in sight, but the bodyguards. The merchants wanted it and the bodyguards wanted me to put it away. This would be apropos for the way I learned everything for the rest of the trip. Back to the band's building we went and I was relieved not to have the crowds of crying, screaming, fans chasing us anymore. From this point on the fans (mostly young girls) would simply sit outside the building and cry and scream when we appeared in the window - a game Soap Guy and I played off and on until that wore thin too. I think the whole "parading us around Moscow" bit was an attempt by the producers to show us how big the band was already - maybe to intimidate us, maybe to impress us, or maybe because that was easier than just saying - yeah they're like the Back Street Boys in the US - which they also eventually said too. I have to admit that at this point I was very intrigued by the prospect of this adventure continuing, and my mind was constantly computing what it would or could be like. I'm sure the feeling of living in an isolated language/culture bubble would eventually wear off or even disappear, I knew I'd become fluent in Russian soon enough (being fluent in a second language was something I always wanted to be), and I knew the real money in music was in the US so there was never any doubt that their intentions were to get there - which meant for me - home. BUT, this was all very intense sensory overload and I had absolutely no idea how long all of the aforementioned would take and, after all, I left a lot back home in the meantime. All of this was careening through my brain as we were given a tour of their building (yes they owned a building) which included a recording studio on the top floor, a large dance rehearsal room, and several mini-apartments where each band member "lived." They led Soap-Guy and me down to the lowest floor and to the most opulent mini-apartment of all (in a strict early 80's sense). It was a large loft space with guitar shaped stairs leading up to the overlook area that Soap Guy immediately claimed as his room. On the main level was a pull out couch (mine) and I'll never forget the Jailhouse-Rock-Elvis phone on the bureau staring back at me. How perfect that I finally find a phone and Elvis is my only link to America! In 1997, cell phones weren't nearly where they are today in the US, and almost unheard of in Russia. This was a time when most people still used pay phones, we were all still clinging to our 1-800# beepers, and calling cards were the dominant source of connection long distance, and my next task was to figure out how to use this phone system and communicate to a Russian Operator to make the process work. I decided I'd take Elvis for a test drive and possibly wake up some Family back home (I didn't know what time it was on either continent - I hadn't seen a clock yet today...interesting). My first attempt at dialing out I learned that the phone was set up dominantly as an in-house intercom system and I reached the kitchen. I was trying really hard not to seem too eager to get a line out and looking back on it I realize why. From the get go, there was inherent tension between myself and the producers. My agent had battled with them so intensely (one reason I was told Soap Guy was there as insurance) that I think they sensed I had one foot out the door before I even got there. Perhaps for my own safety, or at the very least sanity, I was trying to placate the powers that be so that they wouldn't get angry that I was potentially wasting their time and money. Anyway, I decided I'd try the phone thing tomorrow and let Soap Guy figure it out if he wanted to. Our mini-apt had no windows, and because I had no idea what time it was otherwise (assumed it was early evening by now) I decided to try and sleep. I would soon deduce that not having clocks all over the place was likely another form of control the producers had over the band. Band members were expected to wake up when called, eat when called, sleep when called, do concerts when called, record when called, dance when called, etc... Jailhouse rock started playing a few minutes later and the voice on the other end of the line told us it was officially sleep time. Elvis had spoken and I was starting to feel like a prisoner now and it was only the first day still... (To be continued)....

At this point in my life I had three distinct circles of "advisors." One, of course, was the Agency I had been with for about two years and, more specifically, the aforementioned Agent within the Agency who clearly understood me as an opportunistic adventurist with the kind of drive that can be dangerous if not well directed, but always the guy with an interesting story at then end of it all. The two other circles were my work associates/friends (bartenders and regular clients/drinkers), and my family. My work associates seemed divided. Some saw this as an opportunity I couldn't miss and some saw it as insanity - after all the news was constantly flashing headlines around this time of Americans being killed in the crossfire of the Russian (Red) Mafia squabbles; like a major NHL agent for example - who happened to have been a colleague of my acting class partner's husband. Bill Cosby's son had just been murdered as well, though that was here in the States. My acting class partner, Nancy, begged me not to go. My family too was divided including my then girlfriend who, yet again, faced the possibility of me canceling another pre-planned vacation, and potentially a summer without me. My Mother and Father however both suggested I go for it surprisingly - even though the State Department had stark warnings all over the passport office (I figured I'd update the passport just in case). Hmmmm. A week had gone by with my Agent dutifully entertaining the ludicrous ovations from the mysterious producers that kept calling to "negotiate" and, to my understanding they were almost never the same person making the calls - varying between the French woman and two different thick accented men distinguishable only by their propensity to get very angry (one would warm up to it, the other apparently had a light switch temper) The one common denominator was the insistence by all of them on doing a "Friendly deal" based on their "word" and a "handshake" (I assumed virtual since I hadn't met either man, only "Frenchie"), the insistence that everything was extremly urgent and needed to happen "yesterday" (i.e. me fly out to Russia...indefinitely), and the not-so-ironic fact that the three mystery people all had very different ideas of what the "Facts" were when it came to this "good-faith" deal. I was, by this point, also very entertained by my Agent's absolute incredulity with it all, and I refused to let him let the "deal" die if only for the entertainment value to me - after all HE didn't have to take his shirt off and dance! By no means was there any indication that this was a well organized situation with people who were adept (or interested) in making legitimate deals - at least the way we understand them in the United States! The more my agent pleaded with me to turn this down, thereby letting him off the hook with the ridiculous negotiation, the more entertained and intrigued I became. And then there was Soap Opera Guy who at the eleventh hour seemed to be getting an offer to go to Russia to meet the band with or without me and had already said yes to ALL of their terms. On the one hand, if he really was to be my understudy or "backup choice" like they said he was - then the pressure was off me if I did go and then walked away since they wouldn't be left high and dry. On the other hand, this guy would probably see me as competition considering his eagerness to "get the job" and, if so, be out to make my experience rather unpleasant. So it was a week and a half later that I realized I had to put up or shut up and I had a real existential moment with myself sitting on a park bench outside the Agency. I realized I was primarily a bartender right now. I knew that for better or worse, this would be an adventure and a paid-for trip to Russia to boot. I had at least learned by now that this band was legit (at least big in Russia), and most importantly I had pre-defined myself in my own eyes, my friends eyes, and certainly the agency's eyes, as the "Guy who does things rather than talk about them." I had to go. I had 3 days to pack and I would be leaving July 4th, 1997. I wasn't quite sure yet if the date would prove to be an omen, but the possibility wasn't lost on me either. July 4th I showed up to JFK airport with a suitcase packed with all the metro-sexual clothes I could buy ahead of time (I WAS joining a boyband after all) and about 4 cartons of cigarettes (I didn't smoke but someone had told me that American smokes were like gold in Russia). I also had a secret zipper waistband pouch I wore just on top of my underwear containing the Moscow American Consulate's telephone number and address, a photocopy of my passport, and five one hundred dollar bills. Waiting for me at the airport lounge bar was Soap Opera Guy dressed to the nines wearing rock star sunglasses (Indoors) and toting a video camera. Yep this was already interesting. If you've never had the pleasure of flying AeroFlot in the late nineties, then you'll never know the awesome experience of sitting among a smoke filled plane in seats that hadn't been re-upholstered since the plane was born in the early 40's and with pilots who chain smoked cigarettes with the cabin door open begging the question of whether they could possibly see the gauges necessary to fly. I settled into my seat and began drinking heavily, not because I was particularly frightened, or even uneasy actually, but because that was what EVERYONE around me was doing and I was intent on experiencing Russia as authentically as I could. I guesstimate on the 11 hour flight that I must have also second-hand-smoked at least a carton of cigarettes as well. Needless to say, when I rolled off the plane half way across the world smelling like low-tide, and half smashed out of my mind, I was in no condition to work, and I didn't expect to. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Something strange also had happened on the plane as well. Somewhere over the Atlantic, Soap Guy (a New Jersey native I believe) had adopted a full blown Euro-Russian Accent) and would no longer speak like a native American. At first I thought he was kidding, then I considered I was just drunk, but when I asked him what was up with the accent and he refused to admit (WHILE STILL SPEAKING WITH IT) that he was affecting one - I knew I was REALLY in for an interesting trip. But I had a larger consideration ahead of me and Soap Guy and I did our best to make ourselves seem respectable when Frenchie met us at the airport. For the 45 minute or so ride we asked as many questions as we could and along the way learned that we would NOT be staying in any hotel as our agents had assured us we would. Instead, we learned we would be living in the Band's building with the band, and we would be doing a photo shoot in Red Square that afternoon (it was only 9am) after a dance rehearsal. It's funny what you are capable of doing when you realize you have no choice. I can't say I was totally clear-headed meeting the band for the first time an hour later, but after the cold shower (Hot water only worked from 7am-8am in this building) and after the dance rehearsal, directed entirely in Russian (I don't speak Russian), I was 100% clear headed by the time we did the photo shoot - even if my bloodshot eyes betrayed it! The last thing I can say about my experience up to this point was that only 5 hours into the trip our contract, which stipulated simply meeting the band and being observers for a week and then returning home before making any real decisions, was already being violated point by point. Hotel - nope. No shooting of any promotional material - Red square shoot only 5 hours after landing to promote a concert tour we were NOT supposed to be participating in - because...they hadn't agreed to pay us for more than that! This was the first indication that I was not in "Kansas" anymore and I could no longer count on anything that had actually had been settled in our -now useless- contract. I was on my own and Soap Guy was my only link to reality as I knew it and that was unsettling at best. My next order of business was to get to a phone... It would be three more days before that was possible. But, I was having the adventure of a lifetime and there is no doubt that I was going to enjoy the experience I had going while I had it! To Be Continued....

I'm going to make this a several-part series as the details of this bizarre adventure are far too interesting to leave out and the story is fairly complex and long. Yes, I was LITERALLY abducted by a Russian Boy band. It all started the beginning of the summer of 1997. I was at my local gym in Hoboken, NJ when I received a call on my cell phone from a rising star at my talent agency. He is the kind of agent that thinks outside the box and will buck convention when he sees an untapped opportunity and today one of those opportunities came through his fax. There was a currently successful Boy Band in Russia called Ha-Ha (pronounced Na-Na) that was looking to transition to the American market that was, at the time, being so generous to bands like The Backstreet Boys and N'SYNC. With Dollar signs in their eyes, the master plan (as far as we could tell through broken English filtered through French and Lebanese accents- more on that in a second) was to add an American face to this already seasoned set of five, drop one of the current members (for reasons we had yet to find out), record an album in English, build a new following in Europe for several months(Modeling Backstreet's business format) and then hit America with an over-the-top styled concert tour that would rival a Cirque De Sole' event, and as a result, hopefully sell millions of albums in a market where that could mean really big money. Interesting.... My agent, knowing I was the adventurous type, of course thought of me. Would I be interested in auditioning today at three O'clock before going into work at my bar tending job? And oh yeah - bring comfortable dancing shoes. Why not... So, off I went on the train with my guitar and sneakers towards what would become, by far, the most bizarre few months of my life. A journey that would end in a very similar way to the movie "White Nights" except with more mafia though the amount of dancing would be about the same... At the audition location on Lafayette street, I was asked to sign in and was then carefully looked over by a full-figured woman the way a hungry lion studies a pack of Gazelles. Eventually she spoke revealing a French accent and told me I'd be singing for them in just a few moments when the person before me was done. I tuned the guitar - and waited. About ten minutes later a tall Soap Opera looking guy came out and I was ushered into the empty room where there were about three people -including the French woman- sitting behind a large card table. So I launched into the Black Crows' "She Talks To Angels." Then they asked if I could do any R&B songs. So I did a few bars of the Boys To Men song "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday." Mind you, I'm no vocal gymnast who celebrates the art of meaningless riff -but I riffed as well as I could and I guess they bought it. They asked me if I could hang around for the "Dance" Audition in about a half hour, which... would make me about an hour late for work. After a few phone calls to my boss, agent, and a temp replacement for work - I stuck around and joined the growing waiting room with what appeared to be a well coiffed group of rather Androgynous looking guys. At this point I was becoming a little weary of exactly what this whole thing was about and when they herded us into the room together and asked us all to take our shirts off - I became very weary. But hey this was clearly a European Gig and they have a different take on things in Europe than we do here, so I obliged, grateful that at least I had come straight from the gym. Besides, based on the fact that I also happend to have been the only one to get the "Comfortable Shoes" memo (something that was taking on new meaning now by the predominance of "Loafers" I saw around me) I could easily outrun anyone here if the requests got really weird. But I was quickly reassured by the presence of a fairly well respected choreographer I had seen at several legit Broadway auditions, so... we began learning some standard group "Boy-band-esque" dance routines. Not being a formally trained dancer, I managed to respectably keep up and it was clear my style was on the "Raw" and "Street" side of things by comparison to the refined technique I saw pirouetting around me. After about 45 minutes of learning and presenting our routines to the peanut gallery, the French woman dismissed everyone but myself and the Soap Opera looking guy who had done the vocal audition before me. They had us wait in a separate room for a few minutes where I introduced my self and decided to see if he thought this whole thing was a bizarre as I did. He didn't think it was bizarre at all actually and by contrast seemed extremely eager to be picked for this opportunity explaining the he had researched the band which was (at least according to the Russian Community of Brighton Beach, NY) a hugely successful group. He showed me a few CDs he had picked bought with, as you would expect on the cover, the classic picture of five shirtless guys posing in that cliche' Boy-Band way reaching out towards the camera as if to say "I choose you." Frenchy then came and asked me to follow her back into the audition room again where I reminded them I was on a tight schedule to get to work. The French woman (Names intentionally withheld) basically explained her intentions in a very straight forward way all the while avoiding any details and carefully dodging any direct questions I posed. Her ability to understand English would become suspiciuosly impared everytime I questioned her... She told me they had chosen me for the band, that the other guy (Soap Opera Guy) was my back up choice -awkward-, and that they would need me to fly to Russia in five days to join the band for the beginning of the Summer Tour. They wanted my answer now. I couldn't keep from laughing out loud at the absurdity of their supposition, but I indulged them as long as I could knowing my agent gets paid to deal with this type of thing. On my way out I walked by the Soap-Guy and asurridly said "This one's All you man," a phrase that would come back to haunt me later on. I left for work absolutely incredulous from the whole thing and was certain now that this "opportunity" was a full blown candid camera set up. I kept waiting for the TV host show up and point out the cameras... He never did. I didn't go to Russia in five days...but... two weeks later I was on an Aeroflot flight to another planet... (To be continued) Evan

I never intended to be a musician. I simply wanted to be liked and to express myself and... in that order. I was in elementary school when it first happened. We were all assembled in the gymnasium when they announced tryouts for the first ever attempt at a school musical. Miss Willis was our Music teacher and I thought she hung the moon. Sitting next to me was my friend Chris Kelly. He was one of those kids who was full of confidence at an early age - something I was not. The Musical was Christopher Columbus and Miss Willis asked who would like to audition for the role. That's when it happened. My friend Chris turned to me and said Evan you should try out - you can sing. That was it. That moment has stuck with me since and I can tell you exactly where we were sitting, what the gym looked like, the smells, everything. In case you're wondering - I did audition and I did get the part, but that was nothing compared to having classmate say those words to me for the first time. From that point on I wanted to sing because I thought other's would like me for it. The second moment was a little more commercial. 2gether had proven to be a bonifide success though since we shot in Canada we had no idea how much so. Our record label wanted us to start touring to sell more albums and the first show they booked us on was Jones Beach Amphitheater in Long Island. When we got there we realized that we were headlining the show among other acts like Enrique Iglesias, and about 10 other bands of the moment, which meant we went on last. The first number we did was "Calculus" and I (or I should say Jerry O'keefe my character) was the first to sing. Our choreography had us standing facing the rear of the stage for the intro music and then one by one beginning with me, we would turn around t sing. I turned around and saw a sea of people, about 20,000 of them with lighters waving back and forth and then all of a sudden, I realized I couldn't hear myself in the ear monitor because all 20,000 were singing our song. That moment - I felt like had truly realized a childhood dream, and the experience superseded my imagination. That was the second significant moment I will never forget. The third is by far the most powerful for me. about 2 years after wrapping 2GE+HER and after a few other film, TV stints in LA, I moved back to NYC where I felt more comfortable. I wasn't sure what I wanted from my career anymore and I decided to put together a band to play some of the songs I had been writing. I held auditions which produced some of the best from NY primarily based on folks remembering me from 2GE+HER and the perception (I probably held too) that that alone would give us an edge over other bands at the time. From the auditions I found ZE Grey, a Brazilian wonderkind bass player with the heart of a Teddy bear and the chops to do anything he wanted musically. I couldn't believe he wanted to be in this band with me, but he said in broken English -"I just like your songs Dude." The first lead guitarist we found turned out to be a hothead and so Ze brought a friend he had been playing with in other gigs to the first rehearsal. Inti, from Venezuela looked like a bonified rock star - bald head Ibinez 7 string guitar, a pedal board the size of Texas, and an all-business attitude. And Brian the drummer (and first to join) had a great sense of style to add to his very diverse drumming acumen. This was our first rehearsal, only Brian and Ze had heard any of my songs (only one actually) and my biggest fear was that they would find me a fraud. I had Brian kick off a beat and I just started in on the first song to see how they would interpret it, and how well they could follow along. I repeated the intro twice before singing to get them in the groove and then started in with the first lyric. It's cheesy sounding I know, but tears filled my eyes when I heard them. I hadn't realized how vulnerable sharing a song you've written can make you feel. The rehearsal rooms where we practiced, face a giant mirror and I could see these musicians who were far far out of my own league talent and ability wise, not just playing this song I had written but really liking it. That particular arrangement they came up with on the spot as they followed me, had more passion and meaning than any other song I've ever played since. I felt "approved of." I felt honored, and I felt like I had finally made it. I might have fulfilled a generic dream by playing to a sold out amphitheater with 2GE+HER, but here, in this room for the first time, I felt actualized. I was a true singer songwriter, and I had a band who had my back. To me it really doesn't matter that, for many reasons - including me taking off to Host While You Were Out, we never became "rock stars" together. Yes that would have been cool and I wouldn't want to go down that path with any other band. What mattered was experiencing the greatest feeling on earth, and the fact that they are among my closest friends, and will be for life. Music has been a part of every great change in my life. Every change that has been a positive one for sure. I feel fortunate not to have the need to measure success when it comes to music by traditional standards. I couldn't imagine being a part of the thousands of bands out there that walk away from their passion simply because they didn't sell a million records, or they never got that record deal. The industry can and will eat anyone alive that chooses to measure themselves that way and the real tragedy is that the true meaning and purpose for music gets lost in the process. If music can't and/or doesn't make you feel great, then why bother. I didn't have to look past the album cover for Flame(see previous blog) to remind myself of that. Music is pure life in my opinion. With all that entails; beauty, passion, sadness, fear, highs, lows, and ultimately a catalyst for change - even if it just changes the way you feel in one moment the way it has through the course of my life. That's all for now...jumping off the soapbox now! ~Evan

There are those few moments in life when everything you thought you understood about yourself gets turned on it's head. One of those moments happend to me the day I met Michelle King, front person for the band Flame. (Click the name to go to their site!) My good friend and now business partner David owns a recording studio in upstate New York. It's the kind of recording studio you see pictured on the front cover of Mix magazine (in fact I think it has graced several covers) One day while I was there doing voice overs for While You Were Out, he played me some music he was producing from a band called Flame. He made a BIG point to tell me that the tracks were raw, just recorded live from beginning to end (unlike the punched-in produced music style today), and he wanted my opinion. I listened to a cover of Rocketman sung by this soulful female voice. For the first time I understood what that song was about - I used to think it was just about 1970's drug use or something, but her interpretation told a different story. One about being on the road, loneliness, isolation, the hang ups of success, losing your bearings, and not feeling grounded. It was really amazing. I was impressed but, then again David's a talented musician (world class drummer) himself, and a tremendous producer, so I assumed he was trying to impress me with his chops. Then he slid a brochure over to me with a picture of the band. My eyes were immediately drawn to the crutches, wheelchairs, the faces of down syndrome, and... the smiles on all of their faces. David said, "This is the band I just played you." Every single member had a significant disability crossing the range of conditions you'd imagine you'd find at a special needs center - precisely where this band was formed. On her way into the studio at this moment happened to be Michelle - the lead singer and guitarist. She looked like any other person, so I asked David privately what disability she had and David said,"...her GIFT was music." Pressing, he told me she had Autism - a condition I knew little about. She also happened to be a musical savant. She learned to play guitar on a very high level in a few months, she picked up the harmonica and was immediately able to play anything she heard back identically, and she has a steel trap repertoire of thousands of song lyrics, chords, progressions, etc... but she can barely hold a conversation with you. When I tell you this is one of the tightest live performing bands I've seen - it's no exaggeration. They express no stage fright, they live to play, and they don't have the distractions of other big bands like, drugs, obsession with fame, money, or manipulating groupies. Yes they have their issues but I haven't seen since, a band that played out of pure love more than this band. It was also the beginning of my affiliation with Autism Speaks. Wanting to run the NYC marathon to raise money for some charity (any charity), I quickly decided, why not Autism? I have no family history or connection to it, so it seemed an opportunity to contribute to a charity with no pretense as unselfishly as I could. In a way, Michelle was a casual link to my new found awareness and passion. Go to their site, listen to their music, read their story, and if you can, go see them live! It will effect you way more than seeing a thousand Bon Jovi, U2 concerts, or even a live aid combined!

~Evan Farmer

My name is Evan Farmer and I'm a musician. Actually, its one of my self-titles, but it's the one that defines my life...literally. Late in College, after spending the preceeding 15 or so years teaching myself guitar, song writing, and after trying to start many bands, I sat down and wrote a mission statement for the kind of life I wanted to lead and for the kind of legacy I wanted to leave behind. It's purpose actually has little to do with songs or music but in the lens through which I see life. At that point in time I had written perhaps a hundred or more songs, but had a handful that that I loved to play over and over again because of the way they made me feel. Most of the lyrics were written in such poetic vagueness that I couldn't have even told you what it meant at the time of writing it even if it came off sounding obvious. I guess that was just my style, but almost always a result of sitting down with my guitar and after striking a chord progression - just writing as fast as I could to get the song that seemed to be already formed out of my head and onto paper. As I got older, the meanings of these songs seemed to find me at a moment in time when I needed to hear it. I've had many moments where years after writing a song, I'd be playing it and stop and say "So that's what it means." It's almost as if a there's a second me in a parallel universe that seems to understand way more about my own life than the conscious me does and the advice and guide posts come through this subconscious stream every now and again.

So that's where music sits grounded in my world. I've been very fortunate to have had several careers in music. The first was a bizarre opportunity to tour with Russia's biggest pop band of all time Na-Na (a story I'll tackle down the road that is very involved but was my first arena tour. I literally went from bar-tending to an arena tour in 0.1 seconds and then back to bar tending - an example of truth being stranger than fiction... Shortly there after, I won the lead role in a film called 2GE+HER on MTV that spoofed boy-bands the way spinal tap did Heavy Metal. Unlike Spinal Tap our movie spurred a follow up TV series that led to 2 gold albums and Arena tour number 2, this time opening up for Brittany Spears when "Oops She did it again" (the first time at least) in 2000. As if my ascension to the big stage hadn't been unorthodox enough, I finally achieved my true goal since high school - I formed a band. Moving back to NYC from LA, I auditioned a bass player, Guitarist, and Drummer and started Evan's dream tour playing the hotspots of NYC like CBGB's and the knitting factory. It's strange that of al the experiences the only one I wouldn't trade for anything is the latter one. It was 100% non-commercial, non-hype, non-non. My brain can only hold a couple of quick memories from the big tours and a few moments of adrenaline that came with all the hype, but I still pour over the sensation of watching a barely larger than handful of people singing my songs with me, jamming with the best band on earth. But that's exactly what I think I meant when I wrote the mission I had for myself; "To write my own song and learn from the music."

So there you have it. That's the broad strokes beginning to the story of my love affair with music. Where it has led me has been the 20/20 -hindsight purpose for my continuous search - the result of learning from my own "music"(substitute life). Shortly after the success of 2GE+HER and with a legion of mostly female teen fans, I found myself in an interesting spot. I didn't like fame, yet I couldn't escape it like I did when I left Russia to come home. Around the same time my mother had been promoted to Secretary of the non profit - Susan G Komen Foundation as a breast Cancer Survivor herself, and it hit me. Finally I could be a draw to this event to raise money to fight a disease that targets young women (My fan-base). Finally I had a positive to counter balance the vacant uselessness of Fame I never really sought in the first place (I just liked music and all creative arts). for the 7 preceding years I had sung the National Anthem for Baltimore's Race for the Cure, but up until this moment it was (and this is a plain admission) simply to support my mom. All of a sudden I had a higher purpose. I could help women, I could help people, I had become a full fledged philanthropist junkie. I watched in awe the Baltimore chapter of the Susan G Komen, start with 3,000 participants and in less than ten years it had become over 30,000. I loved to see change on that scale and I wanted to be a part of it.

Since finding myself a new purpose - I began to embrace charity efforts all around me that didn't necessarily have to do with my Mom. I felt her spirit of giving was best promulgated through indiscriminate acts of charity. Through the years I came to be involved with several Cancer charities, the Tsunami relief, Katrina, and Darfur to name a few. Then, not too long ago, I was introduced to a remarkable young woman who suffered with Autism. Michelle happened to be a musical savant who could learn a complex instrument in minutes, had the voice of a soulful angel, and a flawless lyrical repertoire of 1000's of songs. She is the front woman for a band Called Flame based in upstate NY. That moment I knew that music had come full circle for me in purpose, meaning, value, and life. I signed up for and ran the NYC marathon (yes a first timer) to raise money for Autism Speaks. Two consecutive years of doing the marathon, and after being fully immersed with the organization with several events, I have a passion for raising awareness and money to research treatments, a cure, and to help with every day living with a disorder that effects a frighteningly large number of people around the world. I have since become close with many who directly or indirectly live with autism and I am proud to be in their lives. It was at the Nashville, TN (yes I live in Music City) walk for Autism that I was approached to write a blog, and thus continues on in the cycle of "Writing my own song" and in the end learning from the music.

Be sure to check back in regularly for updates and stories, I'll reveal hear exclusively about my strange and wild ride through the "Thing" we call the music industry. Thanks for Reading!

Gratefully,

~Evan

ps. this was not proof read and written a mach30...sorry for the many likely errors!