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Sunday night after the last Studio Tisch performance of We Outran the Sun, we took down the canvas and projector, removed gels from the lights, locked up the piano and moved it out of the theater and into a small rehearsal room. I can now say that I’ve done a one person show, even if the character I played was myself. Though it blurred the line between concert and theater, I suppose other characters did share the stage with me through the projections and music. The performances went really well, a bit daunting but also thrilling. Having something come to life from your imagination is an incredible experience, and to borrow a phrase from my friend Krista Hoeppner, I think it was worth seeing (words I try not to use lightly). The first show felt a bit like what I imagine skydiving to be: after much preparation, you force yourself out of the plane and try to enjoy the scenery. As the nights progressed I worried less and less about whether the parachute was going to open.

(With a little editing, looking back at the 3 year old version of myself)

I went out for a drink with my friends Gabe Ebert and Lena Hart after the first performance. We were all in a production of Much Ado About Nothing a few summers ago at Chautauqua.  Gabe and I also played a lot of music together that summer, including a medley of the Death Cab for Cutie song I included in my Universe Project and the Sufjan Stevens song “Chicago,” which we played at Bratton Late Night.  Gabe recently understudied the role of Ken in Red, the drama about Mark Rothko which won the Tony for Best Play this year, and he also is a fantastic guitarist. We talked about what it takes to create and produce your own work, how it involves equal parts inspiration and stubbornness. To a certain extent, in both art and life, sometimes you have to will something into being. You work and you create, and through a sheer force of will it can become real.

Strangely, everything is back to normal here in New York. After a few incredibly busy months and a weekend of surreal performances, I can cross off an item from my list of things to do before I’m 30: seeing something I’ve written get produced. I’ll be recording a Comparative Religion textbook for the next two weeks or so, and then will be flying home to spend time with my family in northern Michigan at Arcadia (where I worked summers in college with Dave Beck). From Michigan, I’ll fly directly to North Carolina. I’m returning to Triad Stage in Greensboro, where this fall I’m playing Tom in The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams. Not only is it a theater I love to work at, but it’s also one of those classic roles I’ve always wanted to play. I’ll “pack up my life in box” just like in the lyrics to the portrait of Eva and Leo, and spend two months working on that beautiful play. I’ll also have central air conditioning in August, which is not to be underestimated.

(Under the GW Bridge before taking promotional photos ©2010 Michael Heck)

A few people have asked me if I’ll continue blogging. I hadn’t planned to; the idea behind the blog was to promote and document this particular project. It’s also much more work than I imagined, a bit like writing a short story every day. I may return to it in a more intermittent fashion, adapting it into a personal blog, but for now I’m planning to take something of a break. I do also think the project will have a continued life beyond this initial workshop production. Mike filmed the Saturday performance, both a static shot from the back of the theater and also additional footage on his handheld HD camera. When we get an edit of the performance, I plan to use the DVD to submit the project to different theaters and also for particular grants. Since the project is mobile, I can easily perform it when I travel to theaters out of town as well.  I’m not quite finished trying to outrun the sun.

Many, many thanks to everyone who has followed along, from casual readers to those of you who signed up to get the posts as emails. I really meant it when I said that you’ve been just as much a part of the process (and intent) of the project as those who were able to come to a performance this past weekend. I also want to thank Michael Heck, my friend and collaborator, without whom I could not have created this piece, at least not in its current incarnation. My hope is that We Outran the Sun made people reflect a bit about their own friendships and relationships, and also about the fact that it is possible to will something into being, to create something where there once was nothing, to outrun the sun.

(Artwork by Dave Beck, from the original photograph by Michael Heck ©2010)

We outran the sun / Found ourselves where we’d begun

We are still the same / And yet somehow more ourselves

And the sun, it slowly catches up with me

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When I was a boy, I would always go to my grandparents’ house in St. Joseph, Michigan for a week each summer.  My grandfather Clyde Herbert Carlson worked for the Whirlpool Corporation for 40 years, first on the assembly line manufacturing washing machines and later in the tool shed, basically a supply closet where people would go when they needed equipment at the factory.  Throughout his years at Whirlpool he repeatedly turned down promotions because he didn’t want to leave the factory floor, he didn’t want to leave behind the other guys.  The tool shed was the perfect place for him, a destination where everyone would end up during the day at some point to get the supplies they needed.  My grandfather was a people person, and this particular job brought him a fair amount of joy.  I of course never knew him as a Whirlpool employee, he retired before I was born.  But I always admired the way he could talk to anyone and everyone.  During the week I spent with him and my grandmother Eva each summer, we would inevitably end up at the grocery store at some point.  We would start out together, but my grandpa would always wander off about half way through the trip.  We would find him at the end of the checkout line sitting on a bench, talking to whomever was there, regardless of age, gender, or ethnicity.  He had a way with people which seemed so easy and free, both disarming and charming.  He could talk to anyone.

(My grandparents Clyde and Eva Carlson, during World War II circa 1944)

The longer I stay in New York, the more I understand the daily social patterns people create.  Visitors often get the impression that New Yorkers are rude: no one makes eye contact, everyone seems to be in a hurry.  I’ve grown to realize however, that much of controlled interactions that typify New Yorkers are defense mechanisms.  If you stop and say hello to everyone you pass on the street in my hometown, it may add twenty seconds to your day.  If you do the same in New York, you will be bombarded by Greenpeace advocates with clipboards, panhandlers asking for money, and practitioners of Falun Gong.  In the Midwest, you have a car with a frame of steel to separate you from the world, in New York we have to create that separation ourselves.  Or do we?  I went to Kmart on 8th Street this week to pick up a few odds and ends, and when I got to the checkout line I thought of my grandfather, and they way he could make anyone feel like they were his equal.  When the clerk asked me, as everyone always does, “How are you?” instead of saying good or fine, I looked her in the eye and I said, “You know, I’m tired.”  She looked at me as if for the first time and said, “Yeah, me too.  I can’t wait until my shift is over.”  I asked her when her shift was over and she laughed and said she had just started.  I smiled and added that I knew the feeling.

(My grandparents at their home in St. Joseph, Michigan circa 1999)

I constantly hear about the futility of trying to change anything, that no one person’s impact amounts to much at all.  But the small moments of connection we make in our lives, those honest and truthful moments where we truly share ourselves with another person, they change and fracture the course of a day and eventually the course of a life.  I saw my grandfather do it time and time again, and as I get older I’m trying to figure out just exactly how he managed it.  I think with time and patience, I’m starting to get closer; I’m trying at least.  St. Joseph, Michigan is on the shore of Lake Michigan, and my grandfather took me to the beach in the summers as well.  I would swim in the water and he would sit on the beach and worry, wearing a long sleeve shirt and pants.  He would yell out to me when he thought I was in too deep and he constantly remind me of the rip tide. Dave Beck (“I Can Breathe Underwater”) and I worked together at Camp Arcadia in northern Michigan, which is also on the shores of Lake Michigan.  The sound of the waves evokes such tranquility and calm for me.  Like my grandfather’s example, it’s something I try to remember as I make my way through the crowded streets of New York.  It also found it’s way into the portrait of Dave Beck.  Tonight is the final Studio Tisch performance of We Outran the Sun here in New York, and it seems fitting to share the mp3 of that song.  Just follow the link below to listen.

I Can Breathe Underwater by Matthew Carlson

Tonight will be the first night that someone in a portrait will be at a performance. Gretchen and Freddy are coming tonight, and Stacey and Chris will be at the Sunday performance.  I sort of can’t wait to share it with them, but it has also brought to mind the people in the project who won’t get a chance to see it.  I have two more performances of this workshop production as part of Studio Tisch, and I fully intend for the project to have further life.  For example, I hope to do it this fall when I’m back in Greensboro, NC to do a play at Triad Stage.  The project is mobile enough, just me at the piano with my laptop, that I hope to take it to different theaters when I work out of town.  No development needed, only a small theater or cabaret space and a few hours of tech and I’d be ready to perform.  And of course I’d love to have a run at some point at a theater in New York.  All in good time I suppose. So there certainly is a chance that the other people in the portraits will get to see the project.  But it’s also made me think that I’d like to share a bit more of their portraits on the blog in the interim.

(Myself, Kevin, Lanny Green, and Shaina at a Wizard of Oz rehearsal in 1996)

Kevin Beebee, a high school friend who played the Tinman to my Scarecrow in the first real piece of theater I performed (not counting elementary school musicals) came last night.  We used to play Canon in D together on the piano before each performance.  About a month ago I also saw Shaina Allen when she was here in New York with her husband.  She played Dorothy in that same production of The Wizard of Oz.  The audiences have been a mix of people from all different portions of my life, as well as – of course – people I don’t know.  But having Kevin there, who was a part of the very beginning of my life as an actor, meant a lot to me. And of course, turned my thoughts back to my high school friends who are featured in “Right Foot to Red Circle.”  Watching the interviews every night in performance and playing the songs, it really feels like I’ve seen or spent time with the people in the portraits.  I called Dave Beck today, and it was strange to think that they haven’t been having the same experience.  That of course will change tonight.

(Shaina Allen and I fourteen years later, about a month ago at a bar in New York)

But for my high school friends, who are scattered across the country, I thought I’d post the projections that accompany their song.  Below should be a link to the projected film that plays while I’m performing their song, “Right Foot to Red Circle.”

Like most children who learn the piano, I wasn’t always the most willing student.  I got tired of practicing, I wanted to play sports, I had moved on to other instruments.  I was eventually allowed to stop taking piano lessons after the 8th grade, something I still regret somewhat.  When I did take piano lessons, I worked my way through a series of pieces by the Italian composer Muzio Clementi.  Clementi was a contemporary of Mozart and Beethoven, but you don’t hear his sonatas at the concert hall very often.  Talk to anyone who has spent some time as a piano student however, and they will probably be able to hum a few bars of the Clementi sonatinas they were forced to learn as children.  Bouncy, somewhat schematic and technical, the Clementi sonatinas have been fodder for piano teachers ever since he wrote them.  The beginning of the portrait of Chris Grant, “You Only Live Twice,” includes a faux Clementi introduction and interludes that contrast the more rock and roll verse/chorus structure.

(L: Stacey Linnartz, R: a portrait of Muzio Clementi by Aleksander Orlowski)

Last night I played the song cycle for the first time in front of an audience.  I haven’t really thought of myself as a pianist in a long time; it’s listed on the special skills section of my resume, but it’s not the first thing that comes to mind when someone asks me what I do.  Yesterday though, I sat at the piano and played for about 75-80 minutes.  Well maybe half that, since the projected interviews also take up a good portion of the show.  I played everything a bit faster than I planned, which tends to happen when you add an audience and suddenly have your nerves to contend with.  But it was great to finally share the project with an audience, and for the most part I was really pleased with how it went.  I had somehow forgotten how personal the project is, and again heard afterward from people how they felt they knew me better.  So if you want a crash course in Matt Carlson, I suppose you should head to the Shubert Theater tonight at NYU.

(Winged Victory, which inspired the projections for “It’s Okay to Break”)

I slept in today, finally got groceries (there was nothing left in my cupboards), and cleaned my apartment (my parents are coming to see the show this weekend).  Seemed strange not to be editing film or rehearsing or writing lists.  I’ll probably go for a run, and then head down to the theater.  I haven’t shared the portrait of Stacey Linnartz until now because I never had a recording that I thought was good enough.  A couple days ago I recorded this demo, and I’m satisfied enough to share it with you now.  It’s become one of my favorite songs to perform.  The title is “It’s Okay to Break.”  I think my piano teacher (and hopefully Clementi) would approve.

It’s Okay to Break by Matthew Carlson

Well, here we are.  Opening night at Studio Tisch.

(Lighting by Kate Ashton, Set by Damon Pelletier, Photos ©2010 Michael Heck)

Tonight I’ll perform We Outran the Sun for the first time in front of an audience.  I wrote the first song almost a year ago, long before I had any idea of the larger framework.  While I was writing the second song, I began to think that it would become part of a song cycle in the somewhat archaic tradition of Schumann and Schubert, a series of portraits.  In February I brought in the first seven songs to the Grad Acting Alumni Writer’s Forum.  I invited some friends to come listen to what I’d been working on, and help give me some feedback as to what exactly I was creating.  I didn’t know if it was a concert or an album or maybe, just maybe, an evening of theater.  Freddy and Stacey were there that night, and someone else mentioned how interesting it was to know the songs were about actual people. The spark of the idea behind the interviews began that night, as a way to incorporate the people in the portraits more tangibly in the performance itself.  Ben Graney also mentioned that the songs made him want to shoot music videos for all of them, and looking back on it, that’s exactly what we ended up doing.

Before I left for Vermont to do My Ohio, I met with my friend – the filmmaker Michael Heck – and asked him to be a part of this somewhat undefined project (a project I didn’t yet completely understand myself).  We brainstormed ideas at a cafe in Chinatown, and then I left to do a musical in Burlington.  I did the first interview in Vermont, on a Flip Video in my hotel room at the Green Mountain Suites, with my good friend Dave Beck.  When I returned to New York, Mike and I began an intensive two months of filming and editing.  We also received DVDs from my friends who lived outside of New York: from Michigan, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Germany.  I met with Kate Ashton and Damon Pelletier, who agreed to design the lights and set.  The last few weeks included many hours of editing footage, both interviews and projections.  Now suddenly, I’m in a theater again, sitting at the piano.  I started this project at the piano, and now I find myself there again.

If you’re in New York, I hope you can make it this weekend.  If you’re not in New York, thanks for following along.  Know that you’re just as much a part of the project and the process as those who will sit in the theater tonight.  Also, another look at the multimedia: the James Bond sequence we shot with Chris Grant, to accompany the song the closes the show, You Only Live Twice.  Enjoy.

http://www.vimeo.com/13238355

I love running in the rain.

When I left my apartment yesterday for a run, I didn’t plan for it to be in the rain.  The sky was overcast and the air was cool (or at least cooler than it has been), so I decided to lace up my running shoes and strap my iPhone to my arm.  Among the many fancy things my iPhone can do is track my runs with GPS and give me a read out of speed and distance.  It also holds a fair amount of music, and so it has become my constant running companion.

(At work this week in the Shubert at NYU, photos ©2010 Michael Heck)

Mike and I were in the theater until about midnight last night, watching the subtle changes we had made to the projections and interviews during the day.  We also watched the loop of introductions for the first time together.  Without taking too long to explain, the show begins with a video loop of each person in one of the portraits introducing themselves.  The loop will start before the house even opens and continue in the preshow until I walk onstage.  Today, however, is about lighting.  Heather is writing cues in the Shubert right now, so I took the opportunity to come out to the lounge here at NYU Grad Acting and write.  Later this afternoon I’ll run through the whole piece for the first time.  Everything is moving so quickly, and yet at the same time, it’s happening exactly as we planned.

As I started my run yesterday it began to rain.  I pulled the sleeve of my tee shirt over the arm band that held my iPhone but decided to keeping going; it had enough protection from the rain, it would be fine.  As I continued to run the six mile or so route I take through Riverside Park, it began to rain harder.  I usually find running in the rain exhilerating, but my mind kept returning to the expensive piece of electronics strapped to my arm.  I wondered how much my sleeve could really protect it from the rain, and whether the damage would be covered by my warranty.  As I began the last mile or so, it began to downpour.  And suddenly I laughed at myself.  There was no further way I could protect my phone, so what was I worrying about?  I had made my choice to keep going and there was nothing else I could do, so why not just enjoy that last mile in the falling rain?

To a certain extent, I’ve already met the goals I set out when I started this project.  I wanted to make art that was personal, and I wanted to share the creative process with people who might not know what goes into the work that I do.  Now of course I’d love for this project to have a further life, to have a run at a hip Off-Broadway theater, to record an album of the material and find myself in Rolling Stone.  But my initial impulse, to create art for and about my friends, I’ve done.  After Gretchen and Freddy watched the projections and audio I posted of their portrait, Freddy texted me and told me that it was something that they would have forever, that they would show to their children some day.  Nothing I’ve ever made has had that kind of permanence, or frankly, that kind of impact.  People all across the country are following along via the blog.  Like my iPhone in the rain, the rest of it is a little out of my hands.

We moved into the theater yesterday. 

I can’t begin to tell you how thrilling it is to see something that started in your imagination materialize in front of you.  I’ve only had this experience a few times, usually when actors sit down with a draft of something I’ve written at a reading.  Suddenly the characters you’ve written, who have lived only in your head or on the screen of your laptop for months and months, appear in front of you breathing and speaking.  The initial reading of my first full-length play home, sweet (the project that has brought me a little attention as a writer) was like this.  I had written the first draft while performing Romeo and Juliet in DC with Chris Grant (“You Only Live Twice”).  I had a fairly small role, and once the play was open I had my days free to write.  I often write characters specifically for people I know, and had written the central role of Jerry for Michael Stuhlbarg (“A Soft Spoken Serious Man”).  He agreed to do the reading, and I reserved a room at NYU Grad Acting, invited a small group of people to listen to the play, and then suddenly there in front of us were these people that had come from my mind.

(With designer Damon Pelletier, hanging the canvas, ©2010 Michael Heck)

Yesterday was a bit like that as well.  We moved the piano into the theater, hung the projector and the canvas, and everything started to come to life.  The canvas Damon has created for the projection surface is beautiful and subtle: a collage of notes and letters and pages of lyrics that brings to mind a Jasper Johns painting.  After most of the technical work had finished, Mike and I stayed in the theater to watch the interviews, to see what they would be like on a screen larger than our computers.  What we saw was that during moments where the screen is filled with white light, the images in the canvas pull forward.  For instance, during the interview of Gretchen and Freddy, the white walls of their apartment seemed to be collaged with the notes and letters on the canvas.  I couldn’t have been happier.

(Attempting to play along with the projections, ©2010 Michael Heck)

After watching the interviews with Mike and taking notes about length, continuity, and sound, I sat down at the piano to try and play the songs to the projections we have shot and edited.  This is something I’ll be practicing today as well when we get back into the theater.  I think it will work well, but it does take a certain amount of timing.  We edited the projections to demo mp3s of the songs, so to a certain extent I have to know when exactly to start playing, and then try to keep the same tempo.  I played through the portrait of Chris Grant a few times last night before getting it quite right.  I imagine I’ll have to do that with most of the songs.

So I’m pleased.  Also, a little surprised that I’ll be sharing this with an audience in a little more than 48 hours.  Trying not to think too much about that just yet.  That will become real soon enough.  Until then, here is another glimpse into what we’ve been working on: below is a link to the projections that accompany the portrait of Christine Mild, “After Apple Picking.” 

http://www.vimeo.com/13300420

When I was home in Michigan, I got an unexpected reintroduction to an often underappreciated sense: smell.  Having recorded a psychology textbook or two, I know that smell is the sense most closely tied to memory.  Most people experience this when someone prepares a favorite childhood meal (this was certainly the case for me Friday when my mom made Swedish meatballs).  In New York, your sense of smell becomes a bit overwhelmed, especially in the summer.  Cole Porter even wrote a lyric about the unique summer smell of NYC trash in his song “I Happen to Like New York.”  But the smells that remain on my mind today are of freshly cut wood and freshly cut mint.  The programs at the wedding I attended this weekend weren’t made of paper, but rather very thinly cut wood that gave off the aroma of cedar.  And as I drove to and from the wedding through the fields between St. Johns and Pewamo, the car filled with the smell of mint.

(My sister Stephanie and I after the wedding, in front of a corn field)

I always tell people this when I talk about my hometown, that if you drive along the backroads in late summer during harvest, you can smell the mint in the air.  I haven’t experienced this, however, since high school.  St. Johns, if childhood lore is to be believed, produces 75% of all the mint used in chewing gum.  In August, it hosts the Mint Festival and even crowns the Mint Queen (I knew a few of the beauty pageant winners in my day).  The weather was beautiful this weekend, the sky large and blue, with clouds like cotton candy.  Driving north on Francis Road toward M-21, we passed several fields being harvested, combines slowly obliterating large swathes of plants and filling the air with the smell of spearmint.

Kurt Cobain, the troubled but brilliant rock star who led a sea change that left America awash in grunge music, killed himself while I was in high school.  The singular sound of grunge rock, its volatility and its honesty, made the phrase “pop music” into dirty words for my generation.  Nirvana, the band led by Cobain, and their Seattle compatriots Pearl Jam defined the style and attitude of the early 90s. They gave us searing, distorted guitar riffs and also flannel shirts.  I was always more partial to Pearl Jam, but Cobain gave us what will probably be remembered as the anthem of the 1990s: “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”  I still think it’s a remarkably poetic title, and it’s not taken from the lyrics of the song itself.  What I didn’t know until a few years ago is that Teen Spirit is a brand of deodorant.

(Kurt Cobain, lead singer of the 90s grunge rock band Nirvana)

I’m back in New York now, and begin performances of We Outran the Sun this week.  The music of the song cycle falls somewhere in the vast continuum between Cole Porter and Kurt Cobain.  As we continue through this July heat wave, the smell of trash will permeate New York and I’ll certainly need some deodorant (though I have more of an affinity for Old Spice than Teen Spirit).  But all of these smells, from fields of mint to a city full of trash, make up a part of me, just each of us are the summation of our memories, relationships, and experiences.  I’ve been sharing some of the relationships that have shaped me through this blog, and will do so in performance this week.  I hope it’s made you think a little bit about the people who make up the tapestry of your own life.

You Only Live Twice was the 5th James Bond film, with a screenplay written by Roald Dahl of all people.  Dahl is best known as the British author who wrote such beloved children’s novels as Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and James and the Giant Peach.  Released in the summer of 1967, the plot centers around the hijacking of two different spaceships: one American and one Russian.  Each country blames the other, thus bringing the world to the brink of World War III.  Our dapper hero however, still played by the singular Sean Connery, realizes it must by the Japanese who are to blame.  The soundtrack to the film is performed by none other than Nancy Sinatra.

(The orignal promotional artwork for the 1967 Bond film)

I knew none of this when I originally wrote the portrait of Chris Grant, “You Only Live Twice.”  When we were brainstorming what to shoot for projections to this song, Mike mentioned the Bond film offhand.  I immediately knew this was the idea we needed to use, and that Chris would be more than game to shoot a short James Bond sequence.  Thursday we spent maybe an hour backstage at the Nederlander, on the roof and in the alley, up and down the fire escape, filming footage of Chris in a black suit and sunglasses.  The contrast between his interview and projections will be rather stark.  Chris wears an eye patch and a WWII helmet during his interview, and had spent the evening with his friend Jameson.  For the projections, Chris is a super spy in a crisp black suit and black sunglasses, ready to save the world.

Below are few stills of the two of us from the shoot.

(The sequence of Chris doing kung fu is not to be missed, ©2010 Michael Heck)

(Myself and Chris after the shoot; nothing says cool like sunglasses, ©2010 Heck)

I flew back to Michigan this morning, in part to surprise my sister Stephanie.  Her sister-in-law Becky Kowatch gets married tomorrow, and about a year ago Becky asked me if I would sing at her wedding.  At the time I told her that I would love to, but I that rarely know my schedule very far in advance or even what part of the country I may be in.  When I set the dates for this project, I knew coming home this weekend would be possible but perhaps a little hectic.  Yesterday I finished editing projections for “It’s Okay to Break” and then shot footage for the song about Chris Grant at the Nederlander Theater, where he currently understudies Johnny Cash in the Broadway musical Million Dollar Quartet.  Unbeknownst to me when I wrote it, his song shares a title with an early Sean Connery James Bond film, You Only Live Twice.  So Mike and I met Chris at the theater and shot footage of him running up and down the fire escape, kicking open doors, and looking pensive in a black suit and sunglasses.  Basically, we shot a mock opening sequence to a James Bond film, which will accompany his song.  I went home and packed (carefully placing my nice black suit into a backpack, which will need some ironing before tomorrow), and then got up this morning at 5:30am to get myself to LaGuardia.

(High school lunch table at St. Johns; I’m the guy with too much gel in his hair)

I met my niece Audrey for this first time this afternoon.  She’s a little more than 3 months old and adorable, with brown hair and brown eyes; she will be very attentive and serious, and then suddenly break into the biggest smile I have ever seen on a child that small.  The wedding is not far from my parents home near St. Johns, so my sister and the kids are staying here as well for the weekend.  Eva walked around with a plastic storage container on her head and said she was an astronaut.  I read Leo a storybook about firetrucks.  Having talked on Skype regularly since last seeing them at Christmas, they weren’t as shy around me as they usually are when I first get back.  My dad is out mowing the lawn on his John Deere riding lawn mower right now, and all three kids are taking naps, leaving me a little time to write.

Michigan is usually a blue state (the influence of unions is strong) but conservative values are also important.  I drove past cornfields on my way back from the airport, and my parents still live on the corner of two dirt roads.  So it seems fitting to share with you another edited interview, or actually an edit of several interviews.  “Right Foot to Red Circle” is about my group of friends from high school; four of them were able to put themselves on camera across the country and send the interview footage to me in New York.  Now that I’m back in Michigan, they’ve been on my mind again.  Below you should find a link to the multimedia portrait of Chad and Kari Rehmann, John Whitlock, and Alana Weingartz that will accompany their song in performance.

http://www.vimeo.com/12943478

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