Episode 34: Never Stop

"Evergreen.
Growin' up,
but fading 
never."

— Jan Kincaid, 1991

Legend says that during the height of Beatlemania, bassist Paul McCartney occasionally disguised himself as an elderly man or member of the press, comically equipped with a grayish beard or mustache and walking cane, hoping to elude screaming fans and autograph seekers on his days off. And though my ever-so-present celebrity status in The Republic of Bulgaria, the 14th largest European country located in the Balkans, doesn't come close to Beatlemania, like Paul, I've often contemplated a similar disguise in hopes of relieving the regularized rubbernecking.

One might imagine that after three years in the Sunflower Capital of The World, native Bulgarians would have gotten used to a coffee colored American dude hanging around town by now. But whether I'm grocery shopping, taking a stroll, or simply relaxing on the balcony, my infamous celebrity status is as potent as the day I arrived. 

On the positive side of the stotinki, the attention I receive in Bulgaria — or anywhere else in Europe, has never been negative. In fact, 99.9% of the time it's all good. Ahem . . . especially here, when it's coming from some of the most strikingly beautiful women I've ever laid my baby brown eyes on.

Despite the unwanted fame, me and the 1# most strikingly beautiful woman in the world — better known as Sarah — are still enjoying life in Bulgaria and don't plan on packing it up anytime soon. She's still passionately committed to fighting the good fight — and I'm still passionate.

And at the tail end of April, after visiting my fifth Bulgarian-based cave accompanied by a troop of unstoppable students and a long-awaited live performance from the world's first great retro funk band, I finally got the chance to see what it feels like to experience life in Sofia as an average, everyday Bulgarian citizen with zero celebrity status. Well, sort of. Read on and see how close I came . . .

"You see things that 
make your big heart sing.
Like the flowers, trees 
and pretty things."

— Dallas Austin and 
N'Dea Davenport, 1994 

SPRINGTIME IN SOFIA WAS SWIFTLY approaching; a sure sign graduation day was nearing at the American English Academy — one of three American schools in Sofia where I'd been enjoying a second year teaching art, dance and my first crack at academic courses — including world history and journalism. 

Before the world's most important school event next to the prom could take place, the eager anticipation of Ski Week, a Spring break tradition which had been previously canceled due to this year's record breaking snow storm, had finally got off to a proper start.

Unfortunately, the warm April weather didn't cut it for skiing, forcing school officials to opt for a cave outing instead. Since moving to Bulgaria, a country with a good share of superb subterraneans, I've developed a taste for cave-diving. And with zero experience sliding down snowy slopes, I had no qualm with the replacement.

This wasn't the case for the student body majority. They weren't too keen on caving. But like typical teenagers who assume they'll hate something before trying it, after an hour exploring, climbing, and swinging from monstrous rocks inside Prohodna, a karst cave located in the north central part of Bulgaria near Karlukovo, known for its two eye-like holes in its ceiling, they were content as kids at Kings Dominion.

And despite a scary moment swinging from a cliff (that my students somehow convince me to do) and not having my usual blonde cave diving companion by my side, I too had a thrilling time at Prohodna and rate her right up there with the best caves in Bulgaria.

 

"This feels like right, tonight.
When it gets this close to heaven,
it's a paradise so hard to find."

— Siedah Garrett, 1997

WHILE MASTER OF DISGUISE SIR PAUL McCartney and his fellow Beatle bandmates can take full credit in opening my door to life-changing music, it was Woodstock alumnus and Rock And Roll Hall of Famer Sly Stone who let me in. Upon deeply discovering Sly's pioneering funk-rock hybrid on a whim in early '97, his instrumentations surged my soul just as quickly as his inspirational words of wisdom helped me find myself. And I got a funny feeling that the lead guitarist in the latest band to play Sofia live this past April might share similar sentiments.

Conceived in the London suburb of Ealing in 1985, The Brand New Heavies — who consists of founding members Andrew Levy on bass, John Kincaid on drums, and Simon Bartholomew on lead guitar — didn't make their presence felt on the popular music scene until 1991 after their infectious fourth single, "Never Stop," made a huge splash on both sides of the Atlantic — eventually reaching the burgeoning ears of a 20 year old D.C. kid in search of a 90's band with the musical chops to capture an unmistakable sound of deep 70s funk and soul.

Two decades later, that D.C. kid's love for The Heavies never faded. And after a few gold singles, classic albums, and the acquirement of several female lead singers — most notably MJ's baddest songwriter better known as Siedah "We Are The World" Garrett and fan favorite N'Dea Davenport — The Heavies are still funkin' harder than ever and show no signs of stopping. With this in mind, you can imagine that D.C. kid's excitement the day The Heavies stopped through Sofia to promote an upcoming album featuring the long awaited return of Davenport. 

Before heading out, I eagerly chose the most appropriate tee-shirt to wear to the show. One that displayed an iconic image of Sly Stone — The Heavies most obvious musical influence. This personal concert tradition of wearing a shirt of the performer's hero always keeps me in high hopes that I'll be spotted by someone in the band. 

Wishful thinking? Not really. 

You see, if you backtrack to Episode 19, you'll recall that Sly Stone's not your average run-of-the-mill musician. With a legion of die-hard fans and solid reputation of being a musician's musician, I was certain my shirt would get The Heavies' attention. I even made a friendly wager with Sarah beforehand.

And after meeting up with a couple of friends and securing front row positions inside one of National Palace of Culture's many standing rooms, it didn't take long before I won that bet. Midway through The Heavies' opening track, Simon, who missed a few guitar licks from the shock, spotted my Sly Stone tee and smiled with approval. 

Oh, it gets better.

After a short pause, he gave me a Sly-style wink, signaled to the band — which included all the original members minus Davenport — and tore through an impromtu performance of Sly's signature Woodstock show stopper "I Want To Take You Higher." My tee must have evoked an old spirit in Simon — he was simply electrifying! Afterwards, he tossed me his guitar pick and gave a firm hand shake as he proceeded to address the audience. 

"Sofia, check out that shirt!" Simon announced, as I shyly turned to face the peering crowd. "Had it not been for Sly, we wouldn't be up here!" 

The bewildered audience looked as if to say, "who in the hell is Sly?" A conceivable response, considering Sly's immeasurable influence on popular music and culture has been criminally overlooked.

But like I said, Sly's a musician's musician, and real musicians remember him. Which was quite evident after The Heavies spotted my tee. But never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined getting the ultimate celebrity status for wearing it.

Throughout the rest of the performance — which included more adoring attention from Simon, who continued to play short snippets of Sly hits in between their hits — The Heavies funked the hell out of Sofia with classics like "Dream On Dreamer", "Stay This Way" and the one that started it all, "Never Stop." After the concert, Simon and I met stage-side for some much anticipated Sly talk.

"Then you'll be crying 
water all alone.
Soon as you realize what 
you had is gone."

— Siedah Garrett, 1997

AFTER THE HEAVIES FUNKED SOFIA, toward April's end, I unfortunately spiraled into a deep funk of my own, after receiving the most disappointing news since moving to the Sunflower Capital. And to make matters worst, it could have been easily avoided had I learned some Bulgarian by now. Brace yourself for this one folks . . .

It was the phone call I'd been anticipating since first breaking into the film industry in 2009. After shooting my parts for Re-Kill, an upcoming horror film four years in the making, I had big dreams of someday acting in a Bulgarian production. I know, I know . . . most of you are probably shaking your heads and saying, But O — you've been in a bunch films in Bulgaria!?! 

Well, that's somewhat correct. 

I have been in a few films made in Bulgaria, but none were based in Bulgaria. The movies I've participated in are American productions shot in Bulgaria — if this makes any sense? If it doesn't, so I can move on with the episode, you'll have to worked that one out on your own.

Anyway, the aforementioned phone call was from a studio agent informing me that I won a starring role in an upcoming Bulgarian TV series. As she ran through the details of my part, I could barely contain my happy dance. Then as quick as my girl Lady Gaga changes hairdos, she spoke those four little words that nearly brought me to tears.

"Do you speak Bulgarian?"

"Uh . . . no, ma'am." I uttered with more hesitation than a school kid approaching homework on a Saturday night. 

"Not a single word?" She reached.

"Not a single word." 

My response wasn't totally true. I can speak a few important Bulgarian phrases to get me around town. But after having an adequate amount of experience working on films, I know those phrases wouldn't get me far and could possibly frustrate or anger a director under deadline pressure. Besides, I'm sure my illiteracy would've hindered my acting abilities. So in a case like this, stretching the truth wasn't the way to go.

A few hours later, after pounding my head on the hard-wood floor and pondering a jump from the balcony, I was content with knowing that, in some strange way, my big dream of acting in a Bulgarian production in fact did come true. What I mean is; no, I didn't get to act in the series, but I did win the part — and that was enough to keep a smile on my face.

But when Sarah learned of the disappointing news, there was nothing I could say to keep her smiling. She was more upset than than I was! Oh, and not because she dreams of being the bonbon eating wife of a rich and famous actor. (Though that might be true, too!) She was disappointed over the fact that, after years of urging me to take Bulgarian lessons, my procrastination ended up biting me in the ass mighty hard.

MERCIFULLY, DAYS after paying the ultimate price, I was tossed a life vest when Stanislav Germanov, an independent Bulgarian director, offered me a starring role in his first upcoming film project. Slightly hesitant after learning it would be a low-budget 5 minute silent short, I swiftly accepted the part to help alleviate anguish from my misfortune. Besides, due to the quiet nature of the film, there was no way I'd be rejected for my illiteracy.

And with just two days to shoot, I eagerly went to work on Three Colors Black, a rags to riches throwback to The Three Colors trilogy and hopeful contender for Cannes Film Festival. Unfortunately, TCB didn't make the cut for Cannes, but it did turn out to be an interesting project, eventually playing at some local Bulgarian film festivals.

 

And despite fulfilling a life-long fantasy filming a scene bathing with two half-naked chicks in a steamy jacuzzi, my girl from the north country will be happy to know that it wasn't the best part of my TCB experience. Nope. Believe it or not, having been miraculously transformed into a slovenly vagrant did the trick.

"Feeling the sun on my head
Where a cloud used to follow instead
Singing a song in my heart
In a place where all my troubles depart"

— Sy Smith, 1990

IT WAS PERHAPS THE GREATEST and easiest onscreen performance of my short film career. Talk about your method acting — since it took Miloslava, an expert make-up artist on loan from The Slavi Show, a Johnny Carson-like Bulgarian talk show, an hour to complete — I was required to wear it for the entire days' shoot, forcing me to stay in character. That meant, no matter where I went, I had to go as a Grady from Sanford & Son-looking disheveled homeless person — a pretty common sight in Sofia and most major cities throughout the world.

Upon embarking on my first break, I had no idea what was in store. During my walk to Billa, a German food chain, no one noticed me. The lady who sold me the Snickers and bottled water didn't nervously point to the price display after she rung me up. The dude waiting in line next to me didn't look me over and ask where I was from. And not one of the most strikingly beautiful women I'd ever laid my baby brown eyes on, who bustled past me in the isles, batted an eye.

I was free as a bird! 

Like Sir Paul McCartney in his best Beatlemania disguise, I felt comfortable in my new skin. I took an extra long break to walk through the city to be sure it was really happening. And like a mad scientist performing a new experiment, I waited at packed bus stops, sat on crowded benches, and greeted Bulgarians — but no matter where I was, who I saw, or what I did, I received not one hint of celebrity status. Not even a little bit!

At the end of the shoot, after a few more experimental walks through the city, with still no glaring, I painfully made my way back to the set to have the make-up and beard removed. In my hesitation, I took a few moments to contemplate my Day of Freedom, as I call it. I thought of life as a regular, everyday bulgarian citizen and I imagined nobody paying me any mind ever again. Then something undoubtably occurred to me.

I'd miss the attention. 

Be seeing you.

O