Why Aren't I Famous? with Jed Wolf

A musical about wanting a second chance at being remembered.

Two campers head into the woods for a weekend with no phones, and run into something stranger than a lost signal: ghosts who have signed up for Avacorpse, a company whose slogan is “Because your legacy shouldn’t need a pulse.” For a fee, it lets the dead run androids on Earth and live out the careers they never got, with entry-level avatars first and premium upgrades for those who can afford more. The campers can barely survive without their phones, and the ghosts can barely survive being themselves.

It’s funny and strange, with a surprising amount of heart and original songs, including a ballad called “Greenland” that’s built to make a father who left impossible to ignore. Written by Jed Wolf.

About what didn't stop me.

An inventor goes on a national reality show, gets laughed at by the judges, and decides to turn humiliation into a musical. Along the way he meets a spirit guide in the rain, a Broadway producer who has notes, and a church lady who checks his margins.

A true story. Mostly. Written and performed by Jed Wolf, with original songs.

Umm...

The first audition.

This episode contains a depiction of childhood sexual abuse.

Late fall at Barlow. The boy has a new rabbit named Lapin, a pack of dogs, and a growing list of adults whose attention makes him uneasy. The math teacher lingers at the sink. The maintenance man stops his tractor to stare. Caught in an early snowstorm miles from campus, he stumbles back barefoot and half-frozen, just as a familiar Volkswagen stops at the foot of the hill. The teacher offers him somewhere warm.

The rest of the story, 39 chapters with original songs, is available at stormdrainsymphony.com.

Barlow School, 1970. A boy arrives at a hippie boarding school in Dutchess County, New York and would rather starve than choose a seat in the dining hall. Instead he walks. He walks with faculty dogs, past a luna moth and a housemaster with an inhaler, through an Outward Bound orientation and barefoot down a mountain trail until discovering his body can dance. He finds an empty auditorium and a concert grand left unlocked. For the first time, someone hears him play and wants more. So does a math teacher with a key ring.

A neglected toddler is found in a storm drain. It isn't the most promising start to a life, but it turns out to be a useful one for a boy who will spend a lifetime trying to be heard. This is the opening chapter of Storm Drain Symphony: A Musical Memoir about Mattering, a thru-scored audio memoir about growing up closeted, becoming a songwriter, and learning, very slowly, to stop hiding.

The complete audiobook, 39 chapters with original songs, is available at stormdrainsymphony.com.

Morning. The fire's out and Ernest is gone. Honey has spent the night reading what Darling wrote on the phone he wasn't supposed to have: a memoir about his family, called NDA. It turns out to be the first thing that has ever made her feel seen. There are tears, then laughter, then more of both while they pack. He's probably going to jail for publishing it. She's going to run for Congress. And on the walk out, Darling has a great new idea he's pretty sure came to him in a dream.

Harvey finally meets a real poet, one who's been dead about twenty-six centuries longer than he has. Sappho has opinions about his work, his courage, and his habit of hiding behind someone else's voice. She also has a song. When Harvey loses his temper and shoves her, she comes apart, literally, in a spill of ancient papyrus. What's written on it isn't hers. It's his. Then he howls at the moon, and she says, "Yes."

Act Two. The upgrade has gone through. The ghosts come back to the campsite in premium avatars that finally work, with steady hands and the voices, poise, and polish they paid for. For a while, it's convincing. Then Harvey's avatar starts slipping. In the middle of his perfect, clipped sentences, pieces of an old song Harvey never finished keep breaking through. The avatar can do everything Harvey couldn't, except stop being Harvey.