Artist Spotlight: Adam Bradley

Oh goodness, this has been a long time coming (sorry, Adam, for taking so long!)  I’m having some writer’s block, and I thought, “Wow, I should get an interview post up!”  I was lucky enough to see Adam Bradley during Fringe.  His one man show Is This Thing On? was definitely one of my favorite shows.  I wasn’t sure what to expect going in, but this piece really made an impact on me.  I loved getting to be in that audience, watching this man perform.  He is truly talented.

Adam is also a wonderful and loving person.  I’m so glad we’ve continued talking, well after Fringe.  He was amazing about answering some questions for me about the show, and life in general.  It’s wonderful having someone like this in my life.  Adam’s creativity and candidness about his life makes for a special show and a special person.  The combination is absolutely mind blowing.

It’s clear that Adam has been through a lot in his life.  And honestly, I think that’s really crafted Is This Thing On?  He put so much on the table for us, and I think anyone who saw this piece would be struck by that.  Adam had a lot to say to me, which is something that really struck me.  I loved learning more about the background of this show, and what it all means to Adam.  It really turns into what it all means to me.

How do you figure out the balance between this world of creativity and the world of having to be practical and professional?

I'm still figuring that out. In fact, that's one of the central themes of the show. 

For a long time, I thought of those two worlds as competing with each other. I had this creative identity that I'd known since I was a kid, but I also had responsibilities, a family, and a demanding professional career. And somewhere along the way, the practical side of my life took over.

What I've started to realize through this experience is that maybe the two aren't as incompatible as I thought. I've spent much of my career building organizations, working with people, and figuring out how to turn ideas into something real. Those are exactly the skills I now need to give this show a life beyond its first six performances.

So maybe it's not about finding the perfect balance. Maybe it's about finding a way for those two parts of myself to work together.

But balancing it all isn't easy, and it requires constant trade-offs.

What made you realize you had to write a one-person show out of this?

My mother passed away almost two years ago, and shortly afterward I sat down and wrote a song for her. I hadn't written a song in about 15 years.

Something opened up. It was as though this part of me that had been dormant for decades suddenly came rushing back.

I'd been thinking about creating some kind of show for a while, but I didn't know what that would look like or even where to begin. Then last summer, I was sitting around a campfire in Montana, talking with some people about the idea, and I thought, why not just try?

I came home and started writing. Within about six weeks, I had a first draft.

I don't think I initially understood that I was writing a story about identity. I thought I was writing about my experiences. But as the show developed, I began to recognize the larger story: what happens when you spend much of your life putting aside a fundamental part of who you are? And what does it take to find your way back?

The one-person format made sense because it's an intensely personal story, and music is such an important part of how I've experienced and understood my life. I wanted to tell it directly to an audience, without much standing between us.

What is the hardest part to share with an audience?

The ending.

The show culminates in a song I wrote for my mother shortly after she died, called Down the Road. It's probably the most personal thing I've ever written.

Throughout the show, there's a recurring idea of remembering who you are, and my mother plays an important role in that. So when I get to the end, all of those threads come together.

I'm not just performing a song about losing my mother. I'm standing onstage doing something she always knew I was capable of doing, something I'd put aside for a very long time. And she's not there to see it.

That's difficult. Every time.

But there's something beautiful about sharing that experience with an audience, too. Grief can be incredibly isolating, and yet it's one of the most universal human experiences. When I look out and see people responding emotionally, I realize that I'm not just telling my story anymore. I'm giving people an opportunity to connect with their own.

How do you bring yourself down from performing this show?

I'm not sure I've figured that out yet!

There's an enormous amount of adrenaline involved in performing, particularly with a show like this, where you're moving between comedy, storytelling, music, and some very emotional material.

And because it's a solo show, there's nowhere to hide. You're carrying the audience through the entire experience.

What's interesting is that when the performance ends, I'm often still processing what just happened. Then people come up and tell me their own stories—about their parents, their careers, their dreams, the things they've put aside. Those conversations can be just as moving as the performance itself.

So I don't think there's an immediate switch that gets flipped. It takes a little while to come back to earth.

But it's a pretty amazing problem to have.

What is it like to tell this intense life story?

Terrifying. Exhilarating. Sometimes a little humiliating. And ultimately, incredibly rewarding.

There's a difference between writing something personal and standing three feet away from a stranger while telling them about it.

When you're writing, you have privacy. You can experiment, make mistakes, rewrite things. But when you're performing, you're exposing yourself in real time, and you have no idea how people are going to respond.

The remarkable thing has been discovering that the more specific and honest I've been about my own experiences, the more people seem to recognize themselves in the story.

People laugh at things I wasn't sure were funny. They respond emotionally to moments I wasn't sure would resonate. And afterward, they tell me things about their own lives that I never could have anticipated.

That's what I hoped art could do. But actually experiencing it has been something else entirely.

What's up next?

We just completed our first six public performances—three at the Philadelphia Fringe Festival and three in New York City—and the response has been incredibly encouraging.

Now we're figuring out how to build on that.

Over the next year, we're hoping to bring the show to several additional cities, establish some kind of recurring performance opportunity in the New York/Connecticut area, and continue building an audience beyond the people who already know me.

We're also exploring opportunities for festivals, including potentially Edinburgh, and thinking about where the show might ultimately go commercially, whether that's a longer theatrical run or another medium.

The bigger ambition is to give the show a sustainable life. I spent the last year figuring out how to create it and get it onstage. Now the question is how to get it in front of as many people as possible.

And I like the idea that maybe I've created something that can continue to grow beyond me. 

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After a three show run in Philly, Adam had three sold out shows in NYC.  Whether he knows where he’s going with Is This Thing On? or not, I can only imagine it’s going to be nothing but great.  It’s such a treat to get to see these things from their beginnings, which is exactly what we got with this show in Philly Fringe.  Adam ticks all the boxes, and I know he’s going to go so far.  I only hope I get to see it all myself, too!