The Sunday Scaries
The Sunday Scaries
+ Olia Hercules & Sinkane on Identified
There's a scene in the 1984 comedy, Top Secret, in which Val Kilmer's character, the Elvis-like American rock star, Nick Rivers, is imprisoned in Nazi Germany. At one point during a funny but still poignant torture scene, Rivers loses consciousness and the film fades into a dream sequence of him frantically running through a school hallway, unable to find his class and worried that if he doesn't find it in time, he will fail the final exam. As a twelve-year-old watching Top Secret for the first time, I couldn't relate. But when I saw the film again as an adult, I was hit with a specific feeling in my gut that demonstrated a heightened level of relatability.
When Rivers awakens in the scene, he's hanging from a chain, being whipped by two men. And his reaction when he realizes that he's back in real life is simply a big smile, and the words, "Thank god."
In high school, where I was notorious for procrastination and skipping classes, I began having dreams like Rivers'. The panic I felt mirrored the fears of my waking life, and when I finally woke up, relief washed over me as I realized it was just a dream. College improved my habits, but the independence of living away from home reignited my old patterns, stoking the flames of school anxiety dreams. I never truly lost my way to class, but those dreams felt all too real at times. I thought that once I started playing in bands and working in record stores—pursuing what I loved—the dreams would fade. But they didn’t.
Now, I love my job and I actually look forward to going to work, but every Sunday evening still brings a familiar wave of melancholy this time of year. As the sun sets, a subtle sadness creeps in, accompanied by an inexplicable sense of impending trouble. It’s a psychological dance that catches me off guard every time. I may have been a poor student, but when I wasn’t studying, I was booking shows, playing music, or planning parties—things that are more applicable to my life now than I possibly could have realized back then. Still, the long lasting effects of the decisions I made haunt me.
And yet, each week, I’m reminded of that scene from Top Secret, and I compare myself to the fictitious Nick Rivers. I assume he skipped a lot of classes, and that like me, the dream is just a projection of his own making—a projection that might creep up every autumn Sunday forever.
We’ve now released Seventeen (!) episodes of my new podcast, Identified, with a new episode landing every Thursday. This week I chatted with the Ukrainian chef, Olia Hercules. Olia and I met in London in 2022, when we both appeared on the same episode of BBC Sounds. In our podcast conversation, Olia opened up about the silencing of her ancestors during the Soviet era, the trauma of displacement, and how her grandparents’ experiences have shaped her understanding of family today. There’s a bright, beautiful moment when Olia talks about the joy of tossing phyllo dough—that alone is worth a listen.
Last week I talked with Ahmed Gallab, who makes great music under the name Sinkane. When we taped our episode at SXSW earlier this year, we got into ancestral chants in Sudan, the hardcore community in Ohio, and the surprising fact that we both lived in Utah for parts of our childhood. There’s a lot more in our quick 17-minute episode.
There’s a new song by my uncle, Alan Braufman called “Snow in Central Park.” It’s a flute song that was recorded at the same time as Alan’s album from earlier this year, “Infinite Love Infinite Tears.” We loved the song, but I convinced him to leave it off the album because it would have forced it into double-LP territory. Now, it’s the perfect summer-turns-to-fall tune. Listen HERE.
Seventeen episodes of Identified are live now. Episode one is with Karen Ayers, a living descendant of the man who enslaved my paternal ancestors. After that, it’s a rapidly growing list of musicians, comedians, authors, chefs and friends talking about family. A new episode will drop every Thursday for the foreseeable future. Identified is available on all major podcast platforms, 100% free and ad-free. You can watch short video clips on YouTube and Instagram.
I hope you’ll give Identified a listen and share it with others who might enjoy it.
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My memoir is called My Life in the Sunshine. You can order it here, or listen to the audiobook on Spotify.
I hope to see you somewhere soon. Upcoming events are always listed here.
Nabil Ayers / Brooklyn