1988Callum Barton

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• Hi Callum! How are things, are you working on any projects the moment?

  

  TheChristyJohansen , Photographer , 24/04/12 , 8,658 AP

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• Hi Callum. I’m looking to put together a team of composers for a collaborative musical theatre project called ‘Marty Gull’ (Marty[r] Gull[ible]) and hope you might be interested. It's a surreal, satirical, tragicomic piece of musical political theatre: a cautionary tale of school politics, backstabbing egos and the state of the nation. I’ve written the first draft libretto using a medley of melodies in my head from well-known musicals. Intertextuality and pastiche are the key to understanding the ethos of this project.
  
  For further details, please check out the group page for Marty Gull at http://www.ideastap.com/Groups/Group/fe0136d4-16d3-4160-8da3-9feb011452fe#Overview
  
  Here's the first song as a hook. Composers needed (in the style of Brecht and Weill) to rescore 'The Ballad of Tippi Marsh'...
  
  Marty Gull Song #1. The Ballad of Tippi Marsh
  © Chris Port, 2010, martygull.co.uk
  All rights reserved.
  
  (Original source material: 'The Ballad of Mack the Knife'
  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZygpDWk12A)
  
  Every actress
  gets that black dress
  but the mattress
  finds a stain.
  Could she care less?
  Let the stars bless.
  All good starlets
  hide a shame.
  
  Tippi Marsh spent
  all that talent
  on a spotlight
  on herself.
  How it haunts her
  in the twilight.
  Twenty-five and
  on the shelf.
  
  Little Tippi
  loved the circus
  and she juggled
  school and night.
  Here a pole dance.
  There a small chance.
  Then she’s smuggled
  out of sight.
  
  Someone’s crying
  in a bedsit.
  We hear footsteps
  up the stair.
  Now she’s lying
  in a torn dress
  on a mattress,
  urine-bare.
  
  You remember
  summer’s star role?
  In Chicago
  you had sass.
  Now December
  and the cars blow,
  past the window,
  yellow gas.
  
  Take that black dress,
  take that mattress,
  block the cracks less
  gas escape.
  Turn the white taps
  on your white face.
  Let the stars bless
  your escape.
  
  When they found her
  in that bedsit
  she was naked
  with no note.
  Let me find her
  in her childhood.
  Let me find her
  while there’s hope.
  
  Let me find her
  in her childhood.
  Let me find her
  while there's hope.

  

  Marty Gull , Scriptwriter , 02/02/12 , 207 AP

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