A New Musical
“Don’t fall out of love at the same time.”
A Tuesday-night group-therapy circle where the one rule is simple: when you’re ready, you don’t just talk about it — you write a song, and the group performs it with you. Nobody heals alone. The show is the session, in real time.
The Show
A facilitator rents a high-school band room after hours. Eight strangers arrive armored. Over an eight-week cycle, each takes a turn: you write your song as homework, the others learn the supporting parts at home, and when you finally stand up — your band already knows it. The show compresses that cycle into one evening that moves from guarded, to joyful, to funny, to the floor, and back up into hope.
Two people detonate the evening. Eli, unraveling, refuses to write his song all Act One — until the dam breaks. And Maya, silent the entire first act, finally takes her turn to open Act Two: a mother at her child’s ICU bedside. From that floor, the group climbs together — because the show’s one secret is that they never all fall apart at once.
It also works as a serial: the frame is a format, not a fixed text. Swap the songs, the stories, the cast each night — a guest artist can drop in as a one-night “new member” and play a cover, fully in-world. Vol. 1 is one realized instance.
Musical Numbers
The running order, by act. Catalog songs play in all their recorded versions — bluegrass, rock, remix, orchestra, slow-open. The three songs written new for this production carry their full lyrics.
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Characters
Dry, kind, unhurried. Runs the group with a clipboard he never really looks at — for reasons he keeps off the table. Act 2 reveal.
Came out the far side of something that should have ended her and decided to be loud about being alive. The group’s heart.
Will fill any silence with a bit. Would rather be a story than a person. The crack shows late.
Married thirty-odd years; bicker as a love language. The two who already know the secret the others are looking for.
Razor wit, zero patience for pity. Her jokes are armor bolted over something that taught her not to trust kindness.
Quiet, gentle, one foot out the door — the group’s backbone guitarist who hides in the support role until Act 2.
Watchful, evasive, flinching. Something in his perception has come loose. Will not write his song.
Barely speaks in Act 1, a coat in her lap the whole time like a child. Never picks up an instrument until Act 2 — her joining the band is her arc.
| Member | Instrument / role | Leads | Notable support |
|---|---|---|---|
| June | Lead vocals, tambourine, sheer drive | Messy and Alive; King of the Asphalt | Backing vocals + hype on everything; runs the Act 2 breakouts |
| Marcus | Rhythm guitar, MC, kazoo (unfortunately) | Who Let Rob Lowe Go?; Back When Everything Meant Something | Comic emcee; counts in the up-tempo numbers |
| Walt | Upright bass, harmonica | You’re The Worst & Don’t Fall Out of Love (w/ Carol) | The low end on every number |
| Carol | Piano, harmony | You’re The Worst & Don’t Fall Out of Love (w/ Walt) | House pianist; teaches the breakout parts |
| Tanya | Percussion (cajón / snare), attitude | Hard No, Zero Stars; The View from the Top | The backbeat; vocal edge in the cage-chorus |
| Ray | Lead guitar — the quiet backbone | The Words I Swallowed | Plays on nearly every song; hides in support until Act 2 |
| Eli | Keys / synth textures, found-sound | Call the Time Cops | The strange colors; steadier after he’s “located” |
| Maya | (none in Act 1 — deliberate) | If You Can Make It Thru the Day; One More Day; Two of Us (w/ Eli) | Joining the band is her arc |
| Sam | (facilitator — stays out of the band) | The Empty Chair | Sits out of the music until he sits in the chair |
Set & Staging
Tiered risers, a wall of instrument lockers, a forest of music stands. A battered upright piano, a drum kit, guitars on hooks, a string bass in the corner. Folding chairs dragged into a loose circle — and a row of glass-windowed practice rooms where the breakout groups work, visible through the glass while the main scene plays.
The whole show can play on the raw back wall of the stage — work lights, the band-room chairs and instruments, nothing more. A small company can mount this.
A two-story set: the realistic band room on the deck, and an ethereal plane above where dancers embody what the songs reach toward — the memory, the ICU, the timeline Eli’s lost in, the cage Tanya escaped. Scale the dance to budget.
The Script
The complete two-act script — dialogue, stage directions, the band chart, and all nineteen song slots — typeset and ready to read or print.