Master Flea or Master Piece? Fate decides
Several years ago (as many as four), I received a copy of The Golden Pot in the post. There was no why nor how about it, no letter of introduction or explanation. It had simply arrived at my door in a brown jiffy bag, with my name and address on the front, in a script I did not recognise. I believe it took five days for me to notice the ‘& Other Stories by E.T.A. Hoffmann’ subtitle on the cover and it was two or three more before I checked to see what these were: The Sandman, with which I was familiar, My Cousin’s Corner Window, with which I was not, and Master Flea.
Master Flea was, of course, the full-length novel of German Romanticism that my erstwhile collaborator, Mr. Martin White of the Mystery Fax Machine Orchestra, had spoken of in great detail through a series of e-mails months before. So great was the detail, in fact, that no clarification was required with the package. He hoped that we might work together on converting the work into a musical. Unfortunately, when the book arrived, I had forgotten all about this. Frankly, I thought I had acquired yet another secret admirer with an inclination to communicate through gruesome fairytales.
Master Flea, our concert musical in one act, was debuted on Monday, February 21st 2011, in the Leicester Square Theatre, which is not a boxing arena in the East Midlands. It starred (and I truly mean starred) Chris Gilvan-Cartwright, as E.T.A. Hoffmann, Colin Hoult as Theodor Hippel, Thom Tuck as Eduard Hitzig, Catharine Rogers as Julia Marc, Martin White as Johannes Kreisler, and Jeremy Limb as Police Chief Kamptz. Music was provided by the Mystery Fax Machine Orchestra and Mr. Foz Foster (from favourites of my adolescence, David Devant & his Spirit Wife ). And appreciative noises were mostly provided by the audience, except for the lovely Ms. Aislinn Clarke, who was trying to capture the performance for posterity, and I, who was largely hyperventilating.
Colin Hoult & MFMO - If I Could Step Inside Your Mind
Most of the songs have been in differing states of completion for years. Since the novel arrived, I had been scribbling lyrical ideas under my desk in work or sneaking to the bathroom in order to check the spelling of character names. Writing lyrics as I read the book - actually, an epic, scholarly work of seven incomprehensible adventures - meant that we ended with much more material than anyone would care to hear. It was too much even for the first, two-and-a-half-hour-long draft that we intended to press into the mouth of Cameron Mackintosh. The script that was used, in the end, was written over three afternoons a week or so before the first performance. The cast managed two rehearsals, I believe. It was slightly shorter than two-and-a-half-hours. Cameron MacIntosh didn’t show. And thank goodness for that; it sold out and he would just have proved a fire hazard.
Cat Rogers & MFMO - I Sleep Amongst The Tall, Tall Flowers
The under-rehearsed nature of the performance was perfectly suited to the work. Unable to understand Hoffmann’s tale ourselves, Mr. White and I agreed that it was best to present the story of how the author attempted to salvage his banned and censored novel as a play. However, if anyone can actually explain to us what happens at the end of Master Flea, we would be eternally grateful.
Mr. Hoffmann wrote the book in 1821, the year before he died. It was to be serialised in a newspaper, but, unfortunately, when sending the first part to his publisher, he forgot to keep a copy for himself. When he wrote the second part, he could barely remember the names of the characters and began to get himself a little confused. By the time he submitted the second section, he had already insulted the Chief of Police, his boss, in a vicious satire and was beginning to fall ill. The conclusion, then, was written in a fug of bodily breakdown and mental turmoil, mostly in the hallucinations of fever, I like to think; in all, not the sort of cohesive narrative that allows one to tell a story through music. Of course, I didn’t know the story was quite so perplexing until I’d reached the second chapter, by which point I had already written forty-five sets of lyrics.
Monday, February 21st 2011 was, also, incidentally, closing night. This draft of the script has been sent to our publisher and I am beginning to feel a little ill. I think I remember most of it though and a Belfast production is sure to come together with as little hands-on effort from me as was this wonderful London show.
I extend my thanks to everybody involved. And thank G-d that Mr. White and I didn’t have to play and perform the whole thing by ourselves.
Master Flea was, of course, the full-length novel of German Romanticism that my erstwhile collaborator, Mr. Martin White of the Mystery Fax Machine Orchestra, had spoken of in great detail through a series of e-mails months before. So great was the detail, in fact, that no clarification was required with the package. He hoped that we might work together on converting the work into a musical. Unfortunately, when the book arrived, I had forgotten all about this. Frankly, I thought I had acquired yet another secret admirer with an inclination to communicate through gruesome fairytales.
Master Flea, our concert musical in one act, was debuted on Monday, February 21st 2011, in the Leicester Square Theatre, which is not a boxing arena in the East Midlands. It starred (and I truly mean starred) Chris Gilvan-Cartwright, as E.T.A. Hoffmann, Colin Hoult as Theodor Hippel, Thom Tuck as Eduard Hitzig, Catharine Rogers as Julia Marc, Martin White as Johannes Kreisler, and Jeremy Limb as Police Chief Kamptz. Music was provided by the Mystery Fax Machine Orchestra and Mr. Foz Foster (from favourites of my adolescence, David Devant & his Spirit Wife ). And appreciative noises were mostly provided by the audience, except for the lovely Ms. Aislinn Clarke, who was trying to capture the performance for posterity, and I, who was largely hyperventilating.
Colin Hoult & MFMO - If I Could Step Inside Your Mind
Most of the songs have been in differing states of completion for years. Since the novel arrived, I had been scribbling lyrical ideas under my desk in work or sneaking to the bathroom in order to check the spelling of character names. Writing lyrics as I read the book - actually, an epic, scholarly work of seven incomprehensible adventures - meant that we ended with much more material than anyone would care to hear. It was too much even for the first, two-and-a-half-hour-long draft that we intended to press into the mouth of Cameron Mackintosh. The script that was used, in the end, was written over three afternoons a week or so before the first performance. The cast managed two rehearsals, I believe. It was slightly shorter than two-and-a-half-hours. Cameron MacIntosh didn’t show. And thank goodness for that; it sold out and he would just have proved a fire hazard.
Cat Rogers & MFMO - I Sleep Amongst The Tall, Tall Flowers
The under-rehearsed nature of the performance was perfectly suited to the work. Unable to understand Hoffmann’s tale ourselves, Mr. White and I agreed that it was best to present the story of how the author attempted to salvage his banned and censored novel as a play. However, if anyone can actually explain to us what happens at the end of Master Flea, we would be eternally grateful.
Mr. Hoffmann wrote the book in 1821, the year before he died. It was to be serialised in a newspaper, but, unfortunately, when sending the first part to his publisher, he forgot to keep a copy for himself. When he wrote the second part, he could barely remember the names of the characters and began to get himself a little confused. By the time he submitted the second section, he had already insulted the Chief of Police, his boss, in a vicious satire and was beginning to fall ill. The conclusion, then, was written in a fug of bodily breakdown and mental turmoil, mostly in the hallucinations of fever, I like to think; in all, not the sort of cohesive narrative that allows one to tell a story through music. Of course, I didn’t know the story was quite so perplexing until I’d reached the second chapter, by which point I had already written forty-five sets of lyrics.
Monday, February 21st 2011 was, also, incidentally, closing night. This draft of the script has been sent to our publisher and I am beginning to feel a little ill. I think I remember most of it though and a Belfast production is sure to come together with as little hands-on effort from me as was this wonderful London show.
I extend my thanks to everybody involved. And thank G-d that Mr. White and I didn’t have to play and perform the whole thing by ourselves.