🎭The Forgotten Songbook
🗓️  25 July to 27 July
📍 Chapel Off Chapel
🎟️  chapeloffchapel.com.au

In the latest episode of the Showtime with Andrew G podcast, I sat down with two remarkable young creators, Dylan McBurnie and Emerson Hurley, to talk about their new musical The Forgotten Song Book. What followed was a rich and deeply thoughtful conversation about music, memory, and the emotional journey of being an artist. At just 23 years old, Dylan and Emerson are diving headfirst into the world of musical theatre with a show that not only honours the past but also grapples with questions that haunt so many creatives today. The musical tells the story of Wilbur Weissman, a once-famous Broadway composer from the golden age of the 1930s and 40s whose name has since been lost to time. It is part musical revue, part biographical exploration, and entirely heartfelt in its tribute to a forgotten voice.

The show is staged as a concert musical, featuring live piano and two charismatic singers who breathe life into Weissman’s rediscovered works. The intimacy of this format allows audiences to engage closely with both the music and the man behind it. What Dylan and Emerson have crafted is more than a revival—it is a resurrection. They have brought back not just the songs, but the spirit of an artist who lived, created, struggled, triumphed, and ultimately disappeared from the public imagination. It is both a celebration and a cautionary tale, a loving nod to history and a mirror to the creative fears of today.

Emerson, a jazz pianist and composer, brings his deep love for the Great American Songbook to the project. His connection to the style, his sensitivity at the keys, and his instinct for musical storytelling give the show its beating heart. Dylan, a emerging producer, adds the intellectual weight and narrative clarity that anchor the piece. Together, they make a formidable creative team, united by a shared passion and an obsessive attention to detail. Their collaboration is driven by mutual respect and creative tension in equal measure. They push each other, challenge each other, and ultimately make each other’s work better.

What struck me during our conversation was the sincerity with which they approach the material. They are not simply presenting old songs and hoping for a nostalgic response. They have done the work. Emerson has dug deep into archival material, letters, and newspaper clippings to craft a story rooted in truth. They use Weissman’s own words to narrate parts of the show, lending authenticity and emotional weight to the performance. Emerson has crafted new arrangements that respect the original compositions while making them sing for a contemporary audience. Their approach ensures the show is not just an homage, but a living, breathing piece of theatre that speaks to now as much as it does to then.

One of the central themes of the show is the fear of being forgotten. It is a fear every artist knows, whether whispered or shouted. What if the work doesn’t last? What if it is all for nothing? Weissman’s story becomes a vessel for that fear, but also a reminder of why we create in the first place. The act of making art is an act of hope. It is a belief that something we say or do might reach someone, somewhere, someday. Dylan and Emerson tap into that emotional core with honesty and compassion, inviting the audience not only to witness but to feel.

The production itself is delightfully low-fi, staged at Chapel Off Chapel with basic lighting, a simple set, and a small crew. But far from feeling undercooked, this stripped-back approach only serves to focus attention on what matters most—the performers, the music, and the story. There’s a rawness to it, a sense of immediacy that glossier productions often lose. The intimacy of the space and the concert format demand that the performers be fully present, fully connected, and they rise to the challenge. You walk away feeling like you’ve not just watched a show, but been let in on a secret.

Another layer of intrigue comes from the fact that these creators are so young, tackling themes more often associated with midlife or even old age. There is something poignant and a little bit uncanny about two artists in their twenties wrestling with questions of legacy and memory. But that tension gives the piece its edge. It reminds us that the fear of being forgotten does not only come with age. It is present from the moment we start to care about what we make. And in that way, the show becomes not just about Wilbur Weissman, but about Dylan, Emerson, and every artist who has ever poured themselves into something they hope will last.

There is also a wonderful sense of time folding in on itself. Dylan and Emerson are looking backwards to bring someone forward. They are honouring the past by using the tools of the present. And in doing so, they are creating something that will, in its own way, endure. The Forgotten Song Book may begin as a story about a forgotten composer, but it ends up being about all of us—about how we remember, how we create, and how we hope to be remembered.

My chat with Dylan and Emerson left me moved, inspired, and reminded of why I love theatre in the first place. At its best, theatre connects generations, gives voice to the voiceless, and reminds us of our shared humanity. This show does all that and more. It is a quietly powerful piece of theatre, born out of curiosity, love, and a deep need to understand the artists who came before. I hope it gets seen by as many people as possible. I hope it gets picked up, toured, and recorded. But even if it doesn’t, it has already done something extraordinary. It has made one artist unforgettable. And in doing so, it has left its own mark.