Noah Cruickshank
Most musicals are inherently ridiculous. Even some of my older favorites, like Brigadoon or Singin In The Rain seem pretty campy and goofy now that I’ve grown up. So why not bend to that camp, instead of trying to justify a great artist’s work being destroyed by the ridiculousness that is a jukebox musical? And if the masses want camp, Scissor Sisters has it (they even described their second album as “Muppety”). They’re flamboyant and danceable, but have the right amount of pathos to their songs to make sure the proceedings aren’t totally sugary. For the end of the first act, I’d choose “Mary,” a heartfelt ode to a dying loved one. But the closing song of the whole shebang has to be “I Don’t Feel Like Dancing.” Who doesn’t want to leave a theater with that in their head?

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Brandon Nowalk
If we’re talking Broadway musicals, I think my dream Vic Chesnutt show is probably less appealing than a Kinks spectacular. The thing is, I’m not sure about the action. Straight biopic is a snooze, but lean into the ’60s cuteness and the result is The Beatles in I’m Not There. Speaking of which, the band could be fictionalized—perfect for Lola Versus Powerman—but there’s an uncanny valley for any representation that’s close, but no cigar. Todd Haynes got around that by making six approximate Dylans. Maybe that’s the answer: a pastiche of different stories from the early ’60s to the early ’70s—one for the punk garage sound, one for the wistful pastoralism, one for the traditional record deal story. Even here I’m practically condemning The Kinks to Across The Universe. All I know is they have a treasure trove of diverse, accessible rock and plenty of songs that Wes Anderson hasn’t gotten to yet—from introductions like “David Watts” and “The Village Green Preservation Society” to table-setting like “Sunny Afternoon” and “The Money Go Round”—and some that he has that I’d use anyway, because “This Time Tomorrow” was made for ending The Kinks musical.

Genevieve Valentine
A lot of artists lend themselves very well to a particular story. But I’ve been impressed by the music and the savvy of a group that has already found themselves a perfect fit for many stories. Sigur Rós’ music has been featured in over a dozen movies and TV shows. (Need something contemplative, slightly otherworldly, and probably sad? Bingo.) The band hasn’t even bothered to deny how good a canvas its music makes for other people’s stuff, even premiering a track on the third season finale of The Vampire Diaries. But I’d be very interested to see what could be done if the band had the story all to itself. Ethereal fantasy? The journey of a single cold virus through the human body? Introverted acrobats? The history of a city in which people appear only as tiny shadow puppets in windows from time to time? Someone standing staring out at a projection of the ocean for two hours? (Or just let them use their many “Untitled” tracks and cackle when the programs are printed.) The title? Let’s say Endalaust, a nod to how long it would seem to people who weren’t into it, and how long I would probably want it to be.

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Caroline Framke
There are few bands that can suck me into a story as completely as Stars. Their best songs are exquisite snapshots of love gone so right, so wrong, or worst of all, so lost. A Stars musical would inevitably focus on one couple’s relationship—their heartbreaks, their reconciliations, their crossed paths, their missed opportunities. (Think Once divided by The Last Five Years, multiplied by smashing drums and jubilant synth.) It also might be fascinating to use Stars’ way of telling complete stories within a single song to be more experimental, and follow the couple through various scenarios where they love and lose each other, again and again. They could be high school sweethearts reuniting after a lifetime apart (“Reunion”), a lonely executive and the cad who makes her feel wanted (“Elevator Love Letter”), online suitors who never meet (“Personal”), teenage dirtbags (“We Don’t Want Your Body”), or a married couple that’s less settled down than made its peace (“Romantic Comedy”). All I know is, the show ends with a wall-shaking performance of “Hold On When You Get Love And Let Go When You Give It” that vibrates through your chest down to the thumping floor.

Alasdair Wilkins
I imagine I’m stretching the definition of jukebox musical well past its breaking point with this suggestion, but I’m an incorrigible history nerd, so what the hell: I’m intrigued by the thought of a musical constructed around the life and folk songs of Woody Guthrie. Such a show could offer a kind of people’s history of the Great Depression, examining not only the hardships and deprivations but also the strains of radical thought on both sides of the political spectrum that emerged in response to such unprecedented times. I kind of love the idea of a musical in 2014 offering an evenhanded, broadly sympathetic look at California socialists in the 1930s. As for the music, I’d pull liberally from Dust Bowl Ballads, but the show probably has to open and close with “This Land Is Your Land.” Indeed, a big point of such a show would be examining how the U.S. transformed and left behind the identity of the triumphal, uncritical “God Bless America,” the song Guthrie wrote his in response to. Besides, there’s also a ready-made framing device for such a show: the conversations between a Huntington’s disease-stricken Guthrie and his final musical mentee, a young Bob Dylan.

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Will Harris
It wouldn’t necessarily be the happy-go-lucky hit of the season, but I can see a lot of possibility in a musical devoted to telling the tale of Syd Barrett, the former lead singer of Pink Floyd who departed the band’s ranks in 1968, a few months before the release of their second album, A Saucerful Of Secrets, and has gone on to be seen as the textbook definition of an acid casualty by most. My suggestion: call it “Wouldn’t You Miss Me?” and tell the story of his initial desire to be an artist, his rise to fame as a musician, his rapid career burn-out due to his descent into drugs, and then bring it full circle by closing with how he wound up back in Cambridge, damaged by his pharmaceutical dalliances but once again painting. Now, if someone could just convince Robyn Hitchcock and Andy Partridge to collaborate on the score and book, I’d totally go see that show.