About
A little context, a bit of history, and the person behind the storm. This page is about how The Flying Dutchman came to be — where it started, where we are now, what it’s becoming, and why it refuses to stay neatly contained.
Our legend
From a handful of songs to a story that wouldn’t let go
This is our road so far. What began as a collection of songs slowly revealed itself as something else entirely.
At first, The Flying Dutchman wasn’t a musical — it was an idea for an album. A series of songs that might belong together, that might hint at a shared world. Song that could tell a story. But the more the songs took shape, the clearer it became that an album wasn't going to be enough to unravel the story that was rising to the surface. And a question emerged with it. Whose story was this, really?
When the legend of the Flying Dutchman surfaced as a point of reference, everything shifted. Suddenly, the songs had a spine. A man cursed to wander. A life shaped by exile, longing, and repetition. And slowly, almost accidentally, the curse began to resemble something far more familiar — the inherited shame, silence, and self-erasure that so many queer lives have been built around.
What if the curse wasn’t divine punishment, but social design?
What if the storm wasn’t the problem — but the world waiting on the other side of it? The curse became something familiar. Something we can all relate to.
As the writing continued, the songs grew bolder, more specific, more personal. The legend cracked open, and a voice emerged that felt both ancient and painfully contemporary. Somewhere along the way, the album outgrew itself. The songs demanded context, memory, contradiction, humour. Characters appeared. Stories overlapped. And without ever intending to, the project became a full-length musical — now spanning 27 songs — and an ever-expanding exploration of identity, queerness, love, loss, and survival.
Which raises the next question:
How do you share something like this with an audience — and in what form?
the dutchman
Written, composed, and performed by Chris Tinus
The Flying Dutchman is written, composed, and performed by Chris Tinus — the performing alter ego of writer, composer, musician, and designer Thys ‘Christinus’ Aarts. When not designing, he writes and makes music, performing both covers and original work under the name Chris Tinus.
His love for folk music inspired him to write a story through song. The songs he created grew out of a long-standing fascination with myth, storytelling, and musical theatre — but they’re equally shaped by lived experience. Themes of shame, desire, faith, humour, anger, and tenderness didn’t enter the work deliberately; they surfaced because they were already there. Writing the Dutchman became a way of saying things that didn’t always fit elsewhere, and of letting contradiction exist without apology.
This project lives in the space between confession and performance, and that space benefits from a voice that can sing, speak, provoke, and exaggerate without asking permission. The Dutchman is a character, just like Chris Tinus is, but he is also a filter: a way of telling personal truths through myth, distance, and song.
At this stage, the work is moving from writing into production — exploring how the material can live on stage, through sound, and beyond traditional formats. The story is written. The songs exist. Now comes the question of how — and where — the Dutchman will come ashore next.
What's next
This project is part musical, part experiment, part ongoing conversation. Here’s how it currently stands.
The Flying Dutchman is a contemporary musical built around one central voice, supported by music, memory, and projected worlds. While written as a stage work, it is intentionally flexible — designed to evolve, adapt, and find new forms without losing its emotional core.
Rather than repeating the traditional myth, this version interrogates it. The Dutchman is not a symbol — he’s a man. The curse is not fate — it’s context. By reframing the legend through a queer lens, the musical asks whose stories were erased, softened, or rewritten to make the myth palatable.
At its heart, this is a song-driven work. Each piece carries its own emotional logic, while contributing to a larger narrative. The score moves between intimacy and theatricality, humour and grief, confession and performance — much like the character himself.
This is not a finished product. It’s a living project. Monologues may change. Formats may shift. Longer or shorter versions may surface. New ways of sharing the work — including audio-first or digital iterations — are actively being explored. The site exists to document that journey and invite people into it.
This page isn’t here to sell a final version of the show. It’s here to open the door. To say: this is where the work is now — and you’re welcome to follow where it goes next. We will share parts of it in this space. Little fragments, clips, sound bites. Perhaps, some day the whole piece will be available here. Just keep watching this space and you will find out.
