What kind of crazy fucked-up world do we live in where a Broadway musical exudes more creativity, honesty, intrigue and interest than any record on the chart?

One in which “The Book Of Mormon” takes chances and your only artistic hope is to pursue your dreams and cast money worries aside.

Nothing will prepare you for “Hamilton.” Because you’ve never seen anything like it before. That’s what we’re searching for in art, the new and unique, as opposed to the old, tired formula. Whilst the Top Forty is populated by young faces fronting for old men, “Hamilton” features the work of an educated thirtysomething who is doing nothing so much as pursuing his own dream.

Inspiration… It can come from anywhere. Lin-Manuel Miranda was on vacation, reading a randomly-purchased biography of one of America’s founding fathers, when the bolt hit. The thrill of making money is when your bank account soars. The thrill of artistic inspiration is when the light bulb goes on, when the door opens to a golden highway that you can’t wait to go down. Making money is an end. Artistic inspiration is just the beginning.

And there was a long tortured road, from Vassar to Off Broadway to West 46th Street.

But Lin-Manuel Miranda did not start there. First he went to school, Wesleyan, in Connecticut. The alma mater of Amanda Palmer if you’re scoring at home. For all the hogwash about preparing yourself for a career, about studying practical information and getting your money’s worth in college, the truth is the world is run by and turned topsy-turvy by those who go to the elite institutions where there’s little practical knowledge imparted and it’s all about expanding your brain and sensibility, empowering you to see the world in a different way. That’s what’s wrong with standards, they eviscerate creativity. How can we set our children free?

How can we set society free?

Anyway, “Hamilton” is more fun than any amusement park thrill ride. You strap in and you’re taken on a journey heretofore unknown, an ancient tale that is told through modern means.

That’s right, Alexander Hamilton’s story is told through rap.

Well, not exclusively. There’s R&B. And the King of England employs melody. But the truth is hip-hop dominates. Because hip-hop is the language of the streets. And “Hamilton” is a street story.

As they all are.

You can go to Harvard, Wesleyan too, but they won’t tell you how the world really works. You have to take your sensibility into the blender of life. Where relationships are everything, where how you come across is key. Which is why so many elite institution graduates are broke, or nearly so, because they never figured out how to integrate who they are with what is going on.

Hamilton is an immigrant. Take that Donald Trump, take that Tea Party. Some of our greatest thinkers, movers and shakers, were not born within the confines of the fifty states.

And he’s arrogant and talks too much. Aaron Burr tells him to smile and talk less. Before he shoots him. For talking too much shit.

And Hamilton has big desires. That’s the essence of the American Dream, the dream itself. That your name can be in lights. Few have the talent or education to achieve this, but Hamilton does.

And he’s willing to put his life on the line. He’s not a pussy, he’ll fight the war, the Revolutionary War that is.

And he’ll also fight Jefferson and Madison over financial matters as Secretary of the Treasury. Where the ultimate compromise is made behind closed doors, just as it’s done today. If you think you know how it was done I’m laughing, only those inside the room do. The key is to be inside the room, Burr’s desire, which he rarely achieves.

And Jefferson…almost steals the show. A dandy back from France, where he skipped the war, he’s a character out of “In Living Color,” a cross between a comedian and an orator. These juxtapositions have you scratching your head. Like when the players decide to go downtown to check out the women. We see the past as set in amber, a different class of people acting differently. But the truth is they’re flesh and blood and driven by hormones and make poor choices just like us, which is part of what makes “Hamilton” so fascinating.

And like a rap war, Hamilton keeps egging Burr. Which ultimately costs him his life.

And there are babes, everything but rims.

If you never understood hip-hop culture, if you thought you hated rap, “Hamilton” is gonna turn all your preconceptions upside down. You’ll finally understand how the words are so important, how they tell a story. You’ll get the beat, the truth of the streets.

And you’ll learn so much!

Those who dismiss history are bound to repeat it. Those who pore over it learn lessons. And this applies in the world of tech as well as offline. Some truths are immutable, if not self-evident.

You watch “Hamilton” with your jaw open. At the edge of your seat. Thrilled. You’re waiting for them to stumble. For one of the numbers to be substandard, for the story to flatten out. But the play rides on like a classic album, with no filler.

And it’s real people on stage. Not Hollywood automatons. The women are all not Gwyneth thin and the guys are all not Clooney handsome. They’re more like us. Hell, you’re gonna be bitten by the theatre bug, you’re gonna want to find a way on stage.

Influences. It’s why everybody in the sixties picked up a guitar after seeing the Beatles on “Ed Sullivan.” We’re looking for a direction home, but we’ve got few inspirational leaders.

Lin-Manuel Miranda is one.

Like all great art, “Hamilton” has to be experienced to be understood, you have to see it to get it.

So if you’re in New York City…

If you can rustle up a ticket.


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