Hamilton is coming to LA in 17 Months and I’m losing my shit
My dearest, Hamilton.
I was late to the Hamilton party. The last to arrive on the figurative Hamil-boat, if you will. My Tumblr dashboard was overflowing with posts like this, which I laughed at mirthfully from the comfort of my own desk even though I had no fucking clue what anything meant. Yet for whatever reason, I felt zero inclination to give it a chance.
Then, a Hamil-tour (I’m playing a game where I put Hamil- before as many words as possible, and I’m winning!) was announced. A national tour. Stopping in a few cities, including our very own Los Angeles.
So, given this news, and after getting through season one of Serial –I have to take a break before starting season two because Sarah Koenig drained me and essentially took away a part of my soul– I decided to have a listen and see what all the fuss was about.
Why was everyone on my damn Twitter retweeting Lin-Manuel Miranda every three minutes? Why can’t I escape this damn musical?
Two and a half car rides later, it was over. The last note lingered within my car. I had tears streaming down my face. Before I could collect myself, I pressed play and the start of the first track, “Alexander Hamilton”, blasted through my speakers.
The cast recording and I have been inseparable ever since. “Satisfied” and I are bonded for life because I’ve listened to it way too many times. You know, getting ready to audition for LA’s Angelica Schuyler understudy is tough work.
I don’t use #goals unless it’s for the sake of irony, but seriously: #GOALS #SQUADGOALS #LIFEGOALS #NOIRONY
Do I ever get bored of the tracks? Hell no. Every time I listen to the album again, something new strikes me about it. Like the second time I listened, I became strangely invested in George Washington. It got to the point where I had to take a step back and look at my life. Yup, I was indeed openly weeping while on the freeway because Washington decided to step down as president. Don’t mention it to me. It’s too soon.
The show is in New York right now, and the number of times I have contemplated booking a flight to see it live and in person has exceeded an alarming amount. And even if I made that bold move, it wouldn’t matter. See, tickets are sold out…till next January.
That’s a lie. Tickets are actually not sold out for those of us who have the financial means to hand over, say, $1,136 for the second row.
So yeah, I’m definitely going to wait for it to arrive in LA.
In the meantime, I am preparing by listening to the cast recording over and over again, making sure that I get through the last two songs as inaudibly as possible. At the moment, I am still an 8 on the emotional scale. That’s pained scream-crying while cursing. I need to get at least a 3, an intense ugly crying face with my shoulders shaking from holding back sobs.
I’d like to apologize in advance to whoever is the unfortunate individual stuck sitting next to me when I go see it. There’s going to be a lot of snot, maybe some dry-heaving. In all honesty, I have no idea what’s going to happen to me.
Left to right, top to bottom: (1) listening to the first few notes of “Alexander Hamilton”; (2) trying to be really cool when Lafayette raps; (3) doing the WORK! hand thing from “The Schuyler Sisters” in my car’s limited space; (4) failing to hit pretty much every high note, especially the key change in “Say No To This”; (5) during every cabinet battle; (6) actually listening to “Dear Theodosia”. No, my car wasn’t moving during all this. Yes, I wear a seatbelt and keep my hands at 10 and 2 while on the road, Mom.
I’m so hyped to see 1776 in 17 months, even if it means not getting to see it with the original Broadway cast. Do you understand how hard it is for me to process that, in this lifetime, I won’t get the wonderful honor of seeing Leslie Odom Jr.’s Aaron Burr?
Well, at least I have the Grammy performance to hold me over until next August.
Wait, what? You haven’t seen it? You watch it every morning before you get out of bed in order to suppress your general annoyance towards the world?
Whatever the case, just…watch it. Now. Stop reading. If you are reading this in class, get up, get out (with your electronic device of choice), go sit in a bathroom stall or hide out near a shrub, and watch it. Then email me at [email protected] with your thoughts.
Or if you’re a fan like I am: hello, Familton. I’m trying to make that happen, okay?
CLICK AND WATCH. PREPARE TO BE AMAZED.
Did you finish? Wasn’t it everything you never thought you wanted? AMAZING. VISIONARY. LIFE-CHANGING.
I know, I know. I sound ridiculous. Lately, talking about Hamilton has become word vomit for me. This article was a self-indulgent excuse to do just that. Hopefully you now understand at least some of the hype by watching that performance.
Unless you’re lying to yourself AND TO ME and didn’t break what I am sure is some same ol’ routine to watch it.
I shall ask you to do one more thing before my virtual presence leaves you: go listen to the whole album. I mean really listen to it. The lyrics, the recurring musical themes, the fact that it’s so human and relatable but it’s about the Founding Fathers, for crying out loud…it’s all remarkable.
You won’t even regret potentially taking out an extra loan to go see it while it’s here! Seriously. It’s that good. And of course, there are always fundraising options: some basic Kickstarter action, an In-N-Out sale (with pre-orders and deliveries because that’s what’s up), dancing around in a Founding Father get-up on Trousdale for tips.
Actually I’m taking that last idea. It’s sure to be a success. If, by some awful stroke of luck, it fails, you will find me sitting on a bench outside the theater next year with a sign that says, “Will Hamil-work for Hamil-tix!!”
In my John Laurens-inspired attire attempting to rap the entire show alone, of course.