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Mark Schweickart
Tim - In recommending heartily the musical Hamilton, or Ron Chernow's book, I was not suggesting, nor is the musical itself for that matter, that Hamilton the man was some sort of do-no-wrong superhero. Far from it. The play and book paint a portrait of a fascinating, but extremely flawed, human being, as were most of his well known contempories that we have come to revere, but all of whom we generally admire with a huge grain of salt added (as Dave points out in his post about Jefferson). My recommendation was for the magnificent work of art that is Hamilton – a musical that dazzles with its musical variety (from punchy, provocative rap to poignant, soaring introspective arias), its astonishingly complex and well-crafted lyrics, and its ability to teach a history lesson that may indeed cause us to pick up a book about Hamitlon, Jefferson, et al. If you ever had the misfortune to sit through the musical 1776, you will see what truly inspired work Hamilton is in comparison.
I apologize if I am belaboring this topic too much, but let me offer the following for those of you who are familiar with the rhythms of some of the Hamilton songs. This is a parody I wrote called Miranda, rather than Hamilton. Here's the set up. Imagine an old-school-style producer of Broadway shows realizing too late that he missed the boat when he turned down Lin-Manuel Miranda when he came to him hoping to get backing for an idea for a new Broadway show. It begins with the Producer reflecting back, speaking to the audience.
I ask you:
How does a poor son of a Puerto Rican
Non-English-speaking immigrant
Become the tongue-twisting manipulator,
Originator of a language for the stage
That he prayed could be played,
A language that would slay every critic,
Earn every rave
Make every ticket, something to be craved
By every person who would pay
Who couldn't wait for that day
For their turn to see his play?
And I said, "Hoo, ha... who is this guy, anyway?”
I remember the day he walked in looking so hip,
His shoulder carrying a big old chip.
And he said, “My name is Lin-Manuel Miranda and
There are a million things that I have planned
A thousand songs I haven’t sung
A thousand awards I haven’t won
But just you wait
Just you wait.”
I said, “Listen Lin, a musical, a Broadway show,
Is a money pit, we all know it.
It can’t be a hit, unless of course,
Stephen Sondheim wrote it.
New musicals always flop
Land with a thud, with a plop
Never make it to the top....”
And Lin-Manuel shouted, “Stop!
... It’s time to hear a hip-hop beat
A new rhythm from the streets
A new rhyming pattern man
We’ve had enough of your iambs,
Pentameter is not our scan.”
“So listen up as I proclaim
Once again my name
A name bound for fame.
My name is Lin-Manuel Miranda and
There are a million things that I have planned.
Can’t you see what could be
See the possibility?
Do I have to yell it, spell it out for you,
Make the chorus swell for you?
It’s L-I-N-M-A-N-U-E-L, man
That’s right, let me teach you how to spell, man –
M-I-R-A-N-D-A, man.”
“Hold on, Lin, don’t get carried away, son
This is the Great White Way, son.
Spare me Sesame Street spelling lessons.
I am guessin’ that’s not the question.
It's not about how to spell your name
Get back to me with something less insane.
So back he came with a show called In the Heights
And I said, “Oh Lin, go fly a kite.”
No one wants to hear all that noise
Squawking talking girls and boys
All trying to sing and talk at once.
It makes me feel like I’ve been punched.
You call that music, I call that painful”
He said, “Sir, must you be so disdainful?”
“Listen Lin, listen to me, I appreciate your sincerity
But as for your ability, I give it a maybe.
In this tough town, you’re still a baby.
Get off your hip-hop hobby horse.
It might play in your Heights, of course,
But if you ever want to see your name in lights,
Write me something really right.
I’m not saying it has to be lily white
Maybe something wicked, maybe something funny,
Where the price of the ticket, is worth all that money.
And Lin said, "Mr. Producer please,
Why here’s an idea that’ll knock you to your knees.
It’s about our Founding Fathers, see
Although mostly it is about just one –
Alexander Hamilton.”
And I said, “Hamilton? Shmamilton?
Founding Fathers? Washington?
Jefferson? It’s been done.
Remember Seventeen Seventy-Six?
A musical that could not be fixed?
I’m not going down that road again,
And Hamilton? Who remembers him?”
Lin turned, and walked to the door.
He said, “I will bother you no more.
My name is Lin-Manuel Miranda and
I’m sorry you did not like my plan.
But I predict, and somehow I know
This will be a Broadway show.
He’s more than a face on a ten dollar bill
He’s the face of our nation and remember him I will.
But before I leave let me say what I believe:
That in New York you can launch a new play
In New York you can launch a new play
In New York I can launch a new play –
Alexander Hamilton!”
And so he left, the arrogant little snot,
But as it turned out, I threw away my shot.
His name was Lin-Manuel Miranda and
There are a million things that he has planned
And a thousand songs that he hasn’t sung
And a thousand awards that he hasn’t won
But oh my god, just you wait
Just you wait.
And I’m the damn fool that shot him down!
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