“Ew, turn that off! I hate rap music.”
It was late May, and a friend of mine and I were acting in a play together. I had limited experience in the theatre world, but I loved musicals and showtunes, eating up the likes of “West Side Story,” “The Book of Mormon” and “Les Miserables” with a ferocious hunger. Unlike myself, my acting partner was practically born with a microphone in her hand, singing and performing on stage for her entire life and making sure everyone knew it. Despite our differences, both of us were galvanized by a new musical: “Hamilton: an American Musical.”
As expected, “Hamilton” swept Sunday night’s Tony Awards. After a record 16 nominations, the show went on to win an astonishing 11 awards, including Best Musical, Best Actor in a Leading Role and Best Original Score. It is no shock that the musical was so successful—especially as it incited a full-fledged cultural phenomenon, a revolution of culture.
I am one of those in deep admiration of the show and in full appreciation of its revolutionary conception and execution. The creator, Lin-Manuel Miranda, expresses his genius in the tiniest details, each of the show’s various decisions having a purpose. In its simple staging, it is brilliant: a spinning circular stage sits in the middle of the stage, symbolizing the passage of time. The choreography plays upon this theme, different characters stepping in and out of the metaphorical “clock” at different times. In its casting, it is similarly trailblazing. “Hamilton” is a retelling of the American story, a reclamation of Americanism by people of color. Every actor cast in the show is a person of color besides, of course, King George.
Most of all, in the derivation of its score, “Hamilton” is unlike any other musical. Its roots are in the hip-hop movement, an unequivocal celebration of rap and funk. Each musical number relies upon some combination of beat and rhythm, characters “spitting bars” as their way of telling the story. The pace of the music is perfectly in tune to the mood of the moment; King George’s songs sound like British pop-rock, Hamilton’s battle scenes are told in lightning-fast verse and his sister-in-law’s lament is full of soul.
Hamilton marries two worlds that have long been separated for no good reason: the realms of hip hop and musical theater. It reasserts the value of rap music, which so often takes the role of the subaltern: the undervalued art form, unrecognized by what is considered to be “high culture.”
The show is widely loved by populations across the nation. Its tracks are accessible over Spotify and its music has the most penetrating power into pop culture of any musical since “Wicked.” And though it is wonderful in so many ways, there’s a problem.
We were at rehearsal, with cast members following along to “Hamilton.” My acting partner knew every word, effortlessly rapping along with Aaron Burr, spitting bars with vigor and character. I sang along, “I am not throwing away my shot,” with the rest of the cast and with Miranda.
And, inspired by the rhythm of the particular song, I grabbed my phone and put on “One Night” by Lil Yachty. The song began, and was met with groans. This group of actors, all of whom so admired rap in the format of a musical, had no interest in the world from which it came. The music of “Hamilton” was born out of the music of Notorious B.I.G. and Public Enemy, drawing influence from jazz, funk and pop.
This disdain for classic rap is fairly common throughout the fan base and representative of a lack of respect for black culture and a failure to recognize rap as an art form. How hypocritical, in my mind, to celebrate rap when it is a part of a “high-class” form of expression, and to snub it when it comes from street corners and freestyle circles. Like any other form of music, rap is multidimensional. It has meaning and emotion and purpose, and its heavy connotations lie in the empowerment of marginalized communities.
Of course, people don't have to like all music. We all have varying tastes and preferences, beats and melodies that we enjoy and those we don’t. But there is an underlying problem with the disgust with and fear of rap and hip hop, and with a reluctance to see it for what it really is: poetry and lyric set to a well-crafted beat, telling a story, relating an emotion. There is no need to love each and every form of music, but there is humanity in recognizing the validity of such forms of expression.
In writing “Hamilton,” Miranda sought to rewrite the American Revolution, one in which people of color were heroes, sung in the context of modern music. Yet, many have missed the point, falling victim to their own implicit biases. “Hamilton” should help us to appreciate the value in all forms of art, and their place in our collective stories. Instead, some audiences choose to separate “Hamilton” rap from other forms of rap music, because it is in the supposedly safer context of musical theater.
The actress who hated rap rolled her eyes and walked away after I changed the song back to showtunes. Perhaps I should have told her that “Hamilton,” which we both love so dearly, draws from the same pool as Lil Yachty and other young, expressive rappers. Instead, I let her walk away, and wrote about it later. I like to think Alexander Hamilton would have been proud.
Leah Abrams is a Trinity freshman.
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Leah Abrams is a Trinity senior and the Editor of the editorial section. Her column, "cut the bull," runs on alternate Fridays.