Don’t Settle for the Bootleg Version
As the sound of a male voice with a British accent flows from the speakers, the audience conversations become hushed.
“This is King George III… the show will begin momentarily.”
The lights begin to dim. The hush turns to silence. The whole room seems to be thrumming with anticipation.
Bum badada bum bum bum.
At the sound of the first notes, goosebumps break out on my arms, and I lean forward in my seat. I watch intently as the characters of Hamilton move across the stage, bringing to life the words I’ve been listening to for years.
I first listened to the original Broadway cast recording in a car with my brother on our way to the beach for family vacation. I’m still not sure how he found out about the show before I did. After all, I’m the one who’s been performing in musicals since age five. In the grand scheme of things, though, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he introduced me to the beauty of the show.
During that first listening session, I laughed, cried, delighted over musical theatre references, and learned things I’d never known about Alexander Hamilton. I knew immediately that I wanted to see a performance. Because of my background in theatre, I wondered how one might stage things like an opening number that takes us from an island in the Caribbean to New York City in a matter of minutes.
In the years since then, I’ve listened to every song countless times. I’ve memorized lyrics and imagined choreography. I watched the Grammy Awards when the cast performed the opening number. I watched the Tony Awards when they performed “Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down).” I watched the documentary when it aired on PBS.
I kept checking ticket prices and availability. I spent a few days in New York City for work, and I entered the Hamilton lottery every day, hoping to win a $10 front row seat, to no avail. I went to Chicago for a conference and entered the lottery there. No luck.
I waited patiently (for the most part) for my shot at seeing the show. It came in the form of season tickets for Broadway shows touring in my city. I still had another year to wait, but having the ticket in hand made it so much easier.
Through the years of waiting, I kept myself from doing one thing: looking up bootleg videos of the show on YouTube. They’re not supposed to, but people record scenes and post them online. I’ve definitely watched these types of videos from shows I never got to see on Broadway. I wouldn’t let myself do it with Hamilton.
There’s something about watching a live performance that just can’t be translated to a grainy smartphone recording. An unspoken collaboration happens between the audience and the actors. Every performance is a little bit different because there are different people in the room.
I wanted to preserve the experience of seeing the show for the first time. I didn’t want other performances to affect how I viewed what was happening in front of me. I didn’t want to be anticipating the little moments. I wanted to be surprised by them.
And I was. Because I know the show so well lyrically, I could just pay attention to the staging and choreography. I watched what was happening in the background. I caught the little gestures and looks that bring the characters to life. Best of all, I could delight in everything without the cloud of preconception or comparison.
Since seeing the show, I’ve started to wonder if I’ve chosen to settle for the bootleg version in other areas of my life. Where have I gotten tired of waiting and settled for something other than the real thing? And how has that settling robbed me when the experience I was waiting for finally arrived?
I think my tendency is to settle for experiencing God through other people. The books I read or the podcasts I listen to–they’re like those grainy smartphone YouTube recordings. The authors and speakers are sharing the truth of what they experienced. I can learn things about God from those experiences. But there’s a layer of separation that keeps me from fully comprehending the essence of who God is.
These vicarious experiences then affect how I experience God in the moments when he reveals himself to me. I find myself comparing him to the God other people have experienced. I wonder why he didn’t show up in the same way for me. This comparison robs me of the joy of knowing God in a new way.
I’m not saying it’s wrong to read those books or listen to those podcasts. But I do need to be careful not to make them the only God experiences in my life. If my Hamilton experience was worth avoiding the bootleg videos, how much better will my time with God be when I can set aside expectations and comparisons?
is a daughter, sister, friend, writer, and singer. She loves Jesus, music, books, and great TV shows. Because she’s far from perfect, she is grateful for God’s grace in her life. She writes with the hope that others might be encouraged to let God make them new as well. You can read more of her work at beautyrestored.me.
Photograph © Jad Limcaco, used with permission
