Tick, Tick... BOOM!
Overview
 
Tick, Tick... Boom! is a musical written by American composer Jonathan Larson
Jonathan Larson
Jonathan Larson was an American composer and playwright noted for the serious social issues of multiculturalism, addiction, and homophobia explored in his work. Typical examples of his use of these themes are found in his works, Rent and tick, tick... BOOM!...

, who won a Pulitzer
Pulitzer Prize
The Pulitzer Prize is a U.S. award for achievements in newspaper and online journalism, literature and musical composition. It was established by American publisher Joseph Pulitzer and is administered by Columbia University in New York City...

 and two Tony Awards for his musical Rent
Rent (musical)
Rent is a rock musical with music and lyrics by Jonathan Larson based on Giacomo Puccini's opera La bohème...

. Tick Tick Boom tells the story of an aspiring composer named Jon, who lives in New York City
New York City
New York is the most populous city in the United States and the center of the New York Metropolitan Area, one of the most populous metropolitan areas in the world. New York exerts a significant impact upon global commerce, finance, media, art, fashion, research, technology, education, and...

 in 1990. Jon is worried he has made the wrong career choice to be part of the performing arts. The story is autobiographical, as stated by Larson's father in the liner notes of the cast recording
Cast recording
A cast recording is a recording of a musical that is intended to document the songs as they were performed in the show and experienced by the audience. An original cast recording, as the name implies, features the voices of the show's original cast...

 – Larson had been trying to establish himself in theatre since the early 1980s.

Larson began to perform the piece as a solo work in 1990.
Quotations

Opening lines, over the sound of tickingThe sound you are hearing is not a technical problem. It is not a musical cue. It is not a joke. It is the sound of one man's mounting anxiety. I ... am that man. ...Hi.

In one week I’ll be thirty. Three-zero. Older than my Dad was when I was born. Older than Napoleon was when he ... did something that was probably extremely impressive at the time – I’m not a historian. I’m a composer. Sorry, a “promising young composer.” I should have kids of my own by now, a career, but instead I've been "promising" for so long I'm afraid I'm starting to break the fucking promise.

So that’s where we are. It’s a Saturday night in January, 1990, in my apartment on the edge of SoHo; I’m trying to work, trying to enjoy what remains of my extremely late 20s, trying to ignore the tick tick booms.

It's no big deal. What's thirty? Just, you know, the end of youth.

Goddamn it, I am looking forward to it!

I realize I've forgotten how to play the piano completely. Holy shit, have I forgotten how to play the piano because I don't want to play Happy Birthday because I don’t want to –- Oh God – grow up?

Michael's moving out. He's making so much money he bought an apartment with the bathtub in the bathroom.

The lights from the prison barge flicker in her eyes.

6 AM. The sky glows. Somewhere a bird chirps. I want to shoot it.

 
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