I love 'Threepenny Opera'; I was exposed to it as a little kid

Hear now the words of Sasha Velour, artist and storyteller, who said: “I love ‘Threepenny Opera’; I was exposed to it as a little kid because my parents, my mom and my dad, had bonded, when they were dating, over ‘Threepenny Opera’ and introduced it to me, a child, who could barely understand it. But I immediately gravitated even from that early age.” Beneath these tender words lies a wisdom ancient and enduring—the power of inheritance through art, the way stories and music pass from one generation to the next like sacred fire. Velour’s memory is not only of a song or a play; it is of connection, of the invisible thread that binds parent to child, and child to the timeless pulse of creation.

The origin of this quote lies in the artist’s reflection upon early influences—the way the Threepenny Opera, that dark, satirical masterpiece by Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill, became a part of their earliest consciousness. It was not a children’s tale; it was filled with irony, social critique, and shadows of human imperfection. Yet, as Velour tells it, something in it spoke to their young spirit before words could even explain why. For this is the nature of true art—it reaches beyond comprehension, touching the heart where language has not yet been born. The child, though not understanding the world’s complexity, already begins to feel its music.

In the ancient world, the Greeks believed that the arts were divine gifts—emanations from the Muses, who whispered truths too deep for speech into the hearts of humankind. They taught that to be touched by beauty, even before understanding it, was to be awakened by the gods themselves. So it was for Sasha Velour. The Threepenny Opera, though a creation of modern times, carried within it that same ancient power: to unsettle, to inspire, to reveal the undercurrents of life. When Velour’s parents shared this art with their child, they were not merely introducing a performance—they were passing down a heritage of imagination, a worldview shaped by irony, empathy, and artistic daring.

There is, too, in Velour’s story, a profound lesson in legacy. The parents, once lovers who found common ground in art, unknowingly planted the seeds of their child’s destiny. From their shared affection for that music and its message, a future artist was born—one whose work would likewise challenge norms, blend beauty with critique, and turn performance into revelation. This is how art becomes eternal: not only through preservation, but through transmission. Every time one generation shares what it loves with the next, the flame of creation is rekindled. The song that once united two lovers becomes the song that shapes a life.

Consider the story of Ludwig van Beethoven, who as a child was awakened to music through the relentless teaching of his father. Though the lessons were harsh and the young Beethoven often wept at the piano, those early seeds of exposure, sown before understanding, would blossom into symphonies that reshaped the world. So it is with Velour’s memory—it reminds us that the things we encounter in our earliest days, even when we cannot yet name their meaning, can become the very forces that define our calling. The garden of childhood, watered by the passions of our elders, becomes the birthplace of our identity.

Velour’s words also speak to a deeper truth about bonding through art. In a world where families may be divided by ideology, distance, or time, shared art becomes a language of unity. The Threepenny Opera was not simply a performance—it was a meeting place of souls. Through it, two young lovers found one another; through it, a child found connection to both parents and to something beyond them. The ancients would have called this the “chain of inspiration”—the sacred passing of beauty and meaning through the generations, keeping alive the spirit of humanity itself.

And so, children of the future, take this teaching into your hearts: cherish the art that shaped those who came before you. Listen to the music your parents loved, read the stories your elders told, gaze upon the works that once stirred their hearts. For within those creations lies not only their history, but your inheritance of wonder. And when you find something that moves your soul, share it—pass it forward, that another may awaken as you did. The cycle of creation, like the rhythm of the Threepenny Opera itself, never ends; it transforms, it continues, it lives anew in every heart it touches.

Thus, through the memory of Sasha Velour, we are reminded that art is the river that carries us from one generation to the next, shaping not only our tastes, but our very selves. What begins as a song in childhood may become the anthem of one’s life. And so, let us keep that river flowing—through stories, through music, through love—for it is in such sharing that we remain forever connected, inspired, and alive.