//------------------------------// // Classical Crossover pt 1 // Story: Symphonics // by BillyColt //------------------------------// Classical Crossover Chapter 1 Frederic stood like one of the Princess’s guards, watching as the customers walked in and out of the store, looking at the wares. Frederic, as one of his many odd jobs, worked in a piano warehouse. He didn’t do a whole lot specifically – he was just there if a customer wanted some help, and he’d very occasionally play a piece to demonstrate the quality of the piano in question. Of course, he could make almost any piano sound beautiful, which suited his employers just fine. Sometimes he’d just spend his time on the clock practicing on the pianos, which helped demonstrate the product while also keeping him in shape for his real career as a pianist. All things considered, being paid to practice piano in public was quite convenient. It was a slow day. Very few customers came by, and those that did were mostly window-shoppers. For the most part, it left Frederic alone with his thoughts. He liked to think about the book he was currently reading, the piece he was working on, amusing little trivia assorted with it (for example, one piano piece he was working on was composed when the composer had injured his jaw and hooves and had sing the pitches to a secretary for transcription). Unfortunately he kept being interrupted by an incessant plunking from a nearby piano. He shifted his eyes. He saw a mare, a hoof wavering over the keyboard, hesitantly tapping the keys in a crude attempt to produce a melody. Except she kept getting the melody wrong, every time she hit the note wrong she went all the way back to the beginning and started over, before inevitably making the same mistake three times in a row. Eventually, Frederic couldn’t take it anymore. “May I help you with something, miss...?” She was a unicorn mare, with an off-white coat and a vivid blue mane and a pair of gaudy magenta sunglasses on her head, held over her similarly magenta eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “How do I get it to play steel drums?” Frederic was silent for a minute. “Pardon?” “How do I get it to play the other instruments?” Frederic blinked. “Miss? That’s a piano.” “Well, duh,” she said. “I’m just saying, where are the other options? Like what if I want it to play–” Frederic figured out what she was talking about. “Miss, that would be a synthesizer you’re looking for.” The mare looked up. “Oh,” she said. “But these look cooler.” “It’s a matter of function,” he explained. “This is a grand piano. It makes music by striking the keys with hammers. A synthesizer uses magic, so it can play other instruments.” The mare scratched her head. “Well, why can’t it do both?” “I’m sorry?” “Yeah. Magic a piano so that it can play the normal way, but also do the other instruments. Like I like it when it has those little twangy sounds. Zip zip zip! That sounds cool.” Frederic sighed. “I would not know about which ‘twangy sounds’ you are referring to.” The mare ignored him and went back to clumsily plunking a tune on the piano, apparently not really caring whether or not it produced twangy sounds or not. “Hey mister, can you play?” she asked. Frederic’s eyes narrowed. “I am a classically trained concert pianist, yes,” he said. “Sweet,” said the mare (Frederic suspected that she did not know what that meant). “So that’s how you know so much about pianos, right?” His eyes looked up, though his muzzle was still turned down to the piano. “Years of study,” he said, each word coming out in a dry, droll tone. “Awesome,” she said. “You see, I’m in a little music group...” Frederic rolled his eyes. “And we’re trying to get a good group together. I’m good with the turntables, we got this guy who’s good at the guitar, and another guy who’s a total ace with the drum machine.” “I see...” “A drum machine is a little magic thing,” the mare explained, “it lets you come up with a beat and stuff.” “I know what a drum machine is,” Frederic groaned. “Alright, that’s cool,” she said. “But hey, I’ll ask the guys and see if they’d like to have you on.” “Sure, sure,” Frederic mumbled. “Are you planning on actually buying anything?” “Nah,” she said. “I’m broke.” Frederic gaped at the mare as she trotted out of the shop, whistling like she didn’t have a care in the world. *** “Who goes up to a grand piano and asks if it can do steel drums? It’s ridiculous.” Frederic relayed the story to Octavia at a quaint little outdoor cafe over mineral water and croissants. “As if I needed more evidence that the modern musical culture knew nothing about music at all.” “Goodness,” said Octavia, though she clearly wasn’t as shocked. “You going to submit that to your ‘Complaints About Customers’ newsletter?” “I most certainly will,” he said, munching on a piece of croissant. “And then she asked me to play in her band.” He shook his head. “I take it you weren’t interested?” “Not in the slightest,” he piped indignantly. “I have higher standards.” “I don’t know,” said Octavia. “It might be a nice opportunity.” “How so?” “Well, you’d be learning more about music you hate,” she said. “And I’ve been hearing you talk about how you could use a little more pocket money...” Frederic didn’t have a snappy comeback to that and simply sipped his tea. “Hey Tavi!” Frederic’s ears pricked up. No... “Fancy meeting you out here,” chattered the all-too-recently-familiar voice. “Out in this fancy place...” The mare from earlier trotted by, stopping to look at them. “And waddya know?” the crazy mare asked, her eyes falling on Frederic. “Small world, ain’t it.” “Hi, Vinyl,” said Octavia. “This is Frederic, one of my colleagues. Frederic, this is Vinyl, my roommate.” “You’re joking,” Frederic said immediately in near-shock. “I know, right?” said Vinyl. “You would not believe how controlling she is. ‘No, Vinyl, you can’t put up posters in the kitchen. Seriously. So...” She looked at Frederic. “Band meets tonight over at Neon’s place,” she said. “Beg pardon?” “I told ‘em all about how great you are on keys,” she went on, “they’re thrilled. It’ll be a blast. Be there at seven.” And with that she turned and sauntered off, floating a pair of headphones over her ears and leaving Frederic to sit and sputter. “But I didn’t... what...” he said. “Sounds fun,” Octavia intoned over her cup of tea. *** “Vinyl? VINYL!” “What?” “I think I heard the doorbell.” Vinyl removed her headphones. What the headphones were for when the entire apartment was blaring bass was anyone’s guess, but sure enough, her companion Neon Lights was right. The doorbell was ringing, followed by a pounding on the door. She waded through piles of cups on the floor to get to the door, and upon opening it found a rather grumpy and impatient-looking pianist pony on her doorstep. “Heya!” she said. “You made it!” She leaned inside. “HEY, EVERYONE, THAT GUY I WAS TALKING ABOUT MADE IT!” “Rather fortunate,” said Frederic. “It was difficult finding the place, as you didn’t tell me where it was or how to get there.” “Well, you got that solved just fine,” she said, throwing a foreleg around his neck and dragging him in. “This is where we make the music!” “I imagine...” Vinyl dragged her into a large room that was set up with a large turntable, another table with some fancy machine with a bunch of knobs and dials, and another little seat that was surrounded by microphones, with a guitar next to it. There were two stallions in the room, a teal one with a spiky mane at the fancy machine, and a brown one with a straw mane at the seat by the guitar. “These are my bandmates,” she introduced, “Neon Lights and Meadow Song.” “Yo,” said Neon Lights. “Hey,” said Meadow Song. “And this...” she continued, “is our fancy-shmancy magical keyboard.” Frederic nearly balked. There it stood, a state-of-the-art magical synthesizer keyboard. Frederic was more accustomed to uprights and grands and other varieties of actual piano, but he recognized a quality magic keyboard when he saw it. And, as he looked around the relative squalor of the apartment, he wondered how in Equestria this mare had managed to afford it. No doubt this group was desperate for their next gig so they could pay the rent on time (which he suspected to be a rare occurrence). He circled around to the side, looking at all the little buttons that changed what sounds they made. He wondered if it had steel drums. “Hey, Freddy, right?” asked Vinyl. “Talk into this.” Frederic found a microphone floating in front of his face. “Um, excuse me, what are you—” “Perfect! Thank you!” said Vinyl, pulling the microphone away with her magic and replacing it with... well, Frederic reasoned it wasn’t exactly sheet music. Just... lists of chords. Like figured bass, except more watered down. She drew behind her turntable and donned her massive headphones. “Aaaaand from the top!” Neon Lights reared back and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “A-ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!” To say that the room was awash with sound was not a fitting description. By Frederic’s recollection it was at this point he discovered that Vinyl Scratch had apparently been harboring her own personal earthquake machine. Frederic had meant to bedazzle them with some flashy improvisation, but between Neon’s drum machine, Meadow Song’s guitar riffs, and... whatever in Tartarus Vinyl was doing, he couldn’t think straight enough to do anything but the basic chords and inversions, and even if he could, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to hear them. And so Frederic Horseshoepin, a pony accustomed to three-hour piano practice sessions, shrank in horror at the realization that he was going to be in for a very long rehearsal.