//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: The Blues Don’t Like Nobody // Story: Reinventing Music // by Dashie04 //------------------------------// Vinyl and Octavia have managed to keep me for a while. I don’t know where this tolerance came from, but I have to admit, I was even getting used to the batshit insane one. Though, it’s hard to tell which pony is more insane, everybody’s crazy here. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that they ate dandelion sandwiches, or the fact that the damn things actually were pretty good. It’s been about a week since I recorded that album, and I haven’t heard anything about it since. I was also still a fucking pony. Because of course I was, because I couldn’t ever have any nice things. Well, I’m casually sitting and talking with Octavia and Vinyl one day, on one of the few moments when Vinyl was actually off, when suddenly there’s a ferocious knock on the door. “What the fuck?!” I shout, falling off the couch.”Why is this important?” The knocking grows more frantic, and I stumble over to the door in a drunken fashion, though I haven’t drank anything alcoholic since I was human, but I could really go for some booze right now. Anyways, I open the door, and Ol’ Shifty’s there. “This is the estate of Mercury, correct?” he asks in his nails-on-chalkboard voice. “It’s not mine—“ I start, when Octavia butts in. “Yes, this is where Mercury is currently staying,” she responds. “Which one of you clowns is Mercury?” Ol’ Shifty demands. “Me, Ol’— Sir,” I respond. The red record executive looks at me like I just insulted his mother— hey, that’s actually a good idea. I’ll remember that for next time. “I’ve come to deliver him his 10,000 bit compensation for actually making an album people like, as much as I regret giving him such payment. The album’s gone gold, so Equestrian law forces me to give him something.” Presuming that Equestria has the same arbitrary limits on albums as the real world, gold would be 100,000 units. I do some quick math in my head. Presuming each album is ten bits... “You gave me 1% of the album earnings?” I respond. “There were damn retail jobs that paid better than that in Chicago!” I give him the staredown, and he stares at me right back. “I’ll take the measly payments,” I respond as to-the-point as I can. Ol’ Shifty gives me the 10,000 bits. “So, why else did you want to come here? I know record executives, and I know they all have an agenda,” I say. The record executive in questions makes some entitled huffing noise. “Mercury,” he states,”we need to get you out on tour.” “I can do that,” I respond,”If you pay me more than 1% of the earnings from the tour. Let’s say, 5%.” Ol’ Shifty looks down his snout at me. “I’ll think about it,” He says, coolly. He leaves the apartment. “Get me my acoustic guitar,” I say to the girls,”I need to do some blue-note tuning.” Octavia looks at me funny while Vinyl heads off, to get my guitar, presumably.”But, Mercury, how do you know he’ll take you on tour?” “Because I know record executives,” I state,”and he wouldn’t drop one of the biggest new names on his label just because he asked for more money.” Vinyl comes back holding my acoustic in her magic. How the hell magic works is still beyond me. I sit down and start tuning up, it’ll probably get knocked out of tune by tomorrow, but I could at least get a feel for which tunings I’d need to do by ear. Another day, another knock on the door. That means I knew exactly who it was. I trot over and open the door,”Why, if it isn’t my favorite damn person in the world!” I snark. Indeed, Ol’ Shifty sits at the door, looking just as pissed off at me as he always has. “Please refrain from the condolences until after the 4-album deal, if you’re wise, Mercury,” he says in deadpan. Well, that just gave me something I didn’t know. A 4-album deal, huh? Not much, but it’ll have to do for now. “Also, I’d like you to have your album, Mercury.” He hands me a CD. Why did ponies have CDs but not vinyls? Why the fuck would I know. I take an examination of the CD cover. On the cover, there’s my acoustic guitar, or at least a replica, standing up on what is likely a guitar rack. Emblazoned above the guitar is one single word, Mercury. It’s kind of boring, but I suppose it works. I flips the CD over, on the back was a tracklist, as expected. However, there is one slight addendum. “All songs written and performed by Mercury of Red Estate Records.” “I didn’t—“ I start, but Ol’ Shifty shuts me up. “That being said, I have settled for the 5%,” He says.”All shows will be 30 bits. You will be performing a select amount of shows in Equestria. The first one is in 3 days at the Canterlot Theater, don’t be late or we will reconsider the deal.” “Fantastic job you did on the cover, by the way,” I say in deadpan.”You’re already controlling my career, you could’ve topped it off with an embarrassing baby picture.” “I’m just doing my job, Mercury. However, it seems like you aren’t in the Equestrian legal books, so unless you’re some past pony under an alias, I’m going to be keeping my eyes on you.” “Oh, yeah,” I respond with an eyeroll,”I think you’re going to need to look for a Venus.” “I have no time for this, Mercury,” he says, raising his voice for the first time I’ve ever heard. He turns around and shuts the door behind him. “And it’s John Mercury!” I shout, but he doesn’t hear me. So, I have three days to master the Blues. Challenge accepted. I hope I didn’t wake up the girls. Wow, the Blues are a lot harder to master than I thought. Neither Octavia nor Vinyl know how to perform with the Blues spirit. Logically, because the Blues don’t exist here. Except, I think that’s changing. Regardless of if that was changing or not, the Blues were still really fucking difficult. I think I’ve busted my hooves trying to play like Robert Johnson. It’s not as easy as Goodnight, Irene. Not to mention, all the blue notes that I had to figure out. “God! Fuck it!” I shout, interrupting my line of thought. I just tore open my hoof again. “Mercury,” Octavia consoles,”you’ve been getting all worked up over this. When did that record executive last come?” “Ol’ Shifty?” I ask. “I personally think that calling him such an uncouth name is unbecoming of an employee.” I roll my eyes.”He was here about three days... ago... “Goddammit!” I shout leaping up, nearly tripping over the chair Octavia’s talking to me from. “I’ve gotta get to the Canterlot Theater ASAFP!” “ASAFP?” Octavia asks. “As soon as fucking possible,” I clarify.”Octavia, I need to get there.” “I’ll take you there,” Octavia says.”Don’t forget the guitar.” I take the guitar with me, realizing I probably knocked it out of tune, and open the door. I let Octavia take the way and follow her out of the apartment complex. “The Canterlot Theater is not that far away, actually, but I do want to pick up Dear Vinyl first,” Octavia says. The rest of the walk was boring and not much happened. As she said she would, she stops by the DJ Pon3 Radio Tower. “Vinyl~” she calls. Inside the tower, I clearly hear Vinyl’s raspy voice. “Octy’s here, so I’ll put you on rest while you hear a word from our sponsors.” “So,” Vinyl says, turning to Octavia,”what’s the news?” “Well,” Octavia starts,”Mercury here has a concert very soon. It’s at the Canterlot Theater, tickets are 30 bits. I was wondering if you could be so lovely to play it over your broadcast?” Vinyl winces.”Sorry Tavi, can’t do that, maybe next time. I don’t have any way to play sounds from the Canterlot Theater over air.” Octavia leaves and I follow her. “Well,” I say,”that was a waste.” Octavia hushes me. We get to the Canterlot Theater very soon afterwards. Thankfully, there aren’t any ponies there yet. However, I do see a busker right outside. He’s strumming an acoustic guitar. I walk a little closer. The fucker’s singing Traveling Riverside Blues! “So,” I say, walking up to him,”what’re you doing?” “I’m singing a song I wrote, of course!” the pony says. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sold pawned watches. I raise a quizzical eyebrow.”You mean, the song I wrote?” I get a good look at the offender, he’s brown and appears to have a run-of-the-mill haircut and an acoustic guitar on his flank. Oh, so everybody here had butt tattoos? “Hah, hah. Nope, Traveling Riverside Blues by Meadow Song...” he trails off. “You do know I’m John Mercury, right?” I respond. “Of course, I knew that... Mercury, sir...” he says, putting his guitar away. He appears to have no bits, because why would someone pay a stallion singing a song that was released a week ago and claiming it as his? “Now I have a show here, I’ll let you get in if you promise to not steal any of my music ever again.” “Yes, of course,” Meadow Song says. “Now scram!” I yell. Meadow Song comically gallops away. I turn to Octavia, who seems very disappointed. “Mercury, that’s not how you treat ponies,” Octavia says. “Okay, fine,” I reply. “I have a feeling that that isn’t the last we’ll see of that one.” We head inside, Ol’ Shifty appears to be there. “You’re not late, good,” he says in his no-nonsense demeanor. “Let’s get you set up.” So, it’s concert time now. Oh boy. I peek through the curtains and notice a good number of ponies there. They’re quietly talking amongst themselves. It’s a classic auditorium. There’s seats around, and ponies are sitting in them. Or rather, laying in them and taking up two, which seems a little inefficient. Some have popcorn, which is a bit unusual. “You’re on,” Ol’ Shifty says to me. I walk on-stage with my acoustic guitar. There’s merely a seat, a little three-leg one, and a microphone. Logically, I sit down. A spotlight is trained on me. I chuckle a bit and strum my acoustic guitar. A little-out of tune, but it’ll have to do. “So,” I say,”I guess you’re here because of the album. I’ll have to play a few songs for you.” No response, and I think I hear someone clear their throat. “Tough crowd,” I say, garnering the response of no one.”I suppose you want me to get right into it. Well...” I strum the chords a bit, and I start singing a song to get these ponies all riled up. Feeling a little bit awkward, I start singing Goodnight, Irene. Waltz time, Rock foundation. I deepen my voice and implement Leadbelly’s growl. I’m 25 and singing a song by a 40-year old. Of course. I haven’t thought about home in a while, so I channel all the feelings of home I have. The heartbreak of ending up here, but hopefully getting to go soon, and Irene. The cute girl, Irene, with her long brown hair and her optimism, until the day we split. Would you look at that, I got so lost in my thoughts that the song is already over. There isn’t much fanfare. They’ve probably already heard this song several times. Wanting to continue the Leadbelly roll, I start a new one. Waltz time, slightly different Rock foundation. Just a dun dun dun, nothing else much. I’m glad Leadbelly’s easier to play. The same feelings resurfaced. The affair. So many fractures of memory that are so painful to remember. I want to know what happened that night... I let my voice project itself. The song’s over pretty fast. I hear a small smattering of applause after that. “What you may not know,” I say, strumming the guitar some more,”I’m from a place not around here, or really on this planet, I’m from a place called Chicago. Let me take you through this.” Robert Johnson, always an easy go-to. Well, not easy, but it’s impressive. If the ponies weren’t excited after this song, then I don’t know what will get them riled up. There’s so many leaps and bounds, and this song’s where it’s at. Of course, I’m not Robert Johnson, or Eddie Van Halen, so it’s a bit simplified, but still. Tap into my inner Delta Blues soul. Let’s see what happens. Wait, how fast was the song again? I’m not quite sure... oh well. Upon finishing, the ponies look a bit interested now. I hear a fair amount of clapping (or stomping)? But, these ponies aren’t quite as interested as I want them to be. There is one song though, we hardly every played it, House of the Rising Sun, by Leadbelly. It was never performed because The Animals’ version was always more popular. “You ponies don’t make for a very good crowd. So, I’m just going to say that you better be prepared for this song. It’s a new song, you won’t hear it on the album.” “A 1, 2, a 1 2 3 4!” I shout. This song was one of Leadbelly’s harder ones. In 4/4, interestingly, but a good song nonetheless. I’ve got to tap into the spirit of Rock. This song is more than your standard Delta Blues. It was fast. By the time I’m done with the intro, some ponies are tapping their hooves on the floor! “Yeah!” I yell.”Get up if you want! Groove and boogie!” Some ponies follow my instructions. Most keep doing the hoof-tapping. I launch into the lyrics. It’s like that for the rest of the song. Very fun times. When I’m done, I finally get a sizable round of applause. “Now I got you wrapped around my finger,” I say, turned away from the microphone. I turn back. “Traveling Riverside Blues. I actually heard a pony playing this outside earlier.” I, however, remembered this lick, and didn’t need to play it slower. I start off with a fun acoustic guitar riff. At this point, I was having fun. There was no pain, the ponies were actually animated. However, I knew that once I finished, all the pain would return. Well, I could do this for a bit longer. “So, I think I’ll play a couple more songs for you,” I say, noticing how the guitar had gotten a bit detuned.”How many of you ponies can count here?” I see a couple raised hooves. “So, just, stomp on 1 and 3 and clap on 2 and 4. You think you can handle that?” I launch into a more downtone guitar rhythm, and I start stomping. The audience picks up the cue and starts going right away. All the things I wish I could do to the cheaters in this world. This, paired with the very loud stomping and clapping, reminds me of the time I spent back in Chicago with my cover band. Bring me my shotgun indeed. What a fantastic song that is. However, I want to get around to closing the show. Upon finishing that song, I have one final trick up my sleeve. “Okay, I have one final song. Everybody in the seats, sing along to this, as loud as you can. I’ll sing with you.” For the first time tonight, I lay my guitar on the floor. Let’s see how the original Black Betty plays. “Woah-oh Black Betty, bam-ba-lam,” I sing, gripping onto the microphone. Next, the audience joins in. It’s only a couple minutes long, but it’s still a song worth doing. It encourages a lot of audience participation. Upon finishing the song, I pick my guitar back up again. “This has been John Mercury, and well, I hope to see you again.” With a smattering of applause, I head backstage. Ol’ Shifty and Octavia are waiting there. “I thought you did pretty well out there, Mercury,” Octavia encourages. “Meh,” Ol’ Shifty notes,”your stage presence was absolutely abysmal.” “It was enough, wasn’t it?” I say.”The ponies liked me. You try speaking to a stone-faced audience with a spotlight trained on only you.” Ol’ Shifty doesn’t reply to that particular statement.”Mercury, we’re taking you on tour, 15 stops. The next one should be in Ponyville, I’m loading up the tour carriage.” “Can Octavia come with me?” I ask. Octavia looks flabbergasted for a moment.”I could never— I couldn’t play that music. It’s so, just so... it’s unbefitting of a cellist!” “Do you play upright bass?” I ask. “Hardly— why do you ask?” “Do you wish to? I’ll let you be the bassist, we can split the profits. Vinyl can come, too.” “I’ll never get that mare off of her work,” Octavia says.”Besides, I don’t want to play that, what did you call it, Blues?” “Delta, to be specific,” I nitpick.”But really, you’re just the closest thing to a friend I have.” “Fine, I’ll try,” Octavia relents. Ol” Shifty walks back in, he sees me and Octavia talking. “We’re leaving in 2 hours, Mercury, be there,” he says. “Go get Vinyl if you can, Octavia,” I say, and she heads out the door. “This better be worth it,” Ol’ Shifty finishes.