//------------------------------// // Chapter 7: Take Care, It’s a Desert Out There // Story: Reinventing Music // by Dashie04 //------------------------------// When the overly chipper cab driver told me we were going to Appleoosa, I didn’t expect it to be smack dab in the middle of Tim-fucking-bucktu. The good news is that I had a nice nap and my head no longer hurts like hearing Anarcho-Punk at midnight. Octavia was there too, of course. She was still sticking with me for whatever reason. But still, I’m looking out of the window and it’s just desert. I can see the tumbleweeds already. Still, at some point the landscape changes, and we’re in a stereotypical Southern town, with wooden houses and even a fucking saloon. Apparently, ponies like living on Clint Eastwood sets. The ponies are even dressed in the most Southern clothes imaginable. Vests, ten gallon hats, the mares had braids. It’s straight out of a 60’s Western. The cab comes to a gradual stop as I took my acoustic guitar out, and Octavia her double bass, as we’ve already done multiple times before. I swear, the moment I step out of that cab, I’m face-to-face with a yellow-pelted pony with simple hair. And of course, he’s wearing a vest and a hat. He also appears to be overly chipper. “Howdy y’all, and welcome to APPLE-OOSA!” The pony then leads me on a forceful tour of Appleoosa, where he showed me a few key points, all of which I didn’t give a fuck about. Finally, I manage to break through, and finally say, “Hey, Chattin’ Hopkins, where are we performing?” “That’s weird, all we have on the bill is a Mercury.” “That’s me, I’m Mercury, John Mercury, and I’m here to perform for Appleoosa as part of my deal,” I say as simply as possible. “I’m here too!” a huffy voice say from behind me. “And Octavia’s here too,” I add. “Why didn’t ya say so?” the ‘tour guide’ says. “You’ll be havin’ yer performance over where we hold the Wild West Dances! Ah’ll let ya go fer now! Get prepared and all that.” I hope Octavia remembers where that is, because I sure as hell wasn’t paying attention. I get myself away from that weird pony, and I head off. “Mercury, you better not be getting a drink,” Octavia says sternly, once again from right behind me. “I have no money,” I say, turning toward her. Octavia rolls her eyes and mumbles, “I can’t believe that you aren’t buying a drink only because you can’t. Imagine what the press would think? You have to keep a good etiquette when you’re a musician, lest your reputation be ruined.” I roll my eyes right back, and counter,”How about we get a paper and see who’s right? There were entire bands back on Earth that lived off of bad reputation, like The Stones.” “I’m sorry Mercury, but this isn’t ‘Earth’, and us ponies care a little more about appearance in the public eye.” “You perform what, Classical? You have no room to talk,” I respond. Octavia rolls her eyes, clearly signaling the this conversation is over. I walk on down the road to find a hotel and maybe be able to crash there for free, and she follows me. However, it turns out that I have the chance to prove Octavia wrong, because there’s a paperboy on the corner, selling papers. “Appleoosa papers! Best in Equestria! Exclusive stories you’ll find nowhere else! Get yer Appleoosa papers today!” I take one, and read the headline. It seems to be talking about some new infrastructure development, I didn’t know that they improved this town ever beyond the 19th century, but it was proof. “Octavia? Guess who’s wrong?” I state. “Read the rest of the paper, Mercury,” Octavia says. I sigh and open the paper, and right there on the second page is the headline New Star or Black Hole? I sigh, reading the subheadline, which reads The mysterious Mercury, friend or foe? The article talks about everything I’ve supposedly done, which I suppose was fair, including blowing off that girl. However, Octavia was letting me have it. “This is no way for a star to go about composing himself, Mercury.” I sigh, “Fine.” I reach for the guitar on my back and realize that I still have it with me. “Hey Octavia, where’s your double bass?” Octavia looks shocked for a second, then it looks like she darts off, presumably to find her bass. Well, at least I had alone time now. Alone time which I could use to find a hotel. I walk up the streets of Appleoosa, and I eventually find a hotel. It’s named ‘The Hothead Hotel’, and the pony at the counter seems to fit the bill, he’s gruff, orange, and has a beard. “Hello there, sir,” I say. “I was looking for a room, would you happen to have one?” “Can ya pay?” “No, as I was saying, do you have a room?” “I’ll give ya a room when ya can pay for it!” the pony exclaims. “I’ll have you know that I’m Mercury, and I’m the guest of honor tonight!” I yell right back. “I don’t give a buck! If ya don’t have the bits, don’t bother asking!” the stallion is about ready to clobber me, and I throw my guitar aside and run right back at him. The next thing I know, I’m being thrown out of the inn and find myself faceplanting in the dusty street. A few bystanders gasp, but eventually continue on their way when the scene dies down. The inn pony was kind enough to throw my guitar out with me, and it now had a pretty sizable chip in it. It was out of tune, but I didn’t care. I drag myself beside the inn and decide that I might as well sit and do nothing while waiting for Octavia. I was busy tuning my guitar when the grey normal pony came walking up the street, dragging her double bass. When she finally pulls it up to me, she looks me square in the face, presumably noticing my dust-caked cheeks and black eye, as well as the chipped guitar. “Mercury...” she begins. “Can you believe that they actually charge for inns here? Fuckers,” I say. Octavia rolls her eyes. “Do you think we should actually go and do something productive?” I sigh, and get up. Picking up my guitar and putting it on my back again, I begin to trundle around town. I’m just looking for the venue place, and in the sunset light, I think that I’ve found it. There’s a small makeshift stage set up with a lonely microphone and a stool. They seem to have a stage setup for my tour. I walk on stage and sit in the stool and brandish my guitar in front of me. I strum a slightly off-key E chord, and get to work on fixing it. By the time I’m done, the sun is basically done setting behind me and Octavia as ponies started to gather. Apparently, the news of my inn brawl hadn’t reached anybody. I wait for the sun to fully set before deciding I’m just going to play to the ponies who had shown up already. Less than I wanted, but it was still ponies. “Hello,” I say, “who’s ready to hear some Blues!” A few ponies cheered, and I got the idea that most of them didn’t know what the ‘Blues’ were. “We’re going to play some songs from my album, although I’m sure you all knew that already. I’d like to start this off with a song I haven’t performed live yet, Catfish Blues!” I start strumming a basic chugging beat and Octavia catches on. The audience cheers a little. It seems that the Appleoosian crowd was easier to make excited that the other crowds. I didn’t even need to perform any fancy songs like Leadbelly’s House of the Rising Sun to get this crowd cheering. They were practically eating out of the palm of my hand already. After I finish with Catfish Blues, I immediately speed up and perform Leadbelly’s House of the Rising Sun anyways. This time, I can remember it, my mind not clouded by drinks tonight. Still, more ponies are arriving, and they are getting wrapped up in the performance, too. When I start frantically picking the strings, the ponies seem to get up and move. I mean, it was a fast song, but I don’t think it requires movement. Still, if they were getting caught up in the song, I can’t complain. After I finish and hear the sound of hoof stomping, I decide that the intense songs so far had to cool down. So, I did that. “You’re the best audience I’ve ever had!” I exclaim, loving the attention. “So, I want you to sing along with this one, or rather, the phrase after each line. I’m sure you all know it. May I introduce, Black Betty!” I instruct Octavia to leave her bass alone for now. I hit my guitar a few times and count to bring the people in. “1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4...” When I sing the last line, there’s a brief moment of silence, then everybody realizes that the song is over. They stomp their hooves again. I decide that now’s a good time to play Match Box Blues. “Now, I do have to inquire you, how much clothes could a match box hold?” Octavia knows that it’s coming this time, so she gets in and plays bass alongside my guitar picking. The ponies recognize the song, and wholeheartedly support it. After the song is finished, and they’re done cheering, I want to play Sweet Home Chicago. I didn’t know the speed, but I assume that it’s in E and is a little on the slower side. Whatever it is, the audience would surely eat this up. “Now, an ode to my hometown. I’m from Chicago, and this song is one I always come back to. Chicago is certainly a place to live after a breakup. Sweet Home Chicago.” It’s always been my favorite Robert Johnson song, and when I get back home I will certainly listen to it again. I’m glad that the Appleoosians agreed with me. I decide to play a song that I’ve always liked, but I feel like the ponies wouldn’t feel the same given the message. I start strumming my guitar with a certain rhythm and Octavia picks it up pretty quickly, though she seems irritated that I keep neglecting to tell her any key or rhythm. As long as she was doing her job, I didn’t really care too much. After that’s finished, I take a look around and realize that the ponies are cocking their heads as if the song was completely irrelevant to anything they cared about. I take this to mean that people probably didn’t buy my album for Alabama Blues. Realizing that I should probably finish the set with a bang while ponies are still paying attention. I close with a song that everypony seems to love, Goodnight Irene. It’s a tough song, but I’m used to it by now. There’s a lot of intense strumming, but it’s generally just a waltz. It’s nothing I haven’t done before, and when I’m finished, the ponies, finally liking my music again, stomp on the sand. “That’s all the songs I have for you tonight,” I say. “This has been John Mercury, have a good night.” The ponies stomp and clap, but I expect something more. It isn’t the uproarious applause I was used to, when my band mates left for half an hour and left me on stage to sing the Blues with nothing but me and my acoustic guitar, the people would usually clap very loudly after I was done with my block. The crowds were never very large, but they seemed excited. These ponies seem to enjoy the music, but didn’t love it. I want these ponies to love the music. A couple of ponies take a few pictures of me, and I sling my guitar across my back to return to wherever that cab driver has gone. While Octavia is struggling with her double bass, I make my way through the crowd, and I find a small local reporter. She has glasses and red eyes, a coat of a dark purple, and hair the color of a constellation falling into place. “Mercury,” she says, “you seem to be quite the rising star.” “Thank you for noticing,” I reply. “While we all love the music here, may I ask you, if this is music you’re singing from the soul, music you’ve written, where’s the feeling? I mean, the lyrics are fine, but the guitar and vocals seem to be well, lacking.” She goes on, but it makes me stop dead in my tracks. She’s certainly a chatty reporter, but that unfortunately gives me time to reflect on what she said. Did ponies... not like my music? “I—“ I begin. “Where do these songs come from?” she asks. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” I respond quickly. It helps that Octavia is approaching behind me, giving me an excuse. I make my way to the cab, coming up the street. Octavia gets in, but I decide to ask the cab pony a question. “Hey, so how long does this tour last?” “Well, 15 shows, of course! Decca said so! Next, we’ll head to Las Pegasus, to the casinos and inns located near the ground, then we’ll loop on up to Trotago, then...” “Trotago?” “Of course! The tour ends with a second show in Canterlot, Decca will be attending that one.” “No, Trotago, as in Chicago?” The cab pony cocks his head at me. “Chicago?” I sigh, and clarify,”Skyscrapers, Jazz, and a lake across the way?” The cab pony seems to have a moment of clarity, and nods, before saying,”That sounds about right!” I get into the cab, but I simply couldn’t believe it. I’m going to finally play in my hometown.