//------------------------------// // Track 2: L'Avventura // Story: The Ponyville Rag // by Fernie Canto //------------------------------// Dainty Tunes had arranged everything. He sat at the train station, his heart pounding with nervousness. He read the book as an attempt to calm himself down and spend the time, but he kept getting distracted by anxious thoughts. Was this really a good idea? Did it make sense to go to such a huge town to find information about some band, considering he might as well come back with nothing? Was it a good idea to go alone? Did he really have enough money? The train loudly arrived at the station, and he closed the book and jumped up to his hooves. He mingled with all the other passengers embarking the train, found himself an empty seat and sat down, breathing deeply. Something in his head kept saying it was a dumb idea. He tried to ignore the thought and opened the book again. He read the stories of several other bands, some with stories similar to that of The Town Troop, others with surprising origins. He even found the story of a band that hailed from Ponyville itself, with the curious name of the Engineers from Seaward Shoals. He also read something about some really big and interesting bands that formed in the city of Seaddle, some with starkly tragic stories. Depending on how much money he spent, he could look for some records by those other bands. His heart started pounding when he realised he was arriving in Manehattan: that skyline, those buildings… It was all so imposing. His mind was flooded with thoughts that this had been a bad idea all along, and he would seriously regret it. As he stepped out of the station, his luggage firmly in hoof, he had only one thought in his mind: he had to find a place to stay, one that could fit his budget, but that hopefully wouldn’t be too dire. It took him a lot of roaming, but he was lucky enough to find a cheap, but rather charming place, run by a slightly elderly couple. The lady behind the desk had a slightly pink coat and a beautiful greying mane, styled into a puffy, old-fashioned hairdo, and wore glasses with small rectangular lenses. Next to her, her husband, a balding stallion with a hazel coloured mane and a light grey coat, checked some hoofwritten books. The lobby was furnished and decorated in an old-fashioned, but very cozy style, matching the gentle atmosphere he got from the couple. “Hello, there,” Dainty said, approaching the desk and stationing his suitcase next to him. “Why, hello, son!” the lady said. “How are you this afternoon?” “I’m doing alright.” Dainty tried to conceal his nervousness and uncertainty after having explored that massive, complicated city. “So, have you got a room available?” “We certainly do, dear! How long are you staying?” “I’m staying for four days. I’m going home on Thursday.” “Alright, let me check for a moment,” the lady replied, adjusting her glasses and checking the reservation book in front of her. “You look a little nervous, son,” the old stallion said. “Is everything okay?” Danty’s eyes widened a bit. He couldn’t have imagined his state was so clearly visible. “Oh, it’s, just… Everything is okay, really, this is just… my first time in Manehattan, you know? It’s a… very crowded city, and all.” “Where are you from, dear?” the lady said, while she wrote something down in the book. “I’m from Ponyville.” “Oh, I know Ponyville,” she replied warmly. “It’s a charming little place.” “It sure is,” Dainty replied with a slightly clumsy smile. “By the way, before I forget, I think I didn’t catch your name…” “I’m Warm Breeze,” the lady replied, raising her face, “and this here is my husband, Silvery Light.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Dainty Tunes.” “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Tunes,” Silvery Light replied. “So, he’s going to show you your room, if you don’t mind following him,” Warm Breeze said, handing the old stallion the keys. “Have a nice stay!” “Thank you!” Dainty replied, fumbling a little to pick up his suitcase. “Thank you very much!” He went off after Silvery Light, who headed through a corridor, and stopped on the second door to the right. He opened it, and made way for Dainty to go on. “Well, this is it,” he said. “We hope you have a pleasant stay.” “I’m sure I will,” Dainty replied, picking up the key. “Thanks a lot!” The old man went back to the lobby, and Dainty entered the room. It was small, with a single bed, a wardrobe and a desk with a lamp. A potted flower sat at the end of the bed. It was perfectly fine for him, after all, he didn’t go there demanding luxury. He sat on the bed, and felt it might even be more comfortable than his own bed. Still, he had no time to lose. It was early afternoon, and maybe he could do something before the day was over. Dainty explored the avenues of Manehattan in search of record stores. He considered asking somepony for directions, but everypony seemed to be in a hurry, so maybe he shouldn’t bother. He had taken care to write down the address to the hotel he was in, so, in case he got lost, he could just get a cab. He reached a crossing between two large avenues. He looked closely in each direction, and spotted what seemed to be a large record store to the left, on the other side of the road. He waited to cross all the way to the other sidewalk and approached the store. He could hear some very modern sounding music from inside. The place was large, incomparably bigger than the modest shop in Ponyville, and it was quite full of customers. Many bins filled with records lined the walls, and even some instruments were on display at the far back of the store. Dainty inspected the bins, until he reached the section marked “Rock”. Trying not to let his expectations ride too high, he carefully flipped through the records. He recognised the names of some of the bands and some of the covers from the book, but he was almost at the end of the first bin, and he had no luck. There was a second bin of rock records, though, so not all was lost. Almost at the far end of the first bin, something jumped out to his eyes. That cover. He recognised it! His eyes wide and heart racing, he gently pulled the record out. On the cover, three ponies stood in a rich field of colourful flowers against a deep blue background. Deep Voice stood with an imposing stance, wearing a dark coat and holding a small bunch of flowers. Shimmering Chord sat on a rock, with a stringed instrument in his hooves. Cymbal Crash sat on the ground next to him. All three looked straight at the camera, as if straight into Dainty Tunes’s eyes. He flipped the record cover, and there it read: Town Troop — The Discovery of Equestria. Almost hyperventilating, he put the record aside, within his field of vision. He still had the second bin to check. Even though he found records by other bands, which he did wish to check, he didn’t want to risk having no money for whatever other Town Troop records he could come across. As he checked each item in the bin, he kept glancing at the record on his side—he feared some other pony could come around and grab it, and he’d lose his valuable treasure. He reached the final record on the second bin, and had no luck. Still, he wasn’t disappointed: he finally had one of the band’s albums right there. He eagerly brought it to the counter, where a young female clerk worked. The accessories and hairdo she wore were very unusual to him; she looked very hip and modern. She looked down at the record, and Dainty had a feeling she was trying hard not to scoff. “The Town Troop, eh?” “Yep, that’s right,” he said, trying not to lose his excitement. She charged him for the album and put it inside a nice, slick bag. Dainty put it away neatly in his saddlebag and left the store. He could jump and yell with excitement, but that was no place to make such a scene. He still had time; the day was far from over. He roamed the avenues looking for more shops. He came across another record store, almost the same size as the previous one, but he didn’t find anything. On another block, he found a bookstore, and decided to try his luck. After browsing the music section, his eyes caught the big lettering in one of the spines: The Town Troop: The Untold Story. It wasn’t a particularly thick book, but it was fully focused on the band. The cover had an image of Deep Voice on stage, singing into a microphone, with the blur of other musicians behind him. Dainty bought the book and put it away. His budget was still fine: he could buy a couple more records, if he could find any, and he could still eat and get around town as he needed. Just as he thought of this, he realised he was quite hungry. He stopped in a snack bar and hurriedly had a sandwich, while the sun was starting to set and the stores were beginning to close. The day was over. He managed to trot his way back to the hotel. Warm Breeze was still behind the counter. “Good evening, Mrs. Breeze,” Dainty said, with an involuntary smile. Just as he greeted her, he noticed a record player sitting by the wall behind the desk, currently unused. “Good evening, Mr. Tunes! I hope everything went fine outside.” “Oh, it did, it did,” he replied, already feeling a bit nervous. “Hey, look, I… I noticed you have a record player there.” She instinctively looked back at it. “Yes, indeed we do! We hardly ever use it nowadays, but I believe it’s working.” “That’s really nice. Um… I was wondering,” he said, feeling he could really be overstepping his boundaries, “is it possible if we bring it to my room, so that I could use it? I just bought a record, and I wanted to check it out.” “That would be no problem at all, dear!” she replied. “Maybe I should wait to see if Silvery Light approves, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” “You’re sure? Could I take it now?” Dainty said. “Yes, yes, of course,” she replied with a smile, going off to push the small table with the player towards the corridor. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Breeze!” Dainty said. “I really appreciate this.” “Never mind, my dear,” she said, as he helped her move the table towards his room. “I just feel the need to ask you, if you please, don’t put the volume too loud, so as not to disturb the neighbours and the other guests?” “Of course!” Dainty replied, widening his eyes a little. “Yes, of course, I don’t mean to disturb anyone. I’ll be careful.” “Well, that’s lovely, then,” she said, heading back to the desk. “Enjoy your record, dear!” “Thank you,” he said, opening the door and pushing the table inside. Even though the room was small, he managed to fit the player next to the wardrobe, and plugged the player in a socket near the floor. He closed the door and carefully pulled the record out of his saddlebag, and inspected the cover carefully. He pulled out the inner sleeve, which had the track list and lyrics, and, with all the care in the world, pulled the record itself out. The smell of cardboard and the way light bounced off the black surface of the vinyl disc had an almost dizzying effect on him. He was already entranced. Dainty put the record on the turntable, turned the device on and put the volume at a moderate level. He gently lifted the needle and, pulling it to the side a little, set the record spinning. He rested the needle at the edge of the disc and sat back, eagerly waiting. A gentle wash of drums and stringed instruments filled the room and his ears. A swinging rhythm and a melodic jangle from the guitars and mandolins made his heart beat a little faster. Deep Voice’s singing cut right through the mix, rich and full, navigating the notes of the melody with force and grace, drenching each single word with meaning, modulating between anguishing and soothing. The song talked about loss, confusion, forgiveness and redemption. And then, after the singing stopped, the band launched into a lightning fast rhythm, guitars sparkling and drums snapping away with brisk energy. Dainty had never heard anything like that. His jaw hung open, his eyes almost didn’t blink. He couldn’t believe his ears. He had seen magic before, but he had never heard it. That was magic in musical form. The album progressed through a bunch of different songs; some were forceful and angry, some were gentle and soothing, some were plaintive and longing. Dainty sat still before the record player, almost not moving a muscle, until the needle reached the run out groove. As if snapped out of a trance, he got up to flip the record and play it, and went back to his position as the music restarted. Dainty couldn’t help but notice that, no matter what feelings and sentiments the band were putting into each song, the music seemed to be filled with love and genuine emotion. Slowly, he realised: this is what he wanted to do all along. This is everything he could ever hope to be as a musician. Dainty Tunes put the record on again, from the beginning, and lay in bed reading his new book. He wouldn’t be able to finish it in one night, but he could glean some interesting information about the band. It went further into the background of the band members: most of them hailed from relatively wealthy families, and even though that made life a little easier for them, that didn’t compensate for the boredom of their surroundings. Music and art were their true saviours. Deep Voice, in particular, was an avid reader and a devourer of music; thanks to their privileged families, they had knowledge about things happening all around Equestria, the hottest new bands, the hippest authors, the craziest fashions. Deep inside, however, Deep Voice was a complicated pony. He fell in and out of relationships with other ponies, and he was extremely sensitive to things happening around him. He could go from pure euphoria and excitement for his music straight into deep sadness and disillusionment with the current events. He could be a kind, funny, smart friend on one day, and a manipulative, sarcastic meanie on the other. In one concert, he’d be firing on all cylinders and putting on the best show of the lifetime of the ponies in the audience; in the other, he’d get upset with the crowd’s lack of manners and do the whole show lying on the floor, barely acknowledging the audience at all. Yet, when it came to the music, everything was a legitimate team effort. Everypony would bring in ideas and help build the songs together, often in the studio itself, piecing together different sections, working out chord changes and melodies, figuring out how each song would go. After Rocky Rumble left, the band got even more tightly knit as a trio, and even though Deep Voice ended up taking the forefront, they really worked as a unit. All of this explained how the music could be so entrancing and diverse, while being constantly so truthful: it was the product of a group of musicians who truly believed in art and worked hard for it, and the emotions and ideas expressed by the lyrics came from a pony who wore his heart on his sleeve, even if it could hurt him. After listening to the record and reading the book all night, he put the book on the table next to the bed, and got up to put the record away, placing it on top of his suitcase, away from the window. He went to bed, hoping the next day would bring more surprises. Dainty’s mind was hazy when he woke up the next morning. It was clear and sunny outside, and he had important things to do, but it still took a while for him to push himself out of bed. In the lobby, Silvery Light stood behind the desk. On the other side of the room, on a table, breakfast was served. It had coffee and tea, bread with a few choices of spread, cakes and other delicacies Dainty couldn’t see from far away. A couple of middle aged ponies had their breakfast and chatted, sitting in a pair of chairs in a corner. “Good morning, Mr. Light!” “Oh, hello, there, Mr. Tunes,” the old pony replied. “You came just in time for breakfast.” “Ah, yes, lucky me! It looks lovely,” Dainty said, approaching the table. “Uh, by the way, I meant to ask… Was the music in my room too loud last night?” Silvery Light looked aside for a moment, as if pulling from his memory, and then shook his head. “No, not at all. I could hear it a little, but it wasn’t louder than the noise from outside.” “Oh, glad to know!” Dainty said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I didn’t mean to cause any disturbance, so I’ll keep up like that.” “Was that some kind of rock music you were listening to?” the old pony said, with an emphasis on the word “rock” that suggested it was a foreign concept to him. “Uh… it was, yes. It’s a band called The Town Troop. I’m learning more about them.” “Town Troop,” Silvery Light said, with some reminiscence. “One of my sons was a big fan of them. In fact, the kids went crazy for that band back in that time. They were all the rage. Nowadays, everypony seems to have forgotten about them.” “Yes, it’s true,” Dainty said, sitting down with his coffee and a piece of bread. “It’s crazy how things come and go.” “I think kids just need to come up with new things to entertain themselves,” Silvery said, “even if it doesn’t last. It’s a phase. We grow older and settle on… more stable things. A family, a business… You think of creating a steady life for yourself when you’re old. And that’s how life goes. If you’re in the age for enjoying that kind of music, you should enjoy it while it lasts, son. Make the most of it.” Dainty nodded, caught in sudden thought. “Yes… Sure, I’ll do my best, Mr. Light.” He couldn’t help but ponder about that as he had his breakfast. Could his passion for music be a passing phase? Was it just a result of his—relatively—young age, and his need to find something to spend his extra energy on? He hoped this wasn’t the case. If he eventually felt the need to settle down, he still wished to have music as a reliable companion, somehow. Eventually, he got back to his room to get his saddlebag, and returned to the streets. His hunt for records was beginning again. One thing that kept buzzing in Dainty’s head is that Shimmering Chord owned a record store. If he could find it, it would be pretty much a jackpot. He knew it was called Let’s Rock! records, and, maybe if he asked around in other stores, he might be able to find it. The first shop he visited was a little smaller than the ones from the previous day, and he had no luck. One of the clerks gave him a vague direction to where the Let’s Rock! shop was, and Dainty headed there. On the way, he encountered a large, apparently very fancy store, called Untouched Records. He waltzed in, and was greeted with some fairly loud electronic music, and plenty of posters of the hottest new releases. A bit dazzled, he found the rock section, a little isolated from the others, and started flipping through. Eventually, he struck a treasure: their second record, which happened to be their biggest hit. The cover was minimal, with the band’s name written in red over a plain brown background. As he lifted the record, he noticed a male pony next to him scoff and shake his head. Dainty frowned, wondering if that was aimed at him. Trying to ignore the temporary distraction, he flipped the record cover to check out the track listing. One track title looked familiar: Lost Time. He remembered that being part of the lyrics of the song Steel Strings sang that night. “Oh, cool,” he exclaimed to himself. “Those guys suck,” the pony next to him said. Dainty looked at him with an oblique smile. “Did you say that to me?” “Yeah, I did,” the pony said. He was a pegasus with a blue coat and a slick black mane, and he wore a dark jacket. “That band sucks.” “Sorry, but, I didn’t ask,” Dainty said, shaking his head at the fact he had to say something so glaringly obvious. “Just giving you friendly advice,” the pony insisted. “I’d throw that thing away if I were you.” “Why do you think they’re so bad?” The pegasus gave a weighty sigh. “My eldest sister used to worship those guys. She wouldn’t stop listening to them. I mean, actually, her friends wouldn’t shut up about that band. They said Deep Voice was a ‘genius’, oh, a ‘poet’ and a ‘prophet’, but, really? All he did was copy other bands, like The Healing and Jolly Section. And he wasn’t even a good lyricist, like, his lyrics don’t rhyme, they’re rambling and don’t mean anything. And they were so overplayed! It’s no wonder everypony got sick of them, and thank Celestia for that!” Dainty could barely react. He couldn’t help but find it odd how that pony had such strong, intense feelings of dislike for a band. It seemed like a waste of emotion. “Well,” he said, unsure what to say, “okay, but I like them anyway.” The pony shrugged, like he was trying to be comical. “Suit yourself, buddy.” Dainty pondered for a second and did exactly that: he grabbed the record and headed for the counter. He explored the record stores as he trotted along the sidewalks, avoiding all those ponies that either rushed by in a frenzy, or casually strolled as if nopony else was around. In every store, he asked for directions to the Let’s Rock! shop, and felt he was getting closer. He wasn’t having much luck with finding more records, though. He sometimes felt he should just ask if they had anything by the band in stock, but he started to feel he’d be mocked or even hostilised. He kept thinking about that pony’s diatribe in the other shop. He was okay with ponies liking different things and having differing opinions, that was perfectly fine. Still, it was odd to have so much bottled distaste for a band that wasn’t even around anymore. At least, he could get a glimpse at some of the reasons that led to this: apparently, they had a whole legion of fans who wouldn’t stop talking about them. That could be exhausting, but then, was that even the band’s fault? Seems unfair to dislike them because of that. Also, they sounded like other bands? Dainty was unfamiliar with how those other bands sounded, and he had just seen their names mentioned in the books he had read. But, if that’s the case, was that a problem? Everypony has their influences, and nopony starts from scratch, right? Those thoughts buzzed around his mind like hungry flies, and he tried to focus on his main mission. At one point, he stopped to eat something, and, minutes later, he spotted the shop on the other side of the avenue. The name was written in bold red letters, and it was a large store, though not as gigantic as that Untouched Records he had been before. Dainty crossed the avenue and went into the shop. To his surprise, most of its space was devoted to rock music. He thought to himself: should that even be surprising, considering the name of the store? Still, he was so used to seeing rock music relegated to a small section, like some sort of niche genre, that this was genuinely new to him. Their selection of records was very rich. He had no idea there was so much rock music out there! He even found some records of very recent music, from that year and the previous one; so clearly somepony still liked that stuff very much, enough to keep the movement alive. He wasn’t too shocked to find Town Troop records in there, though they didn’t have them all. He picked up two new records: their first, self-titled one, with a white cover and a moody, black-and-white picture of the band; and The Four Seasons, another of their most popular records. According to what he had read, he now had the full collection. He was ecstatic, and, even better, the purchases all fit his budget nicely. He paid for the records and stored them neatly in his saddlebag. Categorically, his mission was complete. Dainty decided to head back to the hotel and put the records away, as it wasn’t safe to just go carrying them around the streets like that. He was very curious to hear them, but he had the whole afternoon, and he felt he wanted to know and experience the town a little more. He could listen to the albums in the evening, where there would be little else to do. Even though he enjoyed strolling around the place and seeing the huge diversity it had to offer, with its fancy buildings, brash and bold advertisement, and a flurry of all kinds of pony imaginable, he just kept thinking about how little he wished to live in a place like that. He figured that the noise would make it impossible for him to even think of music, and it felt like there would be no place for him to stay a little alone—let alone his own house, but that could get tiresome eventually. Ponyville seemed so much more friendly in that respect. He went out for dinner as the evening began to fall, and made his way back to his room. He started to examine his records and put them to play, letting the music fill his ears as he read the liner notes and lyrics sheets. He started in chronological order: their first record felt a little drier and more stark, with a kind of furious creativity that sparked in every song. The second record was better, more subtle and colourful, but the sound was still a little rough around the edges. The third record, The Four Seasons, was the most well done of them all, with a pristine, crystal clear sound, and songs that flowed with lyricism and melodic beauty. Dainty repeated the ritual from the previous night, reading his book while the music played. This time, he alternated the records as the night wore on, trying to let the music sink in as much as possible. At one point, he was struck by a sudden feeling of loneliness: it seemed very few ponies were interested in that band anymore, which meant he was one of very few out there listening to that music that night. It’s not that he wanted to force other ponies to like the same things he did, but could it really be that The Town Troop had run its course? Or was it possible that many ponies only didn’t like them because they didn’t know them? In other words, if those songs started to get played again, would they attract attention? He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the rest of the band never played that music again. That thought kept circling in his head as he lay down to sleep, while side B of The Four Seasons quietly played on. During breakfast, Dainty Tunes kept thinking of a very bold idea. Everything told him that this was a very stupid idea; but then again, he had felt the trip to Manehattan would be a terrible mistake, but it turned out to be mostly a big success. Perhaps he shouldn’t judge his own ideas too harshly, but that was easier said than done. It was hard to feel encouraged when the voice of discouragement was so convincing. He went out into the streets and made his way back to the Let’s Rock! store. He walked slowly, as he thought that, at any point, he’d give up the idea, so he could just turn back and do something else. Or, perhaps, he’d just check around the store and buy one or two more records. That was the most he could be comfortable with, considering the money he had left. He reached the shop, and, his heart pumping hard and fast, stepped inside. He walked all the way to the counter, where a male unicorn worked. He wasn’t very young, and he wore facial hair and had an unruly light brown mane, which framed his yellowish face. “Hi, um, excuse me?” Dainty said. “Yes?” the pony replied, with a rather gruff voice. “Uh… does Shimmering Chord still work here? Is there a way that I could talk to him?” “Do you wanna leave a band demo?” the unicorn said. “You can just leave it with me and I’ll give it to him.” “Well, actually, I believe this is something I had to talk to him myself, personally,” Dainty said, knowing how unconvincing those words sounded. “I wanted to talk to him about The Town Troop.” The unicorn raised an eyebrow. “And you are?” “I’m a musician from Ponyville, my name is Dainty Tunes, and I’m… uh, I guess you can say I’m making research on them. I came all the way here just to find out more about them.” “Huh, really?” “Um, yes,” Dainty said, almost feeling like that was a reason for embarrassment. “You’re not a journalist, are you?” Dainty rubbed the back of his neck. “No. Not at all. I’m a musician. Well, actually, I’m a construction worker, but just because I can’t pay my bills with music. Not yet, at least.” “Yeah, I get what you mean,” the unicorn said. Dainty noticed his horn was glowing with magic. “I’m not sure if I should do this, but, well, you sound legit.” Then, a scribbled piece of paper floated towards Dainty. “That’s Shimmering Chord’s address. He might be home right now, so I believe you might catch him there.” Dainty grabbed the piece of paper and read it carefully, eyes wide. “Wow… really, thanks a lot! I appreciate this! I… guess I should be going now, but thank you again.” “No prob, buddy, and good luck.” Dainty hailed a cab out in the avenue and gave the address to the driver. He rode a good bunch of blocks, and he noticed he was moving away from the really crowded, really busy part of the city to a more residential area. After a few turns, the car parked in front of a small brown building. “Here we are, sir,” the driver said. Dainty paid the fare and thanked the driver, and stood on the sidewalk, in front of the building. His heart raced harder than when he had entered the store. So much could go wrong now. He rang the intercom. A few seconds passed, and he feared he’d never hear an answer. “Hello?” a female voice answered. “Um, hi,” he said, eagerly. “Hello. I wish to talk to Mr. Shimmering Chord. Is he there?” Just then he realised how stupid that phrase sounded. “And who are you?” “My name is Dainty Tunes. I’m a musician from Ponyville. I wished to talk to him about The Town Troop. I’m… uh, researching the band.” He heard some faint voices, but he couldn’t distinguish what they said. “You don’t have an appointment with him, do you?” the female voice said. “Well, actually, no… I just went to the Let’s Rock! shop, and they gave me this address.” The voices chatted again in the background. “Was it a unicorn with brown mane and facial hair that gave you this address?” “Yes. Yes, it was.” A second passed, and he heard the front door of the building being unlocked. He reached the third floor and walked to the door of Shimmering Chord’s apartment, feeling as if he just shouldn’t be there. He knocked and waited. In a few seconds, a female pegasus opened the door. She had a short black mane, and her coat was light blue-green. “Please, come in, Mr. Dainty Tunes,” she said, making way for him. He took a few steps in and saw Shimmering Chord sitting in one of the two couches in the living room. He gazed at Dainty with his dark eyes and pointed nose. He had a deep, penetrating gaze, the same he had on the cover of The Discovery of Equestria. He still had the same short black mane. Dainty stopped dead in his tracks, just now realising what was actually going on. “Have a seat here,” Shimmering Chord said, pointing at the couch in front of him. “Okay, thanks,” Dainty said, going over to the couch and sitting down, his eyes frozen. He could almost hear his own heart beating. “So, you’re doing research on my band, is that it?” Shimmering said. “Yeah, I suppose,” Dainty said, scratching his face. “I… learnt about you a couple of days ago, back in Ponyville, but I could get almost nothing about you in there, no records, almost no books… So I came here, just to know more about you, look for your music.” “And did you like what you’ve seen?” “Very much!” Dainty replied, his ears perked up. “I’ve listened to all your records, and they’re amazing, they’re so rich, and interesting, and so well written and…” He sighed. “Honestly, I can’t believe ponies don’t care about this music anymore. Most of them don’t seem to even know you existed. It’s a shame that such wonderful music is ignored.” Shimmering Chord gave a careless shrug. “We had our time. That music was important back then, but those days are in the past. Ponies have moved on to newer things. That’s just how things go.” Dainty shook his head. “I dunno, I just can’t think like that. It’s not just because this music is old that it has to be forgotten. I mean, you have never rejoined to play these songs again. You could, uh, get a good singer and go back to playing shows and bring that music out to Equestria again.” “We can’t do that,” Shimmering Chord replied dryly. “Deep Voice is irreplaceable.” “Oh, but, I’m not saying you should replace him,” Dainty said, a little defensively. “That’s not the point. You just needed a singer good enough to sing those songs as they were meant to, as a tribute to Deep Voice, maybe. But it’s really all about the songs! I mean, do you care about the songs?” “Of course,” Shimmering Chord snapped. “That was some of the best work I’ve ever done. I’m proud of my days with The Town Troop. It had its problems, but it was great to go out to the public and play that music, and to go into the studio and write. And working with Deep Voice was… well, he was unique. I’ve never met anypony like him. He knew more music than every other pony I know combined. He devoured records, he knew the names of the band members, he could sing all the songs… He loved theatre, he loved poetry, he loved all that is beautiful. And yes, he could be troublesome at times, and he gave us quite a few scares… and he was temperamental, and unpredictable… One day, he’d be this super funny and friendly guy, always with something interesting to say and willing to have a good time… and the next day, he would be mean, and sarcastic, and he seemed to dislike everything and everypony. But, in reality, he was just sentimental. Everything affected him deeply. And he brought that into the songs, you know… “I mean, we wrote most of the songs together, sometimes right in the studio. Cymbal Crash and I would bring in ideas, work out rhythms, chord progressions, lines on the guitar or the keyboards, and Rocky Rumble would do a lot of great stuff when he was with us, too. Everypony brought something to the songs. But, in the end, it was Deep Voice who took those ideas and turned them into actual songs, and what he did was just… Well, he was no unicorn, but he did magic. The melodies, the lyrics… I don’t know how he did it, but it was unbelievable. And I’m proud to say I was part of that.” Dainty Tunes just watched him, in silence. He was profoundly moved by that first hoof account, and, if anything, he felt even more motivated in the mission that brought him to that house. “You see, that’s exactly why I think we should bring that music back again,” Dainty said, softly. Shimmering Chord shrugged. “If you want that, maybe you should try something yourself.” “Well, I could make my own band,” Dainty replied. “I could find some musicians in Ponyville and get them together, and we can learn the songs and play them for everypony. I think it can be done. You’re not going to stop me, are you?” “I have no reason to,” Shimmering Chord said, “unless you try to make money off our stuff. We wouldn’t let that happen.” “Oh, no, of course not,” Dainty said, raising his hooves, almost offended. “I wouldn’t do that for profit! But, anyway, do I have your approval for that? Do I have your blessing?” “I don’t think you need my blessing. If you think you’re up to the task, go out and do it. Nopony will stop you.” “Well, thanks! This is… well, this is very important to me. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.” “Don’t mention it, buddy.” Dainty glanced at the door. “Well, I… I think this is my cue to get going, then,” he said, getting up from the couch. “I won’t take more of your time.” “It’s okay.” Shimmering Chord got up, and followed Dainty to the door. “Thank you for your visit.” “Oh, just… before you go,” Dainty said, stopping just before reaching the door, “there’s just something I wanted to say…” He took a deep breath. “Thank you. Thank you for having made all this music, for doing something so wonderful and so meaningful. And, when you happen to talk to the guys, extend my thanks to Rocky Rumble and Cymbal Crash too… and, well, to Deep Voice, too, wherever he is.” Shimmering Chord nodded, a hint of a smile in his face. “Sure. I’ll give it to them.” “Okay. I’ll… see you some time, then.” Dainty stopped halfway down the stairs. He trembled and sobbed, having just properly understood what had happened. Even though he was a complete failure at trying to convince Shimmering Chord to regroup the band (or what was left of it), he had just met him, talked to him in person. He couldn’t think of anything else. He took a deep breath, raised his head and headed towards the exit.