//------------------------------// // 08 Band Practice By Octavia Melody // Story: Poetry From Equestria And Beyond // by LyraAlluse //------------------------------// Band Practice By Octavia Melody “We need to listen to this song.” Vinyl says, The producer, the hip-hop master, music mare with a plan, Writes lyrics like some ponies make glass ornaments, Pristine, precise, can break you if they drop, And she plays five instruments or more, Better than the ones you’ve played for years, And she has a real ear for music, a real heart for sound, A real soul for rhythm, her flesh dies with every chord progression, And the lead guitarist Meadow Song pipes in, “No we need to practice.” As he strums on his guitar, A gift from heaven that he plays well enough, To convince me that he has sold his soul for the skill to play it, Because Meadow Song is a music pony too, With more of a plan in his head than Vinyl Scratch, At least in his mind, And he plays five instruments better than most people play one, And he’s always recording the band practice sessions for fun, And this stallion has traveled long and far, With bands across the country and the world at large, Who are probably all more skilled than ours, And Meadow Song just wants to play and record more material, For the next session meet, So he looks at me and asks, “Don’t you think we should be working on that new song we came up with last Tuesday night?” He asks this as he digs in his pockets for a carrot, Puts down his guitar and walks outside the small apartment downtown, Where we make magic, us three band members, Who can never seem to agree when to start practice, Or when to end it, and as Meadow Song chews on his carrot outside, With the window wide open, Vinyl turns to me and asks, “Don’t you think we should get inspiration from some bands before we start? Let these tones touch our heart to get us in the mood to play! Besides we can practice any day. Right now, we should just be inspired.” And I’m not quite sure what to say, Because I am no music master like the other two, by any means, Even though I write song lyrics and make the keyboard sing, And have never ran across an instrument that I couldn’t play, And I’ll admit my voice is ok, But I am no Vinyl Scratch and I am no Meadow Song, And I’m still trying to figure out how they let me play in this band, These two ponies with a plan and me, one mare with none. I ponder this as Meadow walks back in, Satisfied with his small snack, ready to provoke Vinyl, With a stray comment about how band practice never really seems like practice, But Vinyl is still waiting for my answer and I’ve never been good with words, So I shrug and start to play on the keyboard, and Meadow swings his guitar strap over his head, as he says, “I like the beat of that, keep playing,” And I do, and Vinyl has a breakthrough, And takes out her harmonica and draws out a bluesy sound, While Meadow and I continue to get down, Then all at once Vinyl starts to rap, And I tap my hooves to the beat, And Meadow starts to sing as I change key and harmonize, And Meadow brings out his recorder, And tapes the session of music that popped out of nowhere, Like all of our best sessions do, And this continues on for three more songs, We can’t go wrong, We’re in the groove, And each song we play new instruments, And sing new choruses, And Vinyl works her hip-hop magic, And Meadow continues to sing, And I continue to harmonize when I can, With these two music ponies with a plan, And me with none at all. And then the session ends, And we all agree it turned our better than the one last week, And we eat some snacks and drinks some drinks And each one of us thinks about how our new creations would sound if we happened to play them live downtown, And Vinyl tells us we should listen to some beats, From some hip-hop masters that came from the streets, So we listen to the music into the night, And stop when we get inspiration and write, Lyrics and play tunes, And our jam session carries over into the next morning, And by this time Vinyl’s already asleep on the couch, And Meadow Song and I are still talking about the relationship, Between chaos, evil, and good, For no other reason than to get inspiration, For song lyrics and new songs, And we look over and realize that Vinyl is gone, Long gone into the world of dreams, So the two of us take our leave, As the sun starts to rise in the sky, And I offer Meadow Song a ride home to his house, On the west side of town and he gladly obliges, And on the way there we talk, About old television shows, movies, and songs, Which are way better than, The ones we have nowadays, With action, more action, no story, No plot, no characters to fill the plot, No music to carry the action, story, or plot The way they did way back in the day, And then we reach Meadow Song’s place and he gets out, And says goodbye and I’m left alone in my ride, To drive back to my origin on the east side of town, And face the reality of work that I must go to, In five long hours, Five short hours, Five hours I wish were not hours, But were days, And as I drive home I wish for fame, To make a name for myself that will take, Me away from those long days at my job, As the sun is rising, And I’m driving To my origin on the east side of town, I wish for more jam sessions, Listening sessions, Arguing sessions, Talking sessions, To get my mind off of the grind of daily life, As I head to my origin on the east side of town; Toward my room that holds a crucifix I hang on instead of sleeping, Calmly in a bed, The crucifix of routine that’s so estranged, From the way I make music, Or write lyrics, Or get inspired by two musician ponies with a plan, Every Tuesday and me with none at all, Hanging on this crucifix of obligation, At my origin on the east side of town, Waiting for next Tuesday’s jam session, Where I can get down to the sound of creation, Liberation, from this crucifix I lay on, Freedom of the soul. Every Tuesday at band practice, Jam sessions, My obsession, Freedom of expression.