The Second Life of Moztrot

by CrackedInkWell

Chapter 15: Music Festival (Part 3)

Finding Mr. Sauté’s music proved to be more difficult than we had anticipated. For you see, we learned that while there was indeed a DJ PON3 performing, the place itself was underground. We must have spent two hours trying to find where exactly to go down below. I confess that the reason it took so long was all the detours we made on our little quest.

After I spoke with the mare who’d conducted the soundtrack music, we moved on to another part of the empire. This new section was populated with street musicians who were in fierce competition with one another for the most crowds and coins. For a while, we were lost in this fantasy land of soloists on strings, keyboards, brass, woodwinds, and vocals that of every level of talent. The four of us heard a wide range from a singer of Istallion

Opera to the boring guitarist that repeated the same four chords over and over.

“You would think somepony would have mapped out this place,” Mr. Sauté complained and I swiftly agreed. “How are we supposed to find where DJ PON3 is?”

It didn’t take long to solve that riddle. “I suppose we find the biggest crowd there is and work our way from there. After all, the more ponies we ask, the more likely we’ll be able to find the place that is playing electronic music.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” my maid commented. “Quick, look around and see who’s got the biggest-”

“Over there,” my butler interrupted as he pointed down the street towards a rather large group that was gathered around a lone violinist on a platform. As we gotten nearer, his features became clearer. Dressed in a plain black suit, he looked as if nopony had fed him in years. Standing on his hind legs he looked like a scarecrow; even his greasy black mane contributed to the look. The Caprice, however, was like nothing I had ever heard before. Playing a scherzo at a demonic pace, both his bowing and hoof placement bespoke the natural gifts of a virtuoso. For a while, I didn’t bother asking anypony as I was transfixed on his playing. Never in my life had I heard a violinist that could archive such impossible feats, and he was an earth pony like myself! With the tempo of summer lightning, his bow practically bounced from one string to the next while at the same time pronouncing each and every note perfectly. To me, it was the sound of madness, but one that had such a method to it that I was mentally kicking myself for not thinking of it first!

After the well-deserved applause, I was compelled to go up and see who this virtuoso was. “Bow any faster and I think it’ll catch on fire,” I called out to him.

He looked down at the mob and found my face among them, “Oh Celestia…” He hopped off from the platform to go up to me and bow. “I’m deeply honored to have a master like you here.”

“Master? No, I’m just an idiot,” I laughed. “Still, what a caprice that was, it’s refreshingly new. I’ve never heard the violin played like that since Boulogne, mister… I’m sorry, I haven’t gotten the name.”

“Paganeighni.” He replied, “And I would appreciate the compliment, only I don’t know who Boulogne is.”

I blinked, “Joseph Boulogne, Chevalier de Saint-George?” I tried to clarify. “He was a famous violinist in Prance, the greatest Zebra violinist in the world?” But he only gave a blank stare in return. I sighed with melancholy, “Oh never mind. Look, I and my friends are trying to get somewhere, could you help us out if you can?”

---

Even after we’d decided to rest at a pub, I was feeling rather gloomy. Not that we had no idea where our next stop on our quest for new music was; in fact, at that moment we were merely across the street from it. However, I wasn’t ready to listen to it just yet. And I knew why.

It was the depressing revelation from Paganeighni’s response. The musicians that had such an impact on my melodies and harmonies were not just dead but forgotten too. And not just Boulogne, but as I was downing my second glass of ale, I thought what if my friends and rivals had been forgotten too? What about Salieri? What about my father? Or Hayden? Does anypony listen to or play their music anymore? Much less heard of them?

“What’s gotten you down?” Mr. Sauté inquired me.

“Yeah,” my maid nodded, “You haven’t said a word since we got directions from that crazy violinist.”

I sighed and decided to test my theory out. “Have any of you ever heard of Joseph Boulogne, Chevalier de Saint-George?” Their confused faces gave me the answer. “Never mind.”

“Forgive us, Wolfgang,” Wilfred told me. “But who exactly was he?”

“He was a violinist.”

Sauté scrunched up his face in thought, “I don’t think I’ve heard the name until now. Did you know him?”

I laughed bitterly, “Not really, but I’ve heard him play when I was young, back when Papa toured the family around Prance. It was interesting as I remembered it because he was the first Zebra to play the violin at the Paris Opera House.”

Three pairs of eyes went wide. “Excuse me?” all of them said at once.

“It’s true.” I nodded, “Not only was he a freepony. But he was also a knight, hence the title of Chevalier because he was a genius at fencing. And not only was he a virtuoso at playing the violin, but he was a composer. Why the very novelty itself was enough for my father to take me to see him play his own violin concerto.” After letting out a sigh, I added, “What I heard that night gave me the inspiration to write the Sinfonia Concertante and my own violin concertos. But I’ll let you a little secret.” I leaned forward to mutter, “I have tried to outdo what he wrote and played that night, but nothing has come close.”

Three gaping jaws stared back at me. “But… But you’re Moztrot,” my chief objected. “One of the greatest composers that ever lived – how can you say such a thing?”

Another gulp of that cool ale. “Because it’s true,” I mumbled. “Of course I’m good, one of the best, but I have been outdone before. Even I think that there are ponies who were more successful and talented than I am.”

“Compared to what we’ve heard at the Opera House?” my butler questioned.

I stayed quiet for a moment, down the rest of the ale. “Still, it is rather depressing that those who have inspired me have been forgotten, and I’m the only one that’s left. Am I the only thing from my time that has been remembered?”

“Well there was Buch,” Sauté pointed out. “Along with Vifilly, Shandel, Hayden and-”

“I mean in the latter half of the eighth century,” I interrupted. “What about Salieri? Or Tartini? Cherubini? Krommer? Pleyel? Clementi? Hoffmeister?” Again, nothing but blank stares. Of course, the names I’d given to them were those I considered to be second rate, but I was still surprised that they hadn’t heard of them at all. How ironic then, that in my time I went from a fading child star in the eyes of royal courts to become the most famous composer -- indeed, the only famous one -- of my time. I made up my mind right there and then that once I performed the Requiem to my special audience, I would begin to put together a different sort of concert.

“Wolfgang,” my butler took me out of my thoughts, “Shall we get going?”

After paying for our drinks, we moved on with our quest. The place across the street had a row of shops, but we went around to the back towards a set of stairs that lead downwards. As we got closer to a door, there was the sound of something thumping against the crystal walls. It was a steady pulse in the lowest register like a muffled drum, or a giant’s. But once we got closer to it, it sounded like a vast machine warming up. And then, as my chef opened the door, we were blasted by a cello, an unorthodox orchestra and the shouting of ponies inside.

My sensitive ears could barely bear the earthquake that was happening as we stepped into an enormous darkened room. There was a vast array of bright colors that glowed like stars. Ponies all around had halos made up of thin strands of light greens, vibrant blues, shining pinks, burning yellows, and blinding violets that were on their heads, hooves, tails, and even wrapped around their bodies. Overhead, dark blue lights shone down on us and made our coats change color. The area reeked of spilled alcohol, vomit, perfumes and other unidentifiable aromas. But right across from this dream world stood the source of the music that was screaming through blue and black disks. And in between these towers in which the disks were held upon was a table at which a mare was in complete control. In the light, she was glowing brightly like the moon with a spiky blue mane and dark spectacles over her eyes.

And I couldn’t hear much over the sheer volume of the music which made me wonder how we couldn’t hear this from across the street. A solo cello movement was the only thing that was recognizable from the chaotic and confusing sounds. To my ears they came in a series of screeching, thunderous beats, burping, farting and scratching that vibrated the floor itself. At least the ponies all around who were dancing to it seemed to be enjoying themselves. The young cook and the maid had certainly fallen underneath this overly complicated spell. I on the other hoof felt that my ears would bleed if I stayed any longer.

My butler followed me out, “I can safely assume that you are not a fanatic?”

I slumped upon the steps, “Never in my life have I been so confused by a piece of music before – I just don’t understand it. Is this what young ponies see as dancing music?”

He chuckled, “Let me guess, is it too unorthodox?”

“I don’t know. Like that Beethoven bit, I’m not sure if it’s too complex or the composer just had no idea what he was doing.” Then my ears perked up as the music from inside changed. “Hold on, is that Buch?”

Wilfred looked over, his ears listening for a moment, “Sounds like one of his preludes. That’s being remixed.”

“Is being what?”

He shook his head, “It’s a term nowadays, meaning to take a piece of any given music and rework it by adding beats or splitting it up. You know Wolfgang, every generation has their own idea of what proper music is. Why, when I was young, rock and roll had just been introduced but the older generation condemned it for being ‘Morally Corrupting’ and being played too loud. Surely, even you have seen this?”

“To be fair, I have,” I nodded. “Do you know of my opera, ‘Il Matrimonio di Figaro’?”

My butler nodded, “The Marriage of Figaro? Yes, I’m familiar with it.”

“Well, believe it or not, Celestia nearly banned it before it could be performed.”

This surprised him. “Really?”

“Oh yes. And during rehearsals too, a part of the opera was nearly taken out, a peasant wedding dance that was restored at the last minute because apparently, Princess Sunbutt had banned ballet in her operas. (Which, I completely agree with if such a thing serves no purpose to the overall story.) Anyway, the opera was nearly banned because I had chosen a controversial play to be set to music. The original play was causing riots in Prance when it was performed you see, so I and some Istallion poet set out to remove as much as we could of anything that would give offense. But even after the production was finalized, it was performed only nine times before it was stopped completely. Saying that too much of it might cause some revolution if I wasn’t careful,” I huffed on that step. “I think it is a load of manure if you ask me.”

“So you do approve of this,” he waved a hoof to the closed door that is still thumping.

“All I’m saying is that I don’t understand it, not that it’s badly written. If I could get a moment with that DJ PON3 and have her explain what it’s all about, then that might be some help. But at the moment, I find it too complex for my tastes."

Comments

[CrackedInkWell]

Okay, let’s see how the story is do- (Checks main page to see it’s on the feature thing) HOLY CRAP!!!

[Greenhorn]

“All I’m saying is that I don’t understand it, and not that it’s badly written. If I could get a moment with that DJ PON3 to explain what it’s all about, then it might be some help. But at the moment, I find it too complex for my tastes.”

If you find her music too complex, then you will find it even more difficult to understand 'mute' pony explain her music to you.

[HB_DS2013]

8441443 If Moztrot finds dubstep to be too complicated, I doubt that he'll be able to understand EDM at all.

[Chrome Masquerade]

And I couldn’t hear much over the sheer volume of the music which made me wonder how we haven’t heard this from across the street. A solo cello movement was the only thing that was recognizable from the chaotic and confusing sounds. To my ears they came in a series of screeching, thunderous beats, burping, farting and scratches that vibrated the floor itself. At least the ponies all around who were dancing to it seemed to be enjoying themselves. The young cook and the maid had certainly fallen underneath this overly complicated spell. I on the other hoof felt that my ears would bleed if I stayed any longer.

Kinda reminds me of

[Pony_Person_123]

Yay more updates

[LostArchivist]

8441443
That seems remarkably open-minded. While I don't know if the original was that way, it's fun to read about this one.
His unusual sense of humor's quite good too...