Reinventing Music

by Dashie04

Chapter 6: Get Bumpsy

Walking outside, there’s a carriage which I suppose is for the tour.

Let me tell you, it’s sure weird sitting there with Ol’ Shifty for an hour waiting for Octavia to come back. We stand there in awkward silence. I don’t think we like each other, but he’s my executive, and I’m a rising star, so we have to tolerate each other.

On the plus side, it gives me a lot of time to think. Maybe I treated Meadow Song too harshly. I also claimed that the songs were mine, they weren’t, but what else was I going to say. Technically, they’re in the public domain! I guess I could use a guitarist’s help. Since Octavia isn’t here yet, I head around front. Meadow Song isn’t there, unfortunately. Oh well, I tried.

I return back to the carriage, and continue waiting.

A few minutes later, I notice an out-of-breath Octavia running toward the carriage. She’s carrying a big, large, case thing.

“Dear Vinyl isn’t coming, but I figured you could use some help,” she pants.

“I was wondering when you would arrive,” I respond.

Octavia looks at me like she regrets this decision already. However, she doesn’t leave.

Ol’ Shifty grumbles something about how he’ll have to pay two musicians now. He then clearly remarks,”Mercury, Miss Melody, I won’t be accompanying you for the rest of your trip. I still have artists to sign here.”

“Thank God,” I say.

“I’ll have you know that I am a married mare,” Octavia says.

Ol’ Shifty looks at us with a gaze that could freeze the Pacific. “Get. In. The. Carriage,” he remarks.

Me and Octavia oblige, and it starts moving.

After a bit of silence, I say,”So, where’d you learn to play the upright bass?”

Octavia looks at me. “Well, I was in, Jazz band.” She says that last part very quietly.

“Interesting,” I remark to nobody in particular.

Octavia starts rattling off some names,”We played songs such as The Mare From Appleoosa, Heartaches, Stardust...”

“Wait one fucking minute. You don’t have the Blues in this world, but you do have Jazz? What’s the deal?”

“I’m not quite sure what questions you’re asking,” Octavia says.”It’s always been here.”

I decide not to think any more about whatever the hell was going on with music in Equestria, and decide to enjoy the ride. The isolating, lonely ride.

“Have you ever been on a tour, Octavia?”

Octavia shakes her head.

“Well, this is what it is, a long ride so you can play same 15 songs you played a day ago. I was lucky to be in such a versatile cover band.”

“You were a musician?” Octavia asks.

“A cover one, in a past life, perhaps. A life which I’m looking forward to getting back to. Someday, maybe after the tour is done. I’m bringing back music, after all.”

“I’ve never heard a single song you’ve played,” Octavia says, frankly.

“I know,” I reply, and I sit in silence for the rest of the ride.

---

I’m jolted awake by a massive bump in the road, I’m not quite sure where we are. I can’t see anything because of this damn windowless carriage. However, the carriage soon comes to a rough stop.

“Your stop,” says the carriage puller. I hear some unhitching, the door opens, and I nearly fall out.

“The fuck?” I say.”I just got up.”

Octavia’s still asleep, so I knock on the interior wall of the carriage. This jolts her awake, and she laboriously drags her upright bass out. Looking up, her face takes on a look of abject horror. I look up with her.

The city’s still bright and colorful, but there’s something about the ponies around here that make it seem a bit sketchy. There’s shops which are designated as bars, and some which are even worse.

“Mercury, we’re in the bad part of Ponyville,” she notes. “Mr. Carriage Stallion, are you sure we’re in the right place?”

“That’s the instructions Decca gave me, heh heh,” he says in an annoyingly chipper voice.

Ol’ Shifty had a name. Interesting.

The carriage pony continues,”You’re holding a show in downtown Ponyville square. That’s about a half-mile, that way,” he says, gesturing vaguely North. He then hitches back up and heads to what is presumably a hotel.

Me with my acoustic guitar, and Octavia with her upright bass, are left standing there.

“So, wanna drop by a bar and get some booze?” I ask.

“Mercury!” Octavia scolds.

“You aren’t in charge of me, Octavia,” I reply.

She grumbles.”Fine, get yourself hammered before a show. I will not be joining you.”

I do the closest thing a pony can do to shrugging, and enter a nearby bar.

I walk on up to the bartender,”Hey bartender,” I say, quoting the only two words of a song I remembered for some reason.

The bartender looks at me.

“You one of those traveling musician types?” he asks, in a voice which I could only describe as if Marty Robbins was reincarnated as a pony.

“I suppose I am,” I recite in a faux Southern accent to match his.

“Would you like some drinks?” he asks.

“No, I came to a bar to talk,” I snark. “Of fucking course I want some drinks. Do you have some white wine?”

The bartender turns away and gets some white wine. I start drinking it.

“This stuff’s pretty good, how much for another glass?”

“5 bits per glass,” he says.

“Do you practice extortion, too?” I mumble. Regardless, I still have the money, so I pay up. Soon, I lose count.

---

“Whazzat?” I slur, jolting up in my seat. I listen around for where I am, everything was a bit fuzzy.

“There’s supposed to be a show by a hot new artist in about 30 minutes in downtown Ponyville,” I hear the bartender, bartender? Bartender. Say to a different customer.

“Oh my fuzking God!” I shout. I pick up my acoustic guitar and bolt out of the place, leaving 15 bits at the bar for some reason. I think it might’ve been a tip?

I shake myself awake, regretting doing that due to the pounding pain that is currently going on in my head. It feels like a jackhammer is going on in my head, reconfiguring it like it’s some construction project. I can’t walk properly. I’m stumbling over the cobblestones to the main square, clutching my head and dragging my guitar.

As the pounding in my head intensifies, I wince in pain, and notice a blurry grey pony trying to set her bass up on a stool. I think that’s Octavia.

A stumble and collapse onto the cobblestone near the fountain. The god-pony seems to be looking at me judgingly, as if I’ve just done something that pissed off every single pony in a mile radius.

There isn’t even an introductory reaction, everybody just stands there in abject horror. The silence is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Because of the pounding in my head, it may as well have been deafening, too.

“Mercury...” Octavia says.

“I know, I’m a fucking disaster,” I reply.

I sure hope nobody was taking pictures of me and putting them into Ponyville’s next hot tabloid.

“My, mind’s all scattered right now. So let’s start, relatively simple.”

I put down my acoustic guitar and it clatters to the ground.

“Woah-oh Black Betty...” I begin.

It’s not the upbeat work song of the original, it’s something mournful. The audience seems to catch my drift.

Right when the song ends, I sit there in silence for a while. The audience waits with baited breath, and I pick up my acoustic guitar in my hooves. The wood feels nice and cool in my hands, and I try and think of anything that I could remember.

I can only settle on House of The Rising Sun, but I only have bits and pieces. The jackhammer going on in my head, making me miserable, is preventing me from thinking of the Leadbelly one I played last show.

Uggh...

I strum a couple of blues chords.

Was it about a boy or a girl? What versions were I getting mixed up with each other? I mean, there was no way in hell I was singing the girl’s version. But.. which one was 1925? Maybe, I could just, try something a little new.

“I’ve... I’ve never played this one before, it’s... something new” I state.”Octavia, key of Eb minor.”

She nods.

I strum out a staggered acoustic rhythm. A little swung, but I simply can’t have my mind think of such a rhythm.

There is—

I clear my throat and try and get all the lyrics straight.

From that house in New Orleans.
One called— the Rising Sun.
It ruins more lives every day
Great God and I for one.

There was a time my mother said—
“Don’t you go that way.”
But I was a young and foolish boy.
And my mind led me astray.

Nowhere else would a gambler be,
Cheaters and rounders, too.
For in that House of the Rising Sun
They take advantage of you.

For all my Delta family
Don’t do as I have done.
Stay far away from New Orleans
And the House of the Rising Sun.

I strum out a final chord, and the ponies clap politely. What other songs were there?

“Let’s just play, Goodnight Irene again. Octavia. This one’s in 3/4. Just, G Major. I’ll try and do something.”

I start to strum out a 3/4 song, and start to emulate Lead Belly’s singing. All my words are slurred and I can’t think straight. It works, I guess.

After strumming out the final chord, I think long and hard— but that very act causes my head to scream out in pain. I look around, desperate for any source of inspiration.

Despite my head doing its very best to stab a sword in my brain, I notice a clothesline.

“Hey, everybody, have you ever wondered how many clothes a match box can hold?”

I start strumming out a very weird swing rhythm. Everybody in the village square looks at me like I finally lost it. Including Octavia.

I then launch into Match Box Blues. Most ponies recognized this song from my album, so they warm up to it. Octavia doesn’t play her bass and looks at me like I got even crazier.

The very complicated guitar rhythms at least give me something else to think about, but the insistent jackhammer is getting stronger. All this complexity just isn’t doing it for me.

After I finish, I hang my head.

“Mercury, you’ve completely lost it!” Octavia scolds.

I ignore her, and I’m about ready to just end it.”I really can’t think, right now. So I’m going to leave you all with one last song so I can have some alone time.”

I know which song I’m going to do, and I start Robert Johnson’s signature leaps. Octavia looks confused, so I stop.

“What, Octavia?” I groan.

“What key is this in?” she replies curtly.

I roll my eyes.”Fine, play it in E.”

I start playing Traveling Riverside Blues anyways. Octavia looks pissed, but I honestly just wanted to get this over and done with before my head started torturing me again.

After that, I walk off stage,”Come on, Octavia,” I say. She seems to be mad, but she follows me anyways.

Pushing through the crowd, I’m stopped by a young pony who appears to be female. I still need to get used to the fact that ponies have hair, at least it makes differentiating genders easier.

“I love your album Mr. Mercury, and I want to be a guitarist like you!” she says.

“That’s nice,” I say, completely moving on. I wanted to go home.

“Will you sign the album, for me?”

I continue ignoring her. I didn’t have time to be stopped by tiny ponies who wanted to be me.

As I head back to the carriage, I see the pony still waiting.

“The boss said the next stop’s in Appleoosa! We should arrive by daytime tomorrow.”

I get in the carriage, and Octavia with me.

“You know, Mercury, I’m disappointed.” Octavia says.

“So what? What’s she gonna do, tell the press?” I reply.

“Mercury, you really can’t play with fire! You aren’t even a huge star yet! Have some decency!”

“I’ve sold gold.”

“So? You haven’t sold platinum! You aren’t Songbird Serenade or Sweetie Belle.”

“Let the press ridicule me, Queen survived it.”

“You astound me.” Octavia snarks.”But I guess I’m stuck with you, and if you want to be stubborn, so be it. I’ll relay this to dear Vinyl when I get back.”

I sigh. It’d be a long night. I sit in silence as the carriage travels through the night.

Author's Note:

Sorry this is so late. And bad. But I’ve been struggling for ideas and I just came up with one and wanted to make the press ridicule Mercury some.

Yes, Get Bumpsy is a song. It’s rather good, feel free to look it up.

Also, the House of the Rising Sun that Mercury performed is entirely my rewrite, but I made it less gender-neutral for Mercury. That can be found here.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed, constructive criticism is allowed and encouraged.