• Published 5th Dec 2012
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The Court Musician of Equestria - GrassAndClouds2



Octavia finds herself in conflict with a metal musician whose performances aren't what they seem

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The Pony Everypony Knows

It was six fifteen in the morning, and Octavia Philharmonica was ready for the sun to rise.

The Court Musician of the Night Court of Equestria had already set up and tuned her cello by the time Princess Luna trotted out onto the balcony. Octavia leaned her instrument back on its stand and quickly bowed “Princess. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Octavia.” Luna’s voice sounded content, albeit faintly tired. Her steps too, in fact, were a trifle slower than they usually were. Even her breathing, a little deeper than normal, sounded weary. “Are you ready?” she asked, skipping the usual pleasantries.

Octavia showed no sign that she’d noticed any of the indications that Luna was more tired than she usually was. She just said, “Yes. On your mark,” as she rose from her bow and prepared herself.

The cellist heard, more than saw or felt, Luna begin to gather her magic. As the faint, buzzing hum reached her ears, she began to play. It was just a few notes at first, as Luna continued to charge up her spell, but once the alicorn began to grasp the sun – once the hum of her horn shifted just slightly, just enough to let Octavia know that Luna was now casting the kind of magic that only she could perform – the music expanded. It grew, deepened, and widened, until it was an ocean of sound spilling off the edge of the balcony, into space, and down to the gardens far below.

The music was slow and peaceful, as if dreamlike, but there was an undercurrent of strength to it – an undercurrent at about the same pitch as the hum of Luna’s horn, bringing that sound into the music to enrich its timbre. The melody slowly wandered about, but it was sure of where it was going; though its motions seemed calm and tranquil, they were not going to be moved by anything in the nation. This was not the exhausted collapse of somepony worked to total exhaustion, but the relaxation due a victor who, having triumphed in her tasks, was able to set aside her strength and select for herself a suitable time and place to indulge in relaxation.

The hum of Luna’s magic changed again as Luna wrested the sun up into its place. As the sun rose, so did the pitch of her horn, and so did the music that Octavia played. The music was still calm, almost languid, but it took on an air of reminiscence, reflection on the last task to be performed. It was going well and would go well; the music was sure and resolute, representing a pony who was capable of any sort of job and would be able to complete this one without trouble. There was only one harmonic line – the music was too calm and simple for a truly complex harmony – but it stayed near the melody, helping where needed, further deepening the rich and soothing sound.

Finally, the sun was up. Luna’s horn faded into silence, and after a moment, so did Octavia’s performance. Her last notes were a few bright ones, soft but clear, traveling up into the air. Now it was truly all done, they seemed to say. Now it was time to rest and take pleasure in the success of one’s triumphs.

Octavia opened her eyes to see that it was morning. That meant that her job was completed. “By your leave, princess,” she said, formally asking permission to exit the balcony. Normally, she preferred to stay for a few moments to speak with Luna, but this morning, she figured that the princess probably just wanted to go to bed.

“Wait a moment,” said Luna. She was staring up at the sky, as if lost in thought. Eventually, she turned to her musician. “That was lovely, Octavia. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Octavia was too well trained to smile at the surge of pride that comment sent through her, but she felt it nonetheless.

“That was just what I wanted,” said Luna, continuing on. She began to walk back across the balcony, gesturing for Octavia to follow her. “You have demonstrated a remarkable ability to sense my mood and adapt your music to it,” she added. “Is that one of the other subjects you studied?”

“Not explicitly. But music is considered by many to be the ‘language of emotions’. I think the two are closely related. As I learned to listen closely to music, to analyze and understand it, I also learned to hear the sounds of a happy, or sad, or… or tired mood.” Octavia paused, wondering how much detail was appropriate. “If a pony’s gait is slower than usual, or they are breathing more heavily, or their voice sounds less energetic, I can hear it.”

“Indeed,” said Luna. “The two are closely linked. I know of few better ways to induce a change in emotion than with a well-placed song.” She smiled, a twinkling grin in the early-morning light. “A bright piece can liven up even the saddest of rooms, a sad one can bring down the highest joys.” She chuckled. “And a peaceful one can ease the deepest weariness. Octavia, I think I would like to hear that piece some more. Please make a recording within the week.”

“Of course,” she said, having to work a bit harder to avoid smiling like a school foal who had just gotten a gold star. Luna only asked for recordings of her best performances, so it was a treat to find out that she’d played at that level. “The same length, or expanded?”

“Both,” said Luna. “Thank you.” They had reached the door between the balcony of the rest of the castle. “I will be retiring to my quarters now. Have a good day, Octavia.”

“Have a good rest, princess,” said Octavia, bowing once again.

When she rose, the princess was gone. Octavia finally smiled, looking out over the sides of the balcony and into the fields in the distance. Yes, today was certainly looking like it would be a great day. She was still feeling energetic, so before she went to sleep for the day she could spend an hour or two composing, or working on her own private project. Maybe a cup of tea first, for drinking while she sat in a park and listened to the half of the city that worked by day waking up and getting ready. She could even spend some time browsing the music stores to see if there were any new recordings she wanted to listen to. The day was, in short, full of promise; nothing could stop her from entering the castle and getting on with--

“Miss?”

Octavia turned to see a pegasus Royal Guard who was flying overhead on patrol.

“Miss, I think you forgot your instrument.” He pointed at Octavia’s cello, sitting forlornly at the edge of the balcony.

Octavia blushed slightly. Well, maybe one thing.

*
My little pony, My little pony
Ahh ahh ahh ahhh...
My little pony
Friendship never meant that much to me
My little pony
But you're all here and now I can see
Stormy weather; Lots to share
A musical bond; With love and care
Teaching laughter; It's an easy feat,
And magic makes it all complete!
You have my little ponies
How'd I ever make so many true friends?
*

“Good morning, Octavia!”

“Good morning, Paperweight,” said the cellist. “How are you?”

“Doing great!”

Paperweight was a young unicorn page who worked for Viceroy Night Light, one of the most powerful ponies in the Court after Luna Herself. Despite this relatively lofty appointment for a pony of her age and rank, though, she hadn’t let any of it go to her head. She was an exuberant and eager unicorn who could often be found, when she wasn’t carrying out Night Light’s orders, snacking in one of the castle cafes or running about trying to put together a pick-up hoofball game with other off-duty castle servants.

Octavia had met her very shortly after her appointment to her position as Court Musician, when she’d performed for a charity ball that Night Light, his wife Twilight Velvet, and popular playpony Fancy Pants had hosted. Paperweight had been one of the liaisons between the staff and the hosts, and had helped Octavia and the other musicians get their equipment and other gear set up on stage. After the concert, Paperweight had approached Octavia and asked for her hoofograph. “That was awesome!” she had said.

Octavia had paused for a moment. “If I might ask, what did you like about it?” That question usually helped her determine if the pony was trying to suck up to her (in which case the answer would be vague and meaningless), or if the pony understood music and was making a genuine compliment (in which case the answer would go into technique or theory).

Paperweight, though, had given an unusual answer. “I… uh… well, I don’t know much about music theory. But I really liked how it sounded. It was almost like Paganeighni’s Variations in the second part there, with that thing you did where the string was going up and down really really fast, and I love that technique. And the third section sounded almost like the end of the Rachmaneinov Concerto the Canterlot Orchestra was just playing last week, but you made it sound like it ‘fit’ together more… and I think that last part sounded a little like Liprance’s third sonata with all the different sounds in different groups…”

Octavia had raised an eyebrow. Paperweight didn’t seem to know any music vocabulary or theory, but she had a good enough ear to identify Octavia’s influences and homages. Furthermore, the Liprance work was obscure. “You have a good ear… and you’re familiar with a lot of music.”

“Well, I can’t play, but I like to listen to music a lot. It makes everything seem more alive, you know? Like, if you’re just eating hay or something, it’s all boring and blah, but if you’re eating hay and you’ve got Flight of the Pegasi playing behind you, it’s totally epic! Like, it’s this big battle between you and the hay and you’re going to fight it until you’ve eaten it all up!” She waved her front hooves about. “Or, if you’re trying to go to sleep and there’s a really good lullaby playing, it’s like there’s this powerful stream just carrying you off to dreamland!”

Octavia had been unable to hold back her smile. “I can see you enjoy music quite a bit.”

“I do! Which is why I really liked your stuff tonight .So – hoofograph? Please?”

Octavia had given it to her. Since then, the two had met on average twice a week, bumping into each other in cafes or the hallways. Paperweight wasn’t the sort of pony that Octavia usually befriended – the vast majority of her friends were fellow musicians, most with similar, serious temperments as hers (Lyra Heartstrings excepted) – but the unicorn was easy to like, and Octavia found that she enjoyed discussing the latest concerts and performances with an outsider to the profession who nonetheless knew enough to make intelligent comments about what she heard.

Now she explained that she had the day free, and more than that. “I saw the Princess’s secretary after I finished my work for the rising of the sun, and she told me that I don’t need to play this evening or tomorrow morning.” That probably meant that Luna was away, although for security reasons, Octavia of course was not privy to her exact schedule. “And I have no other concerts scheduled for two days.”

“You should go on a vacation!”

“Two days is not a long time for a vacation,” said Octavia, dryly. “But I think, with two days and a night to myself, I would like to explore the Canterlot music scene some more. There is much music that has been released recently that I haven’t yet had the chance to peruse.”

Paperweight thought for a moment, scrunching up her forehead as she did so. “Really? Didn’t think too much was going on with classical music right now. It’s the off season, and everypony’s on vacation.” She paused. “Aw, did I miss something?”

“Regarding classical music, no, you are correct, but I want to expand my horizons.” Octavia thought for a moment, trying to find the right way to put her thoughts into words. “My job, as Court Musician, is to perform and provide the music that Luna wishes to hear. While she likes classical music and my work in general, she may on occasion wish to hear something else, or she may wish me to play at an event where classical music is considered inferior to some other type of piece. Like a…”

“A pokey?”

“Yes. Like a pokey, or something of that nature. In such a case, it would be best if I were familiar with such music… so that I could play one if the need arose. Furthermore, what I hear in a pokey or a crystalcore work might give me further ideas for my own compositions.”

Paperweight grinned brightly. “Really? Well, in that case, I have a great idea!” She opened up her saddlebag and tugged out a ticket. “I swapped nights off with another of the pages this week – I’m going to a big concert tonight. We should go together!”

“Who is playing?”

“Thrash Metail,” she said. “You’ve heard of him, right? He’s totally setting the music world on fire! Every concert’s sold out, and everypony in the music scene is talking about him! He's the pony everypony knows! Or at least, every musician pony anyway.”

“Him?” Octavia frowned. “I’ve heard of him… he’s that metal musician that’s been in the papers recently.” She hadn’t read the articles, but she did recognize the name. “I do want to expand my horizons, but I’m not sure there’s much useful in that direction…”

Metail, from what Octavia knew, was a player of the metal genre. To her, it was mostly a mess of jangled screeches that more closely resembled noise than anything genuinely musical, although apparently it was gaining popularity. When she’d tried to describe it formally, the best she’d been able to come up with was that it was all big flashy discordant sounds held together by a wire-thin thread of a melody, which in turn was little more than an excuse to get from one crash of drums to the next. Octavia had nothing against the style or its practitioners, but it wasn’t for her.

“Aw, come on!” said Paperweight. “Metail’s the best there is in the genre. Maybe he’ll play something even you’ll like. Besides, what else is out there tonight?”

“A new dance club opened up on South Cherry Lane,” said Octavia. “There’s also a crystalphone soloist playing tapiran dances at Baron Poker’s house, and a traditional folk song session is going on at the Canterlot History Museum. I was thinking of going to one of those, or buying some new records and listening to them at home.” She paused. “If this Thrash has records, then I—“

Paperweight adopted a pleading look. “But it’s totally different live! Like, I’ve got his records too, but they’re just not the same as when he’s blasting away on stage to a crowd of thousands! Besides, I’m sure you’ve heard folksongs and tapiran stuff before. Thrash metal will be totally new, and it’ll blow your mind! You'll love it, I promise.” She winked.

Octavia paused. It had been a while since she’d been to a concert with a friend. “I’ll think about it,” she promised. “Perhaps we could meet again at around five this evening? I’ll let you know then what I plan to do.”

“Awesome! See you right here!”



Paperweight hadn’t been kidding, Octavia learned, about Metail being the new hot name in Canterlot music.

Octavia’s plan was to journey into town, sit in a park for a half hour to listen to the city come alive, and then track down her favorite record store and make some purchases before returning to the castle and her nice, warm bed. To have some reading material for the park, Octavia found a newspaper stand and bought that week’s edition of ‘Notes on Notes,’ an independent paper which reviewed local concerts. Maybe, she thought, she would see an update on one of her friends, or learn about some traveling group that she wanted to see.

In addition to the blurbs about upcoming events, there was a section of reviews. One of them caught Octavia’s eye solely due to its length; while it was only a little larger than the others, the author was Concise Quip, whom generally was one of the more succinct writers on the paper’s staff. Her reviews, for good or ill, could reliably be counted on to be between half and three-fourths the length of the standard review size. But not this time. Something in Thrash Metail’s latest release, ‘Fury of the Horn,’ had caused her to pen a longer column than normal.

“…to say that the work is energetic is an understatement. It assaults the listener, knocking her down with a wave of power and fury. But it doesn’t just bury them under an avalanche of notes as a lesser artist might, but instead grabs them by the ear and drags them, kicking and screaming if need be, into an endless torrent of sound. I felt pulled from one extreme to the other, each jump more exhilarating than the last, until I was standing and screaming with the rest of the audience. I plan to attend all of Metail’s future concerts, and I am confident in predicting that he will soon be one of the best known musicians in Canterlot...”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. Quip was hard to please; if Metail had evoked that reaction from her, then he clearly did have some skill. Although it could have just been a fluke; perhaps Quip was the only critic that liked Metail. It wouldn’t be the first time one critic had stood alone against all the others.

So Octavia glanced at the bottom of the review. This was where the other authors could write brief, one-sentence comments stating if they agreed with it or disagreed with the text. Of the five that had done so, two said they hadn’t seen Metail yet, and three had… and all three agreed with Quip.

Those four can barely agree on what day it is. He must really be something else.

Octavia nodded to herself. If he was this good, Octavia had a duty to hear him perform. Besides, now she was intrigued.



Octavia returned home with a new haul of records, and listened to a delightful tapiran waltz before falling asleep. She woke later, twenty minutes before her meeting with Paperweight, and had time to quickly wash and put on her bow tie before making her way to the café.

She arrived exactly on schedule, and almost bumped into her friend. “Well?” asked Paperweight, smiling brightly. “Are you gonna come with me?”

Octavia nodded. “I have decided it might be useful to—“

“Yay!” Paperweight literally jumped into the air. “This’ll be great! I – hey, wait. What’s that?” She pointed at Octavia’s bow tie.

“My formal attire. This is a concert,” said Octavia.

Paperweight blinked. “Yeah… this isn’t that kind of concert. We’ll have to dress up, but not like that.”

“I don’t really have other…”

“No prob. I’ve got spares.” Paperweight flipped open her saddlebag and showed Octavia the contents. They seemed to consist largely of black, form-fitting clothing, chains, and jewelry requiring piercings in various uncomfortable places.

Octavia gave Paperweight a flat look. “No.”

“Wait! The piercing stuff is all clip-on, no real piercing needed, and—“

“No.”

“Didn’t you once tell me that proper attire is essential for attending a concert? It helps put the mind in the right place, right?”

“By proper attire, I meant dresses, hats, formal horseshoes.”

Paperweight smiled. “Well, this is ‘proper attire’ for this kind of concert. Come on, you can’t tell me you’ll be ashamed or something.”

“No, but I am a Court employee now. What I do reflects on the government, and Luna specifically for hiring me. If I wind up in the tabloids wearing a ridiculous costume, I make her look bad.”

Paperweight crossed her front legs. “Do you really think Luna would have a bad reaction to you dressing up like this on your own time, as part of a study into a new genre of music which, as you’ve said a few times, is important to your work?”

Octavia tried to think of Luna’s reaction. ‘Hysterical laughter’ did seem to be a better fit than ‘anger.’ Luna wasn’t so petty as to be upset because one of her employees was seen in a stupid costume. And she couldn’t deny that she did believe that dressing appropriately to a concert really did enhance the experience, so if this was ‘appropriate’ clothing for a thrash metal performance…

“Alright. I will wear those… things, but I will change at the concert itself. I won’t walk through town looking like an escaped convict.”

Paperweight giggled. “No problem, Oh, you won’t regret this, Octavia. You’ll love it!”

Octavia nodded. I hope you’re right…



The venue was the Bouncing Bird, one of the largest clubs in town. It was also, the bouncer said, completely sold out.

“One ticket ain’t enough for two little ponies,” he said. He looked big and burly, capable of holding off a dozen ponies with a single leg. “Sorry.”

“But she’s a real good friend!” said Paperweight. “Come on! Please?”

“Nope.”

Octavia hadn’t wanted to reveal herself officially, but she wouldn’t be able to get in otherwise. “Is your club actually full, or do you still have a few tickets for important guests?” Most clubs in town left a few seats free in case the club owner or a big spender showed up at the last minute.

The bouncer shrugged. “Yeah, we’ve got some VIP seats. You some Very Important Pony?”

Octavia sighed to herself before speaking. “My name is Octavia Philharmonica. I am the Court Musician of the Night Court of Equestria.”

It was common for Canterlot venues to allow the Court Musician a seat into any concert. After all, the Court Musician had Luna’s ear on matters of music, so any musician would be mad to turn away that pony from listening to one of their shows. Similarly, the venue that had found and hosted such a talented pony might itself receive some credit. Octavia was therefore able to get into a lot of performances that she hadn’t been able to before her appointment, including ones that were ostensibly ‘sold out.’

The bouncer considered this. “Wait here,” he instructed, before darting into the club and shutting the door behind him.

Paperweight grinned. “Way to show him!”

“Let’s just hope I qualify as Very Important,” said Octavia.

The bouncer returned in a few minutes. “Front-row spots, both of you,” he said. He passed them both VIP badges. “Show these to the stallions inside; they’ll get you to the right place.”

Paperweight’s mouth dropped. Her ticket would have put her way in the back. “Awesome!”

“Plus, Metail wants you to have this.” The bouncer passed Octavia a card. “If you like his music and want to talk to him, you can find him tomorrow at this address.”

Paperweight stared at Octavia. “He gave you his address?

Octavia blushed. “For business—“

“Alright, alright. Come on. Show’s about to start.” The bouncer waved them in. “Just don’t forget to sign a waiver by the stage.”

Octavia paused as the bouncer went back outside. “Waiver?”

“Yeah,” said Paperweight. “They use magic in some of the sets – I think for lights and stuff, and to mess with the acoustics. So they need to make sure everypony’s okay with that. Plus, they don’t want to get sued for somepony dancing too hard and throwing out their back or something.”

“Is this dangerous?”

“Hey, I’ve been to, like, ten of these, and I’m still alive. Worst that’ll happen to us is we get tired out from too much fun.” Paperweight grinned.

After changing, the two approached the stage and took the forms. Octavia read through the waiver as best she could in the dim lighting. It seemed fine, as far as she could tell, so she signed it. Then again, she was still distracted by how ridiculous she looked and sounded – skintight black clothing around her legs and barrel, chains clinking everywhere, and a clip-on eyebrow piercing. “I have to say,” she managed, “I hope the music justifies the outfit. I feel ridiculous”

“You’ll love it, I promise,” said Paperweight. “And thanks for coming out with me.”

Octavia smiled at that, and tapped her hoof lightly. “It’s nice to have a friend who shares my passion.”

Before Paperweight could respond, the lights dimmed, and Metail appeared on the stage in a burst of smoke. He was a tall unicorn, with a fiery red coat (now covered in the same black fabric that every other pony in the room wore, but poking through around the face) and mane, and a conductor’s baton cutie mark painted on his clothes near his flank. He shook slightly where he stood, as if overflowing with energy. Two drums appeared, one on other side of him, and a jet-black guitar floated up in front of him. Octavia nodded; Metail looked ready to give a powerful performance.

Metail grinned, horn glowing as he manipulated the guitar. “Are you ready?” he roared. He had a deep, rich voice.

“YEAH!” the crowd cried.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” screamed Metail. “I SAID: ARE! YOU! READY!”

“YEEEEAH!”

Octavia winced. The noise was already hurting her extremely sensitive ears.

“NOW!” roared Metail. “I WAS GONNA START WITH MY NEW SINGLE, BUT… THAT WAS ALREADY RELEASED A FEW DAYS AGO, AND I THINK LOYAL FANS DESERVE SOMETHING FRESH! AM I RIGHT?”

“YEAH!”

“SO! MY VERY LATEST PIECE! AND LET ME TELL YOU – YOU ARE GOING TO LOVE IT!” The crowd roared. “I PROMISE!”

And he began. His horn glowed, and his magic began plucking the guitar strings in sharp, powerful bursts, while he played the two drums with his left and right front hooves and screamed lyrics at the crowd. The music was in time, but that was about all Octavia could say at it – the drums and voice were unpitched, and the guitar’s notes could barely support the weight of all the percussion blasting from the stage.

And yet… there was something weirdly energizing about the piece. It seemed to take hold of Octavia, pumping her up with excitement even though she didn’t like the music. When Metail tensed in preparation for another epic drum slam, she did too; when he relaxed slightly, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. But the drums kept going for longer periods of time, and the respites for less and less, until he was just blasting on the drums, building up more energy beyond any reasonable limit.

Octavia felt herself begin to wiggle around. She couldn’t take any more tension. He had to stop soon, she thought, or she didn’t know what would happen to her. She noticed, faintly, that the whole crowd seemed like this; Paperweight was literally trembling in her seat, and even the bouncers seemed to be twitching back and forth. But she couldn’t focus on this. Her whole universe was the unending, incessant drums, the drums that kept going and going and going with no release or escape. The guitar line raced around the drums, ensured that no tension could dissipate to either lower or higher pitches, the voice filled in whatever holes were left, and the drums just kept on going.

And then, with one mighty crash, Metail played a chord so perfect, so divinely beautiful, that all the tension blasted out of the drums, pulling the audience along with it in a joyous frenzy.

Octavia didn’t even notice when she leapt to her hooves with the others, screaming her head off and cheering.

“YEAH!” she roared, in unison with the others.

“ALRIGHT!” yelled Metail, not stopping the guitar or drums for a moment. “SECOND VERSE! LET’S KEEP IT UP!”

And so he continued, blasting chord after chord to the adulation of the crowd.