Cool Jazz
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It's strange, usually when a new genre of music becomes popular it's either Rainbow Dash or Pinkie Pie who embraces it first. Rainbow Dash if the music is cocky an aggressive and Pinkie Pie if it's a style of music you could dance to.
But this genre is different, it's aggressive sure, but not the kind of hotheaded aggression that Rainbow Dash likes. Instead it's an anger towards restrictions, towards the limit of music and mind. And you CAN dance to it, but it doesn’t have the same regular 4-to-the-floor beat that Pinkie enjoys. Instead it employs a complex syncopated rhythm, and your movements becomes very much a dialogue with the performer. I've come here several nights, and I've heard the same melody being played slow as a dirge or wild as fire depending on the mood of the crowd.
There's math in this kind of music; it's basically an entire genre made out of applied algorithms. I'm not sure, maybe I'm the only one who enjoys the music on this level, even the performers seems more focused on intuition than anything else. These aren't math professors, after all, they are artists.
The bazooka player is an earth pony, yet he handles his instrument with all the graze of a unicorn, manipulating the tube to change the frequencies of the sound-waves generated by his mouth. The piano-player, lightly augmented with what looks like a fork at the end of each hooves plays around with the bazooka-player's melody.
Without so much as a nod, like the two ponies were of the same mind, they switch roles, with the piano providing the main melody and the bazooka player harmonizing around it. A young mare is playing double bass along with this. I notice that her notes are stiff and precise compared to the other, without the same spontaneity or playfulness.
Yet, I think I like her the most, she isn't fighting for attention like the other two ponies are, or going off on her own weird tangent like the drummer is. Instead, she seems to wait for the precise moment when she knows the deep tones of her instrument will be most effective and she provides precisely the texture the rest of the band needs.
I can't help but be reminded of my own role as one of the bearers of the elements. I'm neither the most honest, nor the most generous, nor the most playful, nor loyal, but I'm the one able to recognize the strength of the other elements, and (hopefully) channel their individual strengths into a greater whole.
I let my mind wander, this is what I like about this kind of music, it provides a soundtrack for your own daydreams. The unfermented grape-juice I ordered sits abandoned in front of me, I guess I could’ve just walked in and sat down on a table without ever ordering anything, but while I AM a bit of an awkward geek, I do have SOME clue about social faux pases, which is to say, I've read a book about it.
It's like, the drinks you order is the entrance fee, which explains why they are so expensive. It isn't the thing you order that's important, you're investing in what could possibly turn out to be a great night out.
It's kinda like the practice of tipping, I admit, I haven't quite gotten the hang of it yet. Ponies thought i was being rude or cheap when I paid the exact amount, when I was simply unaware that there was an invisible fee involved in getting service.
Since I'm lost In thoughts, I do not notice when a stallion walks up to me. Tall, dark, handsome, he has every quality a leading pony in the detective movies that uses this kind of music as its soundtrack should have. He smiles a disarming smile at me, which I awkwardly return.
”And what is a charming young mare like yourself doing in this sort of place all by herself?” he asks.
”Oh, just enjoying the music,” I reply.
”Shall we dance then?” he asks, then does a little polite bow.
He's not a noble-pony, yet he does act like one. I must admit, I feel kinda trapped. I have read books on this, but at some point, pretty much all of those leaves you with some variation of 'you're on your own, girlfriend.' I guess this simply is an area of social interaction where you can't map things out, because it deals with emotions that do not respond well to diagrams.
I agree to his suggestion and we trot towards the dance floor. The music hits us like a wave and he takes the lead, moving us trough the dance-floor in a simple pattern. I follow along with him, half a beat behind. I must admit, I've never been out here before, I've only studied the dancing ponies from a distance. But practice proves theory, and I find myself getting 'in the groove' as it where.
I do wonder about the neurological process that allows us to move to music this easily. I doubt even the drummer knows exactly when the next beat is going to it, yet we can all follow along, though some better than others.
I'm reminded of the concept of ”mirror magic” the weak aura around a unicorns horn that activates both when a unicorn performs magic and when she sees another unicorn use her magic. There's still research to be done, but the implications are fascinating. Its like ponies were made to form communities, made to be together and learn from one another.
The music speeds up, the gray mare is working frantically to keep up with the drummers wild outburst. I give them a taste of my own home-made dance-moves and my stallion-friend looks very amused.
For a second there, I thought I had made a foal of myself, then I remember the entry I read in the 'Encyclopedia of Made Up Words' about the term ”Adorkable” and I smile back at him.
The music slows down again into a mournful one-two-three, one-two-three rhythm and we break out into a slow waltz.
”Say, what's your sign?” he asks me while dancing.
”Oh, I don't believe in astrology,” I reply.
”Really? I have my doubts myself, but you never know about these kinds of thing.”
”Of course you can know, there's scientific research-” He hushes me.
”Can't the science wait?” he asks. ”Just for one night?”
I'm proud of many things in life, defeating Discord, giving Luna a change at redemption, overcoming my social anxiety to find friends that cares about me, but most of all, I'm proud of my, very humble, scientific contributions.
My paper on transmogrification has 36 citations, not much in the grand scheme of things, but I read the research my paper helped inform with glee. Ponies I admire having actually read my work, not because I asked them to or because I was famous, but because the ideas I put forth was worth investigating? I think I skipped around town the entire day with a smile that could rival Pinkie pie's when I found out. Can the single most reliable source of knowledge wait for just one night because a dark handsome stallion asks me to? Yes, I suppose it can.
He offers me his hooves, I press my own hooves against them and we rise to form an arc. This dance is a little more complex than the other ones, but I quickly get the hang of it. The basic pattern is foward-back, forward-back, left-right, left-right and then a turn which he telegraphs in advance by leaning to the side of the direction he wants to go.
The music speeds up again and changes from 3/4 time to 7/8 as each of the musicians takes turns to impress the crowd with an energetic solo. It throws my rythm off and I notice with some surprise that I'm exhausted; I must've danced harder than I realized. We move off the dance-floor to a quiet space at the side of the bar where the music isn't as loud.
He asks to buy me a drink, but I reply that I'm not thirsty. I still have my half-finished glass of grape-juice after all. His demeanor changes after that; he becomes much more cautions. There must be some nuance to this that I've missed.
”Are you not having a good time?” he asks. ”You've been very quiet all evening.”
”No, it's been wonderful,” I say. ”But I'm getting tired. Believe it or not, but I'm not used to being up quite this late. I usually leave early.” He smiles a reassuring smile.
”So, are you going to leave soon?”
”Probably.”
”I could follow you home, if you want me to. Just to make sure you arrive safely,” he says, and once again I get this feeling that there's a nuance I missed.
”Oh, I'll be fine, you won't believe the things I've been up against.”
He puts a hoof on my shoulders and he looks me in the eyes. At first I figured he was suffering from Aniridia, but on closer examination, I found that they where just very dilated.
”Well, I had a wonderful time as well, goodbye.”
”Goodbye!” The atomsphere feels charged, maybe the heat and the smoke is getting to me? I untangle from him and walk out into the night.
What did he mean about keeping me safe? Ponyville has one of the lowest crime-rates in Equestria, to the point where a serial slipper-thief became the towns most notorious criminal. The streets are nearly deserted and the night around me is cool and dry, it feels very refreshing after being in a warm, smoky club for this long. How could ponies smoke those things anyway?
Oh, I know why, Ingesting a compound by smoking is a very effective way of introducing it to the bloodstream, and from there, the compound can quickly reach the brain and have its desired effect. It's a really effective delivery system, but carries with it a high change for psychological and somatic dependency.
When I reach the library, I notice that Spike has already fallen asleep, he's just a baby dragon after all. I sneak in as softly as I can and I feel my way to the bed.
I toss and turn, something about this night is bothering me, and I can't sleep. I have a couple of questions on my mind, and it won't let me rest until I have answered them. Luckily, I got the book I need close by, 'Ponies, a Field Guide' by Desert Mornings. I produce a night-lamp from under my bed (I keep it there especially for nighttime reading) and I dive under the blanket. My eyes must've gotten slightly wider as I was browsing the book and realization dawned on me.
”By Celestia! That guy was flirting with me!” I exclaim to myself.
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