Discovery of a New Genre!
"The truth is you don't know what is going to happen tomorrow. Life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed." - Eminem.
Below the clouds of Manehattan was a basketball bouncing across a court yard filled with a group of stallions, who were conversing over the new wave of music that has been going around for the past few weeks. One of these individuals, with a white coat and blonde mane and tail, was blaring music from this genre they were speaking about through a stereo and scribbling on a crumpled piece of paper that he had been working on for hours while his friends were chatting up the name of this genre. "No, the name should be something like, what we are, Gelding!" one of these stallions blurted out.
"That's a terrible title!" a blood orange stallion retorted. "It should be named after what it's based off of, rhythm and poetry, slapping basses and ish." he stated.
"We could call it... Thun-da-duh?" suggested the same 'Gelding' stallion, scratching his muzzle.
"That does sound catchy, but what if the audience we're after thinks, "Oh, no, I will not listen to this!"?" said the blood orange stallion, pointing a hoof out to the white stallion. "Aye, Jam! What should it be called?" he asked.
Jam scribbled his crumpled paper and had decided to finish off his lyrics later. I'll wrap this up sometime... he thought to himself. "We could call it uh, wrap?" he suggested.
The blood orange stallion looked at him and laughed. "'Wrap'? Really? What would wrapping a song be about?" He stopped to think to himself for a few moments and started to think about how you wrap a bag to hold its contents, then when untied, all the stuff it held comes out at a rapid, messy pace if you just hold the bag upside down; or if you tilted it, the stuff would come out slowly, but smoothly. Reciting a poem quickly and repeating it slowly in his head, blood orange smiled. "Rhythm and poetry - wrap. We got something, but without the 'w' we could have the New Wave rejuvenate with a clicked title."
The basketball was thrown over to Jam, who had been a bit busy talking to notice it was his turn, until it hit him in the face. "Ow!" he recoiled and glared at the direction it came from. "The fuck?" he said while throwing the basketball back to the courtyard. "I'll talk to ya later, Trail" said Jam, "Finna stomp these fools".
Evening hit, the basketball court still bounced with lively young stallions who were finishing their game. An older mare had poked her head out of a window. "Jammy! Get your ass up here and clean your room!" she shouted. Jam sighed, embarrassed, the fact his mom told him to clean up his room didn't make it any better.
"Yo, Jammy, we'll check you tomorrow, aight?" smirked Trail.
"See y'all tomorrow," responded Jam, hanging his head down as he walked to the apartment. Trail and the rest guffawed as soon as the door closed. "Haters."
The layout of the apartment complex was fairly simple and pretty clean despite the fact that it had been built in the poor side of Manehattan. Jam and his mother lived here almost all their lives, he still couldn't cope with his mother almost selling him as a foal when the father had left them after birth, but none of that had stopped him from becoming who he is - a high school graduate working as a waiter at a Filltalian restaurant. Jam shook his head of those unfortunate thoughts.
He walked up the stairs to the third floor where he and his mother stayed. When I finish these lyrics I'll get Trail and Smokey to make some beats for me and we'll practice for a few days and go to that talent show at the theater, Jam thought to himself. Opening the door and the smell of soup whisked past him as he entered the apartment.
"There you are! Your room is a stinking mess, I want you to clean it up as soon as possible!" his mom ordered him.
"Oh, come on 'Ma!" Jam tried to argue.
'Ma levitated a rolled flyer and threw it to Jam. He caught it, unrolled and read it.
"Manehattan Police Academy?" Jam raised a brow. "Do you really want me to join the Pig School?".
"Yes, I do - this will be a good opportunity for you to grow up. I know whatever potential you have for music but you need to do actual work besides hauling trays of food to some rich ponies. Do you know what I am saying?" 'Ma replied in mockery.
"Mom, I'm almost done writing a hit song, me and my friends are going to the theater when we're done." complained Jam. "And it's like, 'Kno'm'sayin?'" he corrected his mother, imitating a record player.
He tossed the flyer onto the counter and walked into his room. "You can go and play with your friends after dinner and after your room is neat and tidy." said 'Ma, prompting Jam to shake his head. The room itself was an utter mess, clothing strewn across the floor, and his bed had the pillows and blanket in a position where no comfortable sleeping existed, stacks of note papers were piled neatly next to his beloved microphone and turntables that his mother had bought him for his birthday.
"This shit is going to take all damned night to clean up!" Jam whined and regretted saying the 'S' word as his mother lectured him. "Jammy, what did I say about swearing!". Jam closed his door and yelled back to her, "I'm sorry 'Ma!"
Outside the apartment the group of stallions took off in groups of two, three, and eight. Trail went with the other mentioned stallion named Smokey. "So, Trail. When we doing those beats for Jammy?" asked Smokey, who chewed on a stick from a sucker that was no longer with him, metaphorically.
"We'll get them done, and once we're finished we'll get Jammy to write some lyrics for us in return for the instrumentals," replied Trail.
The duo passed the courtyard gate and strolled through an alley that lead to the street. The alley was in a complete opposite state as the apartment. Trash lay all over the place and had a makeshift house made of cardboard boxes that no pony resided in. "Yeah, he said that he'll do a routine at the theater - solo," flatly said Smokey.
"No shit? Well, he'll have to write extra for us then!" Trail waved a hoof and grinned.
"His content better be worthwhile though." puffed Smokey. They made it to the street and were almost bumped into by a mare. She scolded them and went on her way.
The street they walked had plenty of ponies walking around, there were rows of three-story and some six-story buildings. Unsurprisingly, a few stores were open and had hardly any customers. A broken down chariot had been abandoned and a stallion scavenged the parts, moving a wheel atop his wagon.
"Oh, the content will be. Luckily, we ain't performing so if he screws up, it's all on him." said Trail. "Of course, though. We'll still have the deal going on. Most of these ponies don't have any appreciation for new things from the streets. Especially them chumps from Hooflyn," he finished his sentence as they crossed the road to another alley that lead to a warehouse.
The alley was the same as the other, but had a flashy opening a few steps from the narrow entrance.
Smokey and Trail were greeted by a husky Unicorn, who nodded for them to go into the warehouse. The warehouse itself was crowded with rowdy ponies, all who were most likely under the influence from some substance and alcohol, and uneducated. On the stage in front of them was a table covered with a DJ setup, the DJ himself was a tan-coated Unicorn, switched records for the next round. A Pegasus walked towards them with a microphone being held by her wing. "Aight everypony! It's the beef you've all been waiting to see go down, between the reigning champion and... this carrot eating foal!" she addressed to the crowd, receiving cheers and boos, and a sharp glare from the stallion she insulted.
"Coin toss, which of you going first?" she turned to the waiting stallions. The Champ pointed his muzzle to his opponent. "Going easy, now?" teased the Pegasus.
Smokey and Trail were in the backrooms, nested on an empty couch. "Jeez, looks like Little Duck is going to get his beak fucked up by Chopper - if the idiot doesn't choke again," said Trail.
Little Duck quacked out his rhymes to the reigning champion known as Chopper.
"Let's pray Chopper's buckshot doesn't annihilate him," laughed Smokey.
Little Duck almost immediately started to get booed off the stage as he was only seconds into the end of his verses. Chopper looked at Little Duck with an amused smile when he fumbled on his last words when the music stopped, signalling the end of Little Duck's turn.
"Aight, aight. Le'see what Chopper has in store for Little Dick!" shouted the announcer, receiving cheers and groans.
Chopper, as his namesake says, spat out his lyrics at a fast, smooth style that caused Little Duck to wobble and sweat. "-And the fact you try to flat out a smack attack against me makes you seem more whack than when you crack, your verses are crap and your breath smells of my plot crack. I'll make you my little knickknack collector, all you got is slow stumbling stacks-" Chopper continued on until the music stopped again, signaling the end of his turn. The crowd erupted in cheers for their champion as Little Duck tried to hold in his vomit at the awfully amazing performance.
"Twenty bits say he chokes" said Smokey. Trail begrudgingly accepted the bet.
"You can do this!" shouted a mare from the crowd, receiving a buck to the face. Little Duck froze on the stage. He tried his hardest to move his lips but failed in doing so, mentally slapping himself and prompting the crowd to chant "You fucking suck!" multiple times. Chopper looked at him with feigned pity, knowing he just ruined the poor reputation of a stallion. Little Duck dropped the mic and ran off to the backrooms, whizzing past Trail and Smokey, who waited for the inevitable. "Told ya' so..." whispered a smug Smokey, wearing a disgusted face as Duck vomited in the bathroom.
"Looks like we won't be seeing his flank for a long time," stated the announcer. The crowd erupting in whoops and whistles for their ever reigning champion. "Congratulations on winning the twelfth battle of the New Wave, Chopper. You're going to go really far in this biz!" she stated with much enthusiasm.
Things back at Jam's apartment were faring much better than at the battle field. His room was nearly clean, the only spot that was taken care of properly was his musician area; the stacks of paper were rearranged, and the microphone and turntables were polished and positioned neatly. His bed was properly made, the clothing folded and stacked neatly in a row against the wall. Jam himself was looking out the window of the room and thinking to himself. Imagining how famous he would become and the amount of glory he would gain for being involved with the evolution of the new music, soon to be titled 'Rap'. And for making it well known to the masses.
Jam was on the Hooflyn Theater stage in front of a crowd of ecstatic ponies of all races, their cheers radiating a flow of bravado to Jam, all were chanting his name for an encore. "J-Roc! J-Roc!" they all shouted in awe. J-Roc, as he was known to the fans of Rap, began to sing a verse in a turntable imitated fashion, causing a few mares to collapse in star struck amazement, Pegasi wings spread seductively, Unicorn magic glowed to create a lighting of a navy blue shade in the entire Theater, Earth hoofs stomped and stomped, bringing the house down in a musically epic proportion. Jam's thoughts were cut short as his mother entered the room. "Dinner's ready, Jammy." she said, happily.
He sighed in bliss and went with his mother into the kitchen to eat their dinner. Such a talented boy with some fur on his brows. If only he could put that talent to good use.