Octavia Sells Out

by CartsBeforeHorses

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Noteworthy, Octavia, Comedy, DJ P0N-3
Length: 2595

Octavia is sick of playing under-appreciated classical music to crowds of only a few dozen, so she switches up her format to become a famous top-40 pop musician.

Octavia is sick of playing under-appreciated classical music to crowds of only a few dozen, so she switches up her format to become a top-40 pop musician and appeal to the masses.

Published 2013-10-23 04:40:03 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-23 04:40:03 UTC

Radio Friendly

Octavia set down her bow. The other two dozen ponies in the orchestra set down their respective instruments. The small crowd of nobleponies and classical music aficionados who had gathered in the concert hall clapped their hooves on the ground lightly, careful not to display too much enthusiasm.

“Thank you all; it’s an honor,” said the orchestra conductor. “This has been the Canterlot Phillyharmonic Orchestra, and we thank you all for coming.”

Octavia walked off the stage and down the hallway.

“My, what a beautiful performance, miss Octavia,” said a top-hatted unicorn stallion. His ear was so refined that he could pick out her specific cello from among the other five cellists in the orchestra.

“Thank you, good sir,” said Octavia, shaking his hoof. “I am glad you enjoyed it.”

Octavia continued down the hallway until she reached the exit door. She opened the door and continued out into the dark night air of Canterlot. A light drizzle pelted her coat. She got out her umbrella and sighed as she trudged along towards her small apartment.

Though I’m glad that I have fans, she thought, hardly anypony ever comes to see me play anymore. The bills are piling up. If we don’t sell more tickets, I’ll have to move apartments again.

As she walked, she heard a loud, repeating thumping sound. At first, she thought it was thunder, and that the pegasi had scheduled rhythmic lightning strikes to occur every second. But then, she realized that was a stupid idea. It was actually a wubby dubstep beat. Intrigued, she walked off closer to it, and noticed that it was coming from the Canterlot Coliseum.

She gazed up at the illuminated sign in front of the building.

“DJ Pon3, one night only. SOLD OUT!”

Her heart skipped a beat. Sold out? She had never sold out a show! What could this DJ Pon3 be doing that she wasn’t?

She walked up to the front doors of the colosseum. She couldn’t get in because she didn’t have a ticket, but she was close enough to hear that the beat was joined by synthesizers. She grimaced at how awful it sounded to her classically trained ears, but then she heard a voice over the loudspeakers.

“Canterlot, let me hear you scream!”

A thunderous applause of hoots and hollers erupted. Octavia’s mane stood on end. There had to be five thousand ponies in that crowd. If she had an audience that big, she’d never want for money again!

Octavia walked off and back towards her apartment. She resolved to grow her audience so that she could sell more tickets. But then she stopped. She was a musician at heart, not a businesspony. She didn’t know a thing about marketing.

But she did know somepony who did.

A cigar chomping blue earth pony sat at a desk. Behind him were glass cases full of golden musical awards, and a framed rock guitar. On his desk sat a sheet of paper which had profit and loss, balance sheets, and pie charts on it. He glanced up as Octavia walked in the room.

“Octavia!” he spoke. “I haven’t seen you around since our days at college together. What brings you here?”

“Yes. I need your help, Noteworthy. Nopony appreciates classical music anymore. I’m a starving artist.”

“So you’ve come begging for money, eh?” he asked, frowning. “I see how it is.”

“No, I actually—” Octavia started.

Noteworthy turned around and extended his arms wide, showing off all of his musical memorabilia. “As a retired famous rockstar and a current big-shot producer, ponies get jealous of my success all the time!”

“No, no, no, not at all,” said Octavia, blushing. “I was wondering if you could help me become famous. You’ve done it for so many other musicians. Please, as a friend.”

The producer chuckled. He turned back around to face Octavia. “Ah, it’s a story that I’ve heard far too many times. Ponies emptied the theaters, concert halls, and the opera houses to go to the clubs, rock arenas, and the raves. No radio station ever plays your songs, except the public stations narrated by smarmy college-age colts with overbites. Well, I have a solution to your problem.”

“You do?” asked Octavia, her eyes widening.

“Yep, but it’s not gonna be easy. You’ll have to do everything I tell you to, exactly how I tell you to do it.”

“I promise to work as hard as I can! I’ll practice my cello every day, and I’ll—”

Noteworthy held up a hoof and chuckled. “Ditch the cello and grab a guitar. Preferably not a heavy metal one, unless you only want Scandineighvians and overweight teenage colts with severe body odor to listen to you. And not a twangy country one either, unless you like wearing stetsons and only want to be popular in Appaloosa. No, you grab a rock guitar. Get a drummer, a bubbly synthesizer, and a smooth bassist and you’re almost set. Can you sing well?”

“Not really,” said Octavia.

“It doesn’t really matter; that's why they invented autotune. You’re a vocalist now. All of your songs will have lyrics in them, so start writing.”

“Uh…” said Octavia. “Okay. Well, I’ll get to work on a song. I’ll write the most beautiful, haunting lyrics—”

“No!” shouted Noteworthy, pounding his hoof on the desk as he angrily puffed on his cigar. “No complex lyrics, no big words, no challenging themes. You will write nothing but light-hearted, happy songs. You’re appealing to the lowest common denominator here.”

“Alright, well I’ll book my next performance at the opera house—”

“Look, am I stuttering or something?” asked Noteworthy. “No opera house. You’ll be playing your next gig at a local dive bar. Then, if you’re lucky, you can book a larger arena once you get more fans.”

“But that’s so low-class…”

“Exactly!” said Noteworthy. “How else are you supposed to reach out to the common pony? You wanna play in some aloof opera house that only the nobility and the upper crust gets invited to? That’s a great way to only sell forty tickets.”

“Hey!” Octavia exclaimed. “I’ll have you know that our most recent showing sold forty-three tickets.”

“Oh, did you, now?” asked Noteworthy. “Well, that changes everything!”

“Really?” asked Octavia.

“No!” Noteworthy yelled. “Now, come on, we’re going into the studio to write your first song.”

Octavia held up a sheet of paper and showed it to Noteworthy.

“So, I’ve penned a lovely melody about the fragile nature of the pony condition, and—”

Noteworthy grabbed the sheet of paper in his mouth, shaking his head from side to side as he eviscerated the sheet of paper, tearing it to shreds.

“What did I tell you?” he shouted, raising his front hooves into the air and pulling at his hair. “You are to write nothing but happy-go-lucky songs!”

“But about what, though?” asked Octavia.

“How about this. You will write a song about how you went to a party, and you partied all night, got blackout drunk, and had a good time. Then, you will write another song about how your ex-coltfriend was a jerk, but you've found somepony new who doesn't know how beautiful they are, and their modesty itself is an endearing trait, and so you have to tell them. Be sure to describe all of their physical features, too.”

“But that’s never happened to me,” said Octavia. “I only attend tame, respectable cocktail parties. And I’ve been happily married for ten—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Noteworthy interrupted. “You don’t write about what you know; you write about what they want to hear. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Alright,” said Octavia. She grabbed the pencil in her mouth once more and wrote the songs that Noteworthy told her to.

After a month, Octavia had written a full album full of songs, had assembled a band, and had learned to play the guitar.

She played her first gig at a dive bar in Canterlot, where she sang her first song.

“Wake up in the morning feelin’ like P. Bucky.
We’re goin’ at it tonight, tonight, to get lucky.
There’s a party in Cloudsdale at the top of the world.
I decided to just dance, because I kissed a girl.

Hey, I just met you, and now I’m tardy.
Here’s my number, so party hardy.
Party hardy, do you got swagger?
Party hardy, got moves like a dagger.
It’s always a good time, party hardy.
I got a feeling, we should party hardy.

Her new song was an immediate crowd pleaser. Noteworthy pulled a few strings and got it on the radio, where it soon hit number 23 on the Adult Contemporary charts. Needless to say, Octavia was now getting more requests for gigs.

She went on tour in Ponyville, Manehattan, and Appaloosa, where she continued to play and gain more fans.

One evening after a show, she headed back to the Hoofton Hotel in Ponyville where she and her band were staying. She opened the hotel room door, and she and Noteworthy walked into the room they were staying in.

“Gosh, I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Night, Noteworthy,” Octavia said.

She plopped down on the bed and turned off the light. However, Noteworthy turned on the light and tapped his hoof on the ground.

“Aren’t you missing something?” he asked.

“Uh… I forgot to pick up the spare room key from the lobby?” asked Octavia.

“No...” said Noteworthy.

“I forgot to drop my towels on the floor so that housekeeping would know to bring new ones?

“No...” said Noteworthy, frowning.

“Uh… I forgot to brush my teeth?” Octavia asked, standing up and getting out of bed.

“No!” Noteworthy shouted, throwing his hooves up in the air. “Look around this room. Do you see what’s wrong?”

Octavia remained silent, not wanting to irritate Noteworthy any further with more wrong answers.

Noteworthy answered his own question. “You haven’t trashed it yet! Why the hell is this room still intact?”

“Trashed it? But why would I do that? That’s rather mean-spirited,” said Octavia, raising an eyebrow.

“Because that’s what you do when you’re a famous musician! That way, you can get publicity as a rebel who doesn’t play by the rules! Now get to work and trash the place.”

Octavia stood there for several seconds. She slowly tip-hoofed over to the table in the room, where she saw a flower vase. She picked it up in her hoof, hesitating. Finally, she took the flower from the vase and ripped the petals off. Then, she put the stem back in the vase.

She walked over to the television, where she took the rabbit ears antenna off and dropped it on the floor. Then, she walked over to the bedside table. She took the Book of Celestia out of the table. It had a bookmark in it, so she removed the bookmark and closed the book, so that the bookmark was no longer in its place. She dropped the bookmark to the floor.

“Wow,” said Noteworthy, chuckling. “That has to be the lamest hotel room trashing I’ve ever seen in my life. Let me show you how the real rockstars do it.”

Noteworthy got out a bag of white powder, and put it onto the table, cutting it with a razor blade. Then, he rolled up a 100 bit bill and gave it to Octavia.

"Snort this," he said.

"No thank you," said Octavia.

"More for me then!" he said, snorting an entire rail. "Now, let me show you how you really trash a hotel room!"

Noteworthy turned around and bucked a wall mirror, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. Then, he walked over to the TV. He grabbed it in his hooves, walked on his two back hooves to the window, and then threw the TV through the glass. It landed three stories down, and a car alarm went off.

“Goodness!” Octavia yelled. She walked over to the window and looked out, surveying the damage while Noteworthy stood back, smugly smiling.

“Uh, you know that’s your car, right, Noteworthy?” she asked.

"Dammit!" Noteworthy yelled, bucking a hole in the wall. Octavia shook her head.

"Just remember, Octavia. When they ask, admit to everything!"

The hotel room trashing stunt earned Octavia some notoriety in Ponyville and in the national press, but true to Notheworthy’s word, it earned her more popularity, as well. “Party Hardy,” rocketed to #5 on the top-forty charts. Finally, she booked her first gig in Canterlot.

Five minutes before she was scheduled to go on stage, she stood backstage with Noteworthy and the other members of her band. She felt butterflies in her stomach. Though she was used to performing, she had never done it in front of so many ponies before.

Noteworthy saw her, and looked over to her.

“You’ll be fine, Octavia. Don’t worry about it. Now here, you need to put this on."

He gave her a dress made entirely out of pegasus feathers.

“Pegasus feathers?” she asked. “That’s so gross, though! Those used to be on another pony!”

“Yes, but it will get you exposure. At least I didn't get you a dress made of meat or something. Now put it on!”

She did as she was told.

“Now, one more thing. See your bassist, over there?

“Yes...” said Octavia, not knowing where he was going with this.

“Well, I want you to make sexually suggestive motions to him during your show.”

“What?” Octavia exclaimed.

“Hey!” Noteworthy said. “I’ve gotten you this far. Don’t stop until you’re at the top!”

Octavia was about to protest, but then she realized that he was right. He had indeed taken her from an obscure musician to a famous musician in a matter of months.

The show began, and Octavia sang her new single, “You’re Better Than My Ex Boyfriend.”

“I’m never ever ever getting back with him.
He’s such a jerk to me and my friends
He likes to stay late at parties
Where the fun never ends.
He told me that he’d only break, break my heart
He had a box to the left from the start.

But you are so much better than that mother-bucking whore.
You could take me places that I've never been before.
You, your eyes are where blue skies meet the sunrise.
Your lips, your lips, I could kiss all day and all night.
You don’t know it, but baby you’re a firework.
And that’s what makes you beautiful.”

As she was singing, she grimaced, and then walked over to her bassist and humped the air behind him. Everypony in the crowd cheered. Several parents in the audience shielded their children’s eyes with their hooves. She hoped that her husband wasn't watching.

After the show, as she was walking back to her new mansion, she ran into one of her old admirers from the orchestra show. He was the one with the well-trained ear who had talked to her at her very last orchestral performance.

“Octavia!” he said. “I miss you so much in the Canterlot phillyharmonic orchestra.”

“Oh?" She blushed. "Well, it’s okay, I mean there are four other ponies playing the exact same instrument in the phillyharmonic—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You were special. You had a gift. And you wasted it. You sold out.”

He walked off, shaking his head in disgust. Octavia stopped in her tracks as she realized that he was right. She shed a single tear for her lost dignity, as her new album reached platinum and spawned three number one hits.