To Commit Yourself To a Goal.
"It's just first finding the right musicians that understand it and they have to be excited about what they're doing. Some musicians want to sit there and play something they wrote to get money instead of the song done. So it's about the musician's understanding and being able to do what they're asked to do. There's no big science behind that too." - Dr Dre
The late afternoon brings a crisp air to the construction workers before they get ready to leave their potentially dangerous workplace.
Two days after Jam cleaned up his room, it became the zone of a smelly blanket. And Duck was no where to be seen after that night of uber humiliation, a note was left where he stayed and no pony bothered to look for him, for he is a wasted talent. Trail and Smokey finished making the instrumentals for Jam, and in return he was notified to make extra tracks for the duo. The 'Battle Field' was under renovation for a new stage and cleaning, for any talented artists to make it in the scene of the new wave music or be pressured to quit under the stress of being defeated by a battler that is far more lyrically and rhythmically superior. The Pegasus announcer was paid by Trail to call the new wave music 'Rap' instead of 'Crazy Poetry'.
Our little Earth pony will only have a day or three of practice, and to memorize the lyrics he wrote.
Jam was walking down a street to the center of Manehattan, no more than an hour of two away from the 'Streets', where the Theater was located. He had shown the lyrics he would use to Trail and Smokey, they both agreed that the lyrics were good, and wished luck upon Jam, for he would need it as the judges at the talent show were renowned for their snooty taste in music.
The walk was a peaceful time for Jam, as the streets he walked were quite, hardly a pony in sight, save for the odd couple exiting a restaurant. He whistled a tune that was mimicked to the beats he has received. He noted the buildings and tried to guess who lived in what room, or who was slanging. He stopped at an intersection, where only a few chariots were crossing. He didn't bother to wait for the traffic mare to signal the 'Go' sign, as she only nodded to Jam to freely cross, seeing as there was no danger of getting trampled.
He saw the Theater up ahead and began trot his way to the building that might decide his destiny.
The Battle Field is not a place for the weak and the mentally problematic, it is place of guts, glory, honor, debt, flow, style, and money.
This is not the type of Battle Field that you see in the movies or hear from old stallions, this particular area was for the young, wild and free. Drugs weren't allowed to be sold in the building but were able to be taken, ironically. Weapons are confiscated, and whack ponies are kicked out.
A Pegasus mare was standing in front of the stage, giving out orders to the stallions who were helping with renovations. "Lumber Cut, get off your lazy rump and help out Stone Lift, he's having trouble moving the new support beams!" she shouted to Lumber Cut, who was sitting on his rump eating corn on the cob.
"Lemme finish my meal at least!" he argued back, but immediately changed his mind when Stone Lift threw him a really dirty glare. "Fine." he gave in.
The Pegasus-in-charge walked to the back rooms and complimented the really clean walls. "Finally, we need to get this place spiffed up for new battlers to keep coming back for more, and the fans as well." she said. "Yo, VeeJay!" she turned her head to the source of her name being called.
"What?" she replied in slight awe as she immediately recognized the mare who called her. "Hey, Vinyl!" she greeted the mare, who she mailed a proposition for to be the new DJ. Due to the old one having to quit to pursue his own goals.
"I came as soon as I could, didn't want to come here without knowing what the place would look like, now would I?" stated Vinyl, shaking VeeJay's hoof.
"You came here at an unexpected date, the place is being renewed for a breath of fresh air and flow." said VeeJay.
Vinyl Scratch took in the sight for a few minutes and nodded her head in agreement, VeeJay smiled at her acceptance and began to talk business.
Jam swung open the door to the Theater and entered, he was filled with joy at the beautiful sight of the main room. It was big and had a front desk that had a mare that was seated behind it. She looked at Jam and gave him a warm welcoming smile.
He happily trotted to the desk and was ecstatic as he saw that the sign-up sheet for the talent show was still there, being that this was the last day for signing and the talent show starting in two days. Crap, I really have that long to practice? he thought to himself but retained a smile.
"Uh, hi, I came to sign up for the talent show?" Jam then greeted the mare.
"That's good, you're lucky. There's only one spot left to sign your name." she pointed a hoof to the sheet.
Jam took a pen in his mouth and signed his name. "Come by tomorrow and we'll give you a number for when it's your turn to show your talents at the show." the receptionist stated.
"Thanks!" gleefully said Jam as he made his way back out the Theater.
"Shit, I better start practicing when I get home. Know what I'm saying?" Jam said to no pony but did so otherwise for no apparent reason.
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.
Author's Note
Rappers will be quoted at the beginning of each chapter.
Edit (2014 - 03 - 10): Reviving this with some clean up!
