Mirror-shadesby OwlorChaptersTrack 1.Track 2.Track 5.Track 6.Track 7.Track 8.Track 3. Track 4. Track 1.Track 1. All I really wanted was to blend in with the crowd. I have two-toned blue and cyan hair and enormous purple mirror-shades, this should tell you how much I failed... The principle behind it was sound at least. In an environment lit by lasers and strobe-lights, this was practically tactical camouflage. If you want something hidden, you hide it in the place they are the least likely to look. So I hid among extroverts in clubs, in parties, fashion shows and weddings. From behind the DJ table, I could do what I loved without parents telling me the music is too loud, without neighbours mistaking me for a drug addict, and without friends asking me why I never go out to party any more. I put on my headphones and disappear into the music. I taste every flavour of the song, then release the track into the atmosphere to watch the patterns change. I was a scientist doing groovy science. The dancers were points of data and I analysed it with detached interest, but took no part in it. I was happy. But fate tends to find those that have escaped it sooner or later. I don't know what went wrong, one day I was DJ-ing for a disastrous fashion show in Ponyville, the next I was warming the dance-floor up in Clopernicus, Manehattans biggest club. Behind me waited my teenage idol, Astro$RF, to drop the needle and really get the crowd going. My only words to them before their set was “uhm...hi-I-really-like-your-mixtapes.” “Excuse me?” Astro$RF replied. I thought I had offended them and left the club early. In retrospect, Astro$RF prolly just didn't hear my squeaky mumbles over the music... Author's Note If you wonder who the heck Astro$RF is, read the fanfic Two Beats. This was prolly my main inspiration for this. "So, Owlor, why the heck are you posting an entirely new story when you're not done with the LAST one yet?" Well, I never intended to, this whole thing just slipped out from my keyboard while I wasn't looking, so I edited and put it up. First of all, some background to this: I've bitched many times about the assumptions people make about Vinyl. She's always a loud-mouthed extroverted partygoer when most DJs I know are kinda geeky and introverted. It makes sense if you think about it. As a DJ, you're at party's sure, but you'll be stuck behind a DJ table or a booth, listening to music in your headphones while everyone ELSE is having fun and meeting new people. Also, Vinyl is always playing dubstep even tough there's no indication this music even EXISTS in Equestria. I'm a little more sympathetic to stories like this, where she basically INVENTS dubstep, lest anyone calls me a hypocrite. It's this idea of it already existing as a concept in Equestria that bothers me. So, I basically wanted to do a story featuring many of the Vinyl chlichés and then play them out like I think they'd actually happen, with my idea of Vinyl. Obviously we're all extrapolating from incomplete data here, but that's part of the fun. Track 2.Track 2. Astro$RF smiled at me after their last set at Clopernicus, warming the crowd up for the mane attraction. I waited behind him to drop the needle and really get the crowd going. “It's allright, I know when I'm beat,” they told me. The next day, Astro$RF was in an airship heading to San Flanksisco and I was all over the flyers of Manehattans nightclubs. It was getting harder to keep my distance to the crowd. Everywhere I went ponies recognized me for my distinctive mane and my mirror-shades. I got roughly ten party invitations a week, each of which I put in a trash can once I was out of sight. The world was changing around me, new ponies and new beats came to the dance floor. Nu style they called it, I felt centuries old when I listened to the new dubplates and found them as incomprehensible to me as my parents must've found my techno music. The world was changing, but under the shades, I was still the same. Curiously enough, ponies began seeing me as the authority on the new trends in music. The logic went as such: I was the coolest mare in existence, Nu Style was the coolest genre in existence. Therefore I must listen to Nu Style. Both me and formal logic would disagree with that statement, but there you go. It was the same sort of logic that led to the genre in the first place: The bass and the beat is what ponies respond to on the dance-floor, therefore more bass and a harder beat must be better. So they made a genre which consisted of nothing but bass kicks, the louder and faster the better. Music became more about decibels and BPM than about crafting an atmosphere. Suddenly, all the flavours were gone. I couldn't help but poke a little fun of the whole thing. I dug up the worst bedroom-produced tracks I could find and released them on the dance-floor. It was my private little joke, I smiled a nasty smile as I watched the crowds confused reaction. A week later, I had made superstars out of at least half a dozen pimply teenagers. I took this as a challenge and put myself In the producer chair. If ponies wanted nothing but beats and bass, I'd GIVE them nothing but betas and bass. I chopped up a breakbeat until it was almost unrecognisable and I added a bass that reached all the way down to the subsonic level, yelling nasty insults at whales. This was my white flag, my resignation letter to the rest of the world. “I give up,” it said to whoever cared to listen. “Listen to whatever you want, just let me enjoy my own music in peace.” I dumped it on the dance floor and watched it burn... you can already tell where this is going, can't you? The next day, it was a massive hit. Author's Note "Nu Style", or as I'm more used to calling it, Gabber, is a genre that originated in Rotterdam and consisted mainly of heavily overdriven bass kicks. It's the genre I think about the most when I see people under the impression that the heavy sound of Dubstep is something new and unique... I'm coming across as really anti-dubstep in this, aren't I? Well, I'm more ambivalent to the genre than anything else. Don't tell my dad this, cus he HATES dubstep, but I listen to some of it. Skream, 16bit, Broken Note if I feel angry enough. I'm mostly annoyed at how OLD it makes me feel, don't tell me Joey Beltram, Prodigy or Fatboy Slim is already forgotten? How many Skrille-fans have even HEARD original Jamaican dub music or know what it is? I just don't want the old classics to be forgotten just cus something new and shiny comes along.... Track 5.Track 5. I was becoming scared of my own parties. The crowd was longing for harsher hits, and when my music couldn't provide, they turned to chemicals. The mindless, arrhythmic movements of the crowd reminded me of something from a horror movie. Shambling zombies, surrounding the warehouse, screaming for brains... I requested a DJ Booth high above the crowd reinforced with plexi-glass where I could hide. But I had no connection to the crowd any more, I could just as well sit in my own apartment, digging trough crates and playing tracks for my own ears and nopony else’s. The lights was coming on in Clopernicus. Two spotlights searched around the dance-hall and then tilted upwards to illuminate the DJ booth. But the world famous DJ Pon3 wasn't there and a murmur spread trough the crowd. I was on a ferry to San Flanksisco, leaning further and further over the ledge. I didn't have a single thought in my head and the sea-breeze was calling me. A little further out, the air was so cold and so sweet. A little further out... “By Celestia, ma'am, are you trying to kill yourself? Keep your hooves and heads inside the ledge, for everypony's safety!” a sailor ordered and I snapped out of it. He smiled warmly at me when I complied to his request and I could see him think: If we lost the great DJ-pon3, it'd be such a PR-disaster. “Maybe you should get some rest?” he suggested. “The captain wants to have you by her table this evening.” “Yeah, yeah... evening...” I muttered while I dragged myself to my cabin. I slept from the afternoon to three o clock, trough several attempts to wake me up. Author's Note Emo much aren't we? I've honestly had a bad case of the blues for the last month or so, and while this fanfic isn't written while under the influence of depression (I'm feeling... a little better at least, thanks for asking) some of it is certainly inspired by it. The odd sleep schedule and ability to sleep trough several alarms is directly inspired by my fucked up sleep-schedules. Track 6.Track 6. I never planned this trip, one second I was preparing for the gig, the next something broke inside and I just dropped everything. Literary dropped. If my life was a film, the records would shatter, but they didn't. Vinyl don't shatter dramatically like shellac does. When vinyl breaks, it chips away quietly. I did exactly ONE thing before I found myself on the ferry with a last-minute ticket I got in exchange for an autograph and I'm so thankful I did it. “Astro$RF?” I asked to the pony towering over me at the pier. “It's Crossfade nowadays,” Astro$RF replied and gave me a weak smile. “I just got your letter. At first I thought it was a prank, I mean, what where you planning to do if I didn't rush right down here to get you?” “Waited until you came?” I tried to reply, but my voice felt very weak. Astro$RF studied me from head to toe and tried to meet my eyes behind the mirrorshades; a slight shiver of my lower lip betrayed the emotions my sunglasses hid. “You totally need some coffee,” came the analysis, and it was right. It occurred to me that Crossfade's apartment could be mistaken for my own. What is it about DJ-ing that makes us attracted to obscure movie posters and crates as furniture? OH, that's right, poverty and lack of decent storage space. Crossfade seemed a little apologetic about the state of the apartment, but I didn't care. If anything, I was relieved that the interior matched my state of mind, even tough my mind didn't have nearly as many empty pizza cartons... Once I finished dumping all my anxieties on my old idol, Crossfade left for the kitchen and returned with two hot steaming cups. Coffee... black ambrosia, nectar of the alicorns! I, felt my strength return with each sip I took. “So, how have you been?” I asked. “I'm sorry I never wrote.” Crossfade raised an eyebrow and looked vaguely amused. “No probs, I figured you just didn't have time for us little ponies,” came the blunt reply. “'Little ponies'? You're like the best DJ ever!” I exclaimed. Crossfade shook their head. “I was a DJ, but you ruined my carrier.” A laugh, did I detect some bitterness? “Now it's all about your dubstep, and I just couldn't get into it. There's just no order to the noise... Sure, the music I play can be pretty heavy, but at least it has SOUL. Your tracks are about the only ones I can stand.” “You don't need to flatter me, I know they are terrible.” “I'm being honest, your dubstep tracks are nothing like what the genre turned into. They should call the new stuff something else, like 'brostep', cus it's nothing but drunken bros skanking around.” I giggled at this. “We really like naming genres, don't we? What used to be house turned to techno, and then the hardcore techno turned to Nu Style, and now dubstep, what's next, techno-hardcore-nu-dubstep?” “Yeah, I've always thought of music as riding some sort of cosmic wave. We can try to name every new peak, but in the end, we're talking about something ever-changing as if it was something static, and that doesn't really work, y'know?” “Right now, I feel washed up on the beach,” I quipped. My lower lip started to betray my emotions again. “As a matter of fact...” Crossfade began, transparently trying to find something else to occupy my mind, “I did a remix on one of your first hits. It's not really done yet, but I was thinking, maybe you'd like yo hear it?” Y'know, I think I was starting to become a dubstep fan. There was a certain playfulness in how the choppy beats alternated with short vocal samples taken from old funk records. The feeling was like the last ten years of dance music put in a blender and funnelled trough a broken didgeridoo. I could recognize my song there, sure, but Crossfade had enhanced it, turned it into something completely different. I can't wait to play this on one of my shows, I caught myself thinking. “It sorta peters out in the end, I'm afraid,” Crossfade said, leaning closer to me. It was getting kinda hot in there, damn libido. Relax, don't make the first move... “You don't have to if you don't feel like it, but I was thinking, now that I have the great DJ Pon3 here, maybe I could get some tips...” Crossfade half-whispered and at the last syllable, their lips touched the tip of my ear. It was mild enough that it could be excused with simple thoughtlessness if I had a problem with it, but it was unmistakeably The First Move. I turned around and gave my idol a big, long fancy kiss and the evening sorta developed naturally from there... Author's Note Crossfade is intended to be a gender-ambigious character, but english doesnt have a good gender neutral third-person pronouns, so I had to twist my prose quite a bit to get around this fact. Oh, and I forgot to mention, another inspiration for this plot point is actually Stephen Fry. He had quite a breakdown one and simply walked out of a performance and got on a boat. It's a testament to how beloved Stephen Fry is that even the most notorious gossip rags started to sound genuinely worried at the fact that he disappeared. Vinyl's description of dubstep was partially inspired by how my dad described the bass in the song Nation of Wusses by Infected Mushroom as "sounding like a stooned didgeridoo". Infected Mushroom is a psytrance band rather than dubstep, but they sounded this freaky long before dubstep became a thing. Hmmm, vinyl scratch in Goa... file it under ideas I'll get to some day... Track 7.Track 7. I returned to my apartment in the cover of darkness and found two letters lying on the floor. One was an invitation to some talk-show that I usually ignored and the other made me stand dumbfounded just seeing the envelope. There was a royal seal on it: Dear Vinyl Scratch We would be most honoured if you'd accept our invitation to DJ at our Royal Wedding in Canterlot. Sincerely, Cadance & Shining Armor I froze up, I had made no plans for my life after my trip to San Flanksisco. I guess I figured I'd either be dead or a new pony by time I returned, but neither had happened, and life still went on. I couldn't hide in the DJ booth far above the crowd anymore. Either I let my fame fizzle out, watched from the beach as the wave passed me by, or I took my surfboard and rode it to the shore. I was going to make a choice, and make it soon, but what? In my effort to come to a decision, I dug up my old diary, a reminder of the times when I worked at VeggieBurgers and spent all my bits buying records I played for myself and nopony else. In it, I found a list of “things I want to do before I die”, it was quite interesting. 1. Create my own genre 2. Play at a cool nightclub 3. Play at a party at the royal palace 4. Kiss Astro$RF My dreams were becoming true one by one... So what would the old me think if she knew I was thinking about quitting it all just as it is in my reach? Every day after I get home, I take my mirror-shades off in the bathroom and put on the old black-framed glasses that I've had since magic high school. Looking back at me in the mirror, I see my old self. She's a little pudgier now and her mane has cyan highlights, but she still has the same fire in her eyes as back then. If I refused to follow my dreams as they where served to me, would I ever be able to look her in the eyes ever again? I sent a letter to the Royal sisters. My reply was simple and could be summarized in one word, or three letters... Author's Note Everyone is faced with the question: Take the red pill and see how deep the rabbit hole goes, or take the blue pill and wake up in your bed like nothing ever happened. What are you going to choose? Track 8.Track 8. I had forgotten just how friggin' LARGE the palace is. There must've been like a thousand ponies there. Possibly several. I was the one who was gonna kick off the dance party that finished the reception. It was gonna be the biggest party of the century, and the party queen herself, DJ Pon3, was going to be at the centre of it. I was hiding under the DJ table. Then the changelings came, thank Celestia. I am never going to admit this to anyone, but for one dark moment, I was kinda praying for Chrysalis to win. A lifetime of wasting away in a cocoon at least meant I didn't have to worry about whether or not I could live up to ponies expectations. If Chrysalis won, at least we'd all have failed together... I'm sorry for thinking like this. “Hello” a voice said from above me. “Please don't hurt me, I'll go willingly!” I exclaimed from my hiding place between the crates. “Okay, but where are we going?” The voice sounded too kind-hearted to be a changeling. I dared to open my eyes and what looked back at me was a flurry of pink around a pair of kind pony eyes. “D-d-did we win? What are you doing here?” “Yup, and I'm here to fill in for a.... DJ Pon-three. Everypony is is looking for her. So, what are you doing here?” Of course, I was hiding in the last place anypony would look, that strategy never fails. “Uhm... I AM DJ Pon3,” I told her. “Yay, I found you!” The kind-eyed pony smiled. “So, why are you hiding?” “This is gonna sound stupid,” I said. “But I'm scared of all my dreams coming true.” The smile disappeared on the pink pony and she seemed to consider this thoroughly. “You're right,” she concluded. “It DOES sound stupid. Why are you afraid of your dreams becoming true?” Damn this girl for asking all the right questions. “All I really wanted was to play music ponies would like, but the crowd stated paying attention to me more than the music and I'm afraid of making them disappointed.” “Oh, I know that feeling,” the pink pony said, and suddenly I had a long overdue realization. “You're Pinkie Pie!” I exclaimed. “Yup, nice to meet you!” “B-b-b-but you're like the most famous party-pony in existence, everypony knows you! So... how do you manage it, the fame I mean?” Pinkie poked her chin and scratched her head at the same time. “Well, my imaginary friends help me out sometimes, but mostly it's thanks to my real friends. If I can make them happy, it really doesn't matter to me what anypony else thinks.” “I... don't think I have any friends.” “You do now... ME!” Pinkie Pie said. “Let's get this part started, shall we? Pinkie practically forced me up into limelight. All right, I had one moment, I could grasp it and let destiny guide me, or I could let it slip by. I made my choice, and my choice was... I dropped the needle down, let happy dance-beats out into the atmosphere and made the crowd wild. This was exactly what they needed after having the wedding crashed by changeling, a proper old-school celebration. This was exactly what I needed. The crowd screamed for more, and I was ready to give it to them. But the purple tint of the world was giving me problems. I couldn't see the knobs clearly behind my darkened sunglasses, funny how it never bothered me before... For the first time in a very long time, I peeked over my mirror-shades and exposed my fiery eyes to the crowd. THE END Author's Note Honestly? As a amateur cartoonist, I can't imagine how anyone could ever think Vinyl's eyes where red. Character design 101: Keep a character's colour scheme consistent. That's why Clark Kent in Smallville are often dressed in red and blue, and why the Power Rangers wear their signature colours as civilian clothes. I think the red eyes where originally intended to give Vinyl revealing her eyes a little more oomph since it'd stand out, and then it just sorta turned into the de-facto standard. Fandom is weird like that. Track 3. Track 3. Track 3. I walked home from the grocery store one day and was recognized by two colts. “Wow, you're DJ pon3!” they exlaimed. “we really like your dubstep!” Dubstep? So that's what they started calling it? I noticed the second colt trying to hide something behind his hooves. It was a dime-bag, these ponies where barely older than foals and they where going to try clove. I looked at them conspiratorially, this was a routine I've done many times before. “Yeah, you don't know where I could score a hit cheap?” I asked, and sure enough, the colt produced the dime-bag from behind his hooves. “Well, we do have this, but we were gonna smoke it tonight!” he said. “Yeah, they wont let us in at the party if we didn't bring clove,” the other colt filled in. But I was insistent and In the end they gave me the bag anyway, eager to help out their idol. “Have you tried ESAY?” I asked them. “No, where can we get it?” I stifled a giggle that I hope sounded less bitter than it was. “No, it stands for 'Equestrian Study Association for Youth', they help young colts arrange their own clubs and events. Every Friday they throw a party, drug free. You should go.” “Laaame!” the two colts announced in unison. “Hey, you wanna know where I Dj-ed my first gig?” “yeah?” “At an ESAY party.” “Awesome!” The colts' opinion had spun around so fast I nearly got whiplash. “Take this,” I told them and gave them a small token each. “show this at the door and they'll let you in for free. Tell them DJ Pon3 sent you.” “We will!” I parted ways with the colts and my steps felt strangely heavy all the way to my apartment. Once inside, I tossed the dime bag in the trash alongside a few others. Author's Note Straight-edge Vinyl, quite a change of phase from my other Vinyl Scratch fanfics, isn't it? I've long given up the idea of having my fanfics take place in a coherent universe, at this point unless they are explicity linked, each fanfic is its own universe with perhaps some similarities. Track 4. Track 4. Track 4. I nearly stumbled over my latest copy of “International Geographic.” Good, the evening was saved. I prepared a little nest for myself on the sofa, with soda and ice cream. The latest “Doctor Whooves” audio drama was coming on, and I wasn't gonna miss it for the world. This was my weekend entertainment, science and Doctor Whooves. But at some point, I started tuning out the plot of the episode, and the photographs of naughtily clothed tribal zebras began to look more enticing... Damn libido, this was an itch I was tired of scratching myself. I considered my options. there was at least a hundred ponies who'd be more than willing to share my bed in the area, at least a dozen of which had already given me their number... And just about all of them would talk about The Night They Fucked DJ Pon3 until their jaw fell off or a reporter noticed, whichever came first. Who could I trust to be discreet about this? A list appeared in my mind, but it was quickly whittled down due to personal or geographic incompatibility until only one name remained. My old boyfriend I dumped back in magic high school, the kindest and most bashful stallion you'll ever find. I wonder if his acne have improved... I went back to fantasizing over the striped equines while Doctor Whooves ran away from some threat in the background and the ice cream slowly melted. Author's Note There seems to be a difference in European and American art when it comes to sexuality. It's often framed as we Europeans being horny perverts and Americans being prudes horrified by even the sight of a nipple, and that is ~~absolutely true~~ completely false. If I can generalize to a MASSIVE degree I think it is that Americans prefer to have a clear dividing line between porn and regular art, while European art tend to treats sexuality as just another aspect of life.
Track 1.Track 1. All I really wanted was to blend in with the crowd. I have two-toned blue and cyan hair and enormous purple mirror-shades, this should tell you how much I failed... The principle behind it was sound at least. In an environment lit by lasers and strobe-lights, this was practically tactical camouflage. If you want something hidden, you hide it in the place they are the least likely to look. So I hid among extroverts in clubs, in parties, fashion shows and weddings. From behind the DJ table, I could do what I loved without parents telling me the music is too loud, without neighbours mistaking me for a drug addict, and without friends asking me why I never go out to party any more. I put on my headphones and disappear into the music. I taste every flavour of the song, then release the track into the atmosphere to watch the patterns change. I was a scientist doing groovy science. The dancers were points of data and I analysed it with detached interest, but took no part in it. I was happy. But fate tends to find those that have escaped it sooner or later. I don't know what went wrong, one day I was DJ-ing for a disastrous fashion show in Ponyville, the next I was warming the dance-floor up in Clopernicus, Manehattans biggest club. Behind me waited my teenage idol, Astro$RF, to drop the needle and really get the crowd going. My only words to them before their set was “uhm...hi-I-really-like-your-mixtapes.” “Excuse me?” Astro$RF replied. I thought I had offended them and left the club early. In retrospect, Astro$RF prolly just didn't hear my squeaky mumbles over the music... Author's Note If you wonder who the heck Astro$RF is, read the fanfic Two Beats. This was prolly my main inspiration for this. "So, Owlor, why the heck are you posting an entirely new story when you're not done with the LAST one yet?" Well, I never intended to, this whole thing just slipped out from my keyboard while I wasn't looking, so I edited and put it up. First of all, some background to this: I've bitched many times about the assumptions people make about Vinyl. She's always a loud-mouthed extroverted partygoer when most DJs I know are kinda geeky and introverted. It makes sense if you think about it. As a DJ, you're at party's sure, but you'll be stuck behind a DJ table or a booth, listening to music in your headphones while everyone ELSE is having fun and meeting new people. Also, Vinyl is always playing dubstep even tough there's no indication this music even EXISTS in Equestria. I'm a little more sympathetic to stories like this, where she basically INVENTS dubstep, lest anyone calls me a hypocrite. It's this idea of it already existing as a concept in Equestria that bothers me. So, I basically wanted to do a story featuring many of the Vinyl chlichés and then play them out like I think they'd actually happen, with my idea of Vinyl. Obviously we're all extrapolating from incomplete data here, but that's part of the fun.
Track 2.Track 2. Astro$RF smiled at me after their last set at Clopernicus, warming the crowd up for the mane attraction. I waited behind him to drop the needle and really get the crowd going. “It's allright, I know when I'm beat,” they told me. The next day, Astro$RF was in an airship heading to San Flanksisco and I was all over the flyers of Manehattans nightclubs. It was getting harder to keep my distance to the crowd. Everywhere I went ponies recognized me for my distinctive mane and my mirror-shades. I got roughly ten party invitations a week, each of which I put in a trash can once I was out of sight. The world was changing around me, new ponies and new beats came to the dance floor. Nu style they called it, I felt centuries old when I listened to the new dubplates and found them as incomprehensible to me as my parents must've found my techno music. The world was changing, but under the shades, I was still the same. Curiously enough, ponies began seeing me as the authority on the new trends in music. The logic went as such: I was the coolest mare in existence, Nu Style was the coolest genre in existence. Therefore I must listen to Nu Style. Both me and formal logic would disagree with that statement, but there you go. It was the same sort of logic that led to the genre in the first place: The bass and the beat is what ponies respond to on the dance-floor, therefore more bass and a harder beat must be better. So they made a genre which consisted of nothing but bass kicks, the louder and faster the better. Music became more about decibels and BPM than about crafting an atmosphere. Suddenly, all the flavours were gone. I couldn't help but poke a little fun of the whole thing. I dug up the worst bedroom-produced tracks I could find and released them on the dance-floor. It was my private little joke, I smiled a nasty smile as I watched the crowds confused reaction. A week later, I had made superstars out of at least half a dozen pimply teenagers. I took this as a challenge and put myself In the producer chair. If ponies wanted nothing but beats and bass, I'd GIVE them nothing but betas and bass. I chopped up a breakbeat until it was almost unrecognisable and I added a bass that reached all the way down to the subsonic level, yelling nasty insults at whales. This was my white flag, my resignation letter to the rest of the world. “I give up,” it said to whoever cared to listen. “Listen to whatever you want, just let me enjoy my own music in peace.” I dumped it on the dance floor and watched it burn... you can already tell where this is going, can't you? The next day, it was a massive hit. Author's Note "Nu Style", or as I'm more used to calling it, Gabber, is a genre that originated in Rotterdam and consisted mainly of heavily overdriven bass kicks. It's the genre I think about the most when I see people under the impression that the heavy sound of Dubstep is something new and unique... I'm coming across as really anti-dubstep in this, aren't I? Well, I'm more ambivalent to the genre than anything else. Don't tell my dad this, cus he HATES dubstep, but I listen to some of it. Skream, 16bit, Broken Note if I feel angry enough. I'm mostly annoyed at how OLD it makes me feel, don't tell me Joey Beltram, Prodigy or Fatboy Slim is already forgotten? How many Skrille-fans have even HEARD original Jamaican dub music or know what it is? I just don't want the old classics to be forgotten just cus something new and shiny comes along....
Track 5.Track 5. I was becoming scared of my own parties. The crowd was longing for harsher hits, and when my music couldn't provide, they turned to chemicals. The mindless, arrhythmic movements of the crowd reminded me of something from a horror movie. Shambling zombies, surrounding the warehouse, screaming for brains... I requested a DJ Booth high above the crowd reinforced with plexi-glass where I could hide. But I had no connection to the crowd any more, I could just as well sit in my own apartment, digging trough crates and playing tracks for my own ears and nopony else’s. The lights was coming on in Clopernicus. Two spotlights searched around the dance-hall and then tilted upwards to illuminate the DJ booth. But the world famous DJ Pon3 wasn't there and a murmur spread trough the crowd. I was on a ferry to San Flanksisco, leaning further and further over the ledge. I didn't have a single thought in my head and the sea-breeze was calling me. A little further out, the air was so cold and so sweet. A little further out... “By Celestia, ma'am, are you trying to kill yourself? Keep your hooves and heads inside the ledge, for everypony's safety!” a sailor ordered and I snapped out of it. He smiled warmly at me when I complied to his request and I could see him think: If we lost the great DJ-pon3, it'd be such a PR-disaster. “Maybe you should get some rest?” he suggested. “The captain wants to have you by her table this evening.” “Yeah, yeah... evening...” I muttered while I dragged myself to my cabin. I slept from the afternoon to three o clock, trough several attempts to wake me up. Author's Note Emo much aren't we? I've honestly had a bad case of the blues for the last month or so, and while this fanfic isn't written while under the influence of depression (I'm feeling... a little better at least, thanks for asking) some of it is certainly inspired by it. The odd sleep schedule and ability to sleep trough several alarms is directly inspired by my fucked up sleep-schedules.
Track 6.Track 6. I never planned this trip, one second I was preparing for the gig, the next something broke inside and I just dropped everything. Literary dropped. If my life was a film, the records would shatter, but they didn't. Vinyl don't shatter dramatically like shellac does. When vinyl breaks, it chips away quietly. I did exactly ONE thing before I found myself on the ferry with a last-minute ticket I got in exchange for an autograph and I'm so thankful I did it. “Astro$RF?” I asked to the pony towering over me at the pier. “It's Crossfade nowadays,” Astro$RF replied and gave me a weak smile. “I just got your letter. At first I thought it was a prank, I mean, what where you planning to do if I didn't rush right down here to get you?” “Waited until you came?” I tried to reply, but my voice felt very weak. Astro$RF studied me from head to toe and tried to meet my eyes behind the mirrorshades; a slight shiver of my lower lip betrayed the emotions my sunglasses hid. “You totally need some coffee,” came the analysis, and it was right. It occurred to me that Crossfade's apartment could be mistaken for my own. What is it about DJ-ing that makes us attracted to obscure movie posters and crates as furniture? OH, that's right, poverty and lack of decent storage space. Crossfade seemed a little apologetic about the state of the apartment, but I didn't care. If anything, I was relieved that the interior matched my state of mind, even tough my mind didn't have nearly as many empty pizza cartons... Once I finished dumping all my anxieties on my old idol, Crossfade left for the kitchen and returned with two hot steaming cups. Coffee... black ambrosia, nectar of the alicorns! I, felt my strength return with each sip I took. “So, how have you been?” I asked. “I'm sorry I never wrote.” Crossfade raised an eyebrow and looked vaguely amused. “No probs, I figured you just didn't have time for us little ponies,” came the blunt reply. “'Little ponies'? You're like the best DJ ever!” I exclaimed. Crossfade shook their head. “I was a DJ, but you ruined my carrier.” A laugh, did I detect some bitterness? “Now it's all about your dubstep, and I just couldn't get into it. There's just no order to the noise... Sure, the music I play can be pretty heavy, but at least it has SOUL. Your tracks are about the only ones I can stand.” “You don't need to flatter me, I know they are terrible.” “I'm being honest, your dubstep tracks are nothing like what the genre turned into. They should call the new stuff something else, like 'brostep', cus it's nothing but drunken bros skanking around.” I giggled at this. “We really like naming genres, don't we? What used to be house turned to techno, and then the hardcore techno turned to Nu Style, and now dubstep, what's next, techno-hardcore-nu-dubstep?” “Yeah, I've always thought of music as riding some sort of cosmic wave. We can try to name every new peak, but in the end, we're talking about something ever-changing as if it was something static, and that doesn't really work, y'know?” “Right now, I feel washed up on the beach,” I quipped. My lower lip started to betray my emotions again. “As a matter of fact...” Crossfade began, transparently trying to find something else to occupy my mind, “I did a remix on one of your first hits. It's not really done yet, but I was thinking, maybe you'd like yo hear it?” Y'know, I think I was starting to become a dubstep fan. There was a certain playfulness in how the choppy beats alternated with short vocal samples taken from old funk records. The feeling was like the last ten years of dance music put in a blender and funnelled trough a broken didgeridoo. I could recognize my song there, sure, but Crossfade had enhanced it, turned it into something completely different. I can't wait to play this on one of my shows, I caught myself thinking. “It sorta peters out in the end, I'm afraid,” Crossfade said, leaning closer to me. It was getting kinda hot in there, damn libido. Relax, don't make the first move... “You don't have to if you don't feel like it, but I was thinking, now that I have the great DJ Pon3 here, maybe I could get some tips...” Crossfade half-whispered and at the last syllable, their lips touched the tip of my ear. It was mild enough that it could be excused with simple thoughtlessness if I had a problem with it, but it was unmistakeably The First Move. I turned around and gave my idol a big, long fancy kiss and the evening sorta developed naturally from there... Author's Note Crossfade is intended to be a gender-ambigious character, but english doesnt have a good gender neutral third-person pronouns, so I had to twist my prose quite a bit to get around this fact. Oh, and I forgot to mention, another inspiration for this plot point is actually Stephen Fry. He had quite a breakdown one and simply walked out of a performance and got on a boat. It's a testament to how beloved Stephen Fry is that even the most notorious gossip rags started to sound genuinely worried at the fact that he disappeared. Vinyl's description of dubstep was partially inspired by how my dad described the bass in the song Nation of Wusses by Infected Mushroom as "sounding like a stooned didgeridoo". Infected Mushroom is a psytrance band rather than dubstep, but they sounded this freaky long before dubstep became a thing. Hmmm, vinyl scratch in Goa... file it under ideas I'll get to some day...
Track 7.Track 7. I returned to my apartment in the cover of darkness and found two letters lying on the floor. One was an invitation to some talk-show that I usually ignored and the other made me stand dumbfounded just seeing the envelope. There was a royal seal on it: Dear Vinyl Scratch We would be most honoured if you'd accept our invitation to DJ at our Royal Wedding in Canterlot. Sincerely, Cadance & Shining Armor I froze up, I had made no plans for my life after my trip to San Flanksisco. I guess I figured I'd either be dead or a new pony by time I returned, but neither had happened, and life still went on. I couldn't hide in the DJ booth far above the crowd anymore. Either I let my fame fizzle out, watched from the beach as the wave passed me by, or I took my surfboard and rode it to the shore. I was going to make a choice, and make it soon, but what? In my effort to come to a decision, I dug up my old diary, a reminder of the times when I worked at VeggieBurgers and spent all my bits buying records I played for myself and nopony else. In it, I found a list of “things I want to do before I die”, it was quite interesting. 1. Create my own genre 2. Play at a cool nightclub 3. Play at a party at the royal palace 4. Kiss Astro$RF My dreams were becoming true one by one... So what would the old me think if she knew I was thinking about quitting it all just as it is in my reach? Every day after I get home, I take my mirror-shades off in the bathroom and put on the old black-framed glasses that I've had since magic high school. Looking back at me in the mirror, I see my old self. She's a little pudgier now and her mane has cyan highlights, but she still has the same fire in her eyes as back then. If I refused to follow my dreams as they where served to me, would I ever be able to look her in the eyes ever again? I sent a letter to the Royal sisters. My reply was simple and could be summarized in one word, or three letters... Author's Note Everyone is faced with the question: Take the red pill and see how deep the rabbit hole goes, or take the blue pill and wake up in your bed like nothing ever happened. What are you going to choose?
Track 8.Track 8. I had forgotten just how friggin' LARGE the palace is. There must've been like a thousand ponies there. Possibly several. I was the one who was gonna kick off the dance party that finished the reception. It was gonna be the biggest party of the century, and the party queen herself, DJ Pon3, was going to be at the centre of it. I was hiding under the DJ table. Then the changelings came, thank Celestia. I am never going to admit this to anyone, but for one dark moment, I was kinda praying for Chrysalis to win. A lifetime of wasting away in a cocoon at least meant I didn't have to worry about whether or not I could live up to ponies expectations. If Chrysalis won, at least we'd all have failed together... I'm sorry for thinking like this. “Hello” a voice said from above me. “Please don't hurt me, I'll go willingly!” I exclaimed from my hiding place between the crates. “Okay, but where are we going?” The voice sounded too kind-hearted to be a changeling. I dared to open my eyes and what looked back at me was a flurry of pink around a pair of kind pony eyes. “D-d-did we win? What are you doing here?” “Yup, and I'm here to fill in for a.... DJ Pon-three. Everypony is is looking for her. So, what are you doing here?” Of course, I was hiding in the last place anypony would look, that strategy never fails. “Uhm... I AM DJ Pon3,” I told her. “Yay, I found you!” The kind-eyed pony smiled. “So, why are you hiding?” “This is gonna sound stupid,” I said. “But I'm scared of all my dreams coming true.” The smile disappeared on the pink pony and she seemed to consider this thoroughly. “You're right,” she concluded. “It DOES sound stupid. Why are you afraid of your dreams becoming true?” Damn this girl for asking all the right questions. “All I really wanted was to play music ponies would like, but the crowd stated paying attention to me more than the music and I'm afraid of making them disappointed.” “Oh, I know that feeling,” the pink pony said, and suddenly I had a long overdue realization. “You're Pinkie Pie!” I exclaimed. “Yup, nice to meet you!” “B-b-b-but you're like the most famous party-pony in existence, everypony knows you! So... how do you manage it, the fame I mean?” Pinkie poked her chin and scratched her head at the same time. “Well, my imaginary friends help me out sometimes, but mostly it's thanks to my real friends. If I can make them happy, it really doesn't matter to me what anypony else thinks.” “I... don't think I have any friends.” “You do now... ME!” Pinkie Pie said. “Let's get this part started, shall we? Pinkie practically forced me up into limelight. All right, I had one moment, I could grasp it and let destiny guide me, or I could let it slip by. I made my choice, and my choice was... I dropped the needle down, let happy dance-beats out into the atmosphere and made the crowd wild. This was exactly what they needed after having the wedding crashed by changeling, a proper old-school celebration. This was exactly what I needed. The crowd screamed for more, and I was ready to give it to them. But the purple tint of the world was giving me problems. I couldn't see the knobs clearly behind my darkened sunglasses, funny how it never bothered me before... For the first time in a very long time, I peeked over my mirror-shades and exposed my fiery eyes to the crowd. THE END Author's Note Honestly? As a amateur cartoonist, I can't imagine how anyone could ever think Vinyl's eyes where red. Character design 101: Keep a character's colour scheme consistent. That's why Clark Kent in Smallville are often dressed in red and blue, and why the Power Rangers wear their signature colours as civilian clothes. I think the red eyes where originally intended to give Vinyl revealing her eyes a little more oomph since it'd stand out, and then it just sorta turned into the de-facto standard. Fandom is weird like that.
Track 3. Track 3. Track 3. I walked home from the grocery store one day and was recognized by two colts. “Wow, you're DJ pon3!” they exlaimed. “we really like your dubstep!” Dubstep? So that's what they started calling it? I noticed the second colt trying to hide something behind his hooves. It was a dime-bag, these ponies where barely older than foals and they where going to try clove. I looked at them conspiratorially, this was a routine I've done many times before. “Yeah, you don't know where I could score a hit cheap?” I asked, and sure enough, the colt produced the dime-bag from behind his hooves. “Well, we do have this, but we were gonna smoke it tonight!” he said. “Yeah, they wont let us in at the party if we didn't bring clove,” the other colt filled in. But I was insistent and In the end they gave me the bag anyway, eager to help out their idol. “Have you tried ESAY?” I asked them. “No, where can we get it?” I stifled a giggle that I hope sounded less bitter than it was. “No, it stands for 'Equestrian Study Association for Youth', they help young colts arrange their own clubs and events. Every Friday they throw a party, drug free. You should go.” “Laaame!” the two colts announced in unison. “Hey, you wanna know where I Dj-ed my first gig?” “yeah?” “At an ESAY party.” “Awesome!” The colts' opinion had spun around so fast I nearly got whiplash. “Take this,” I told them and gave them a small token each. “show this at the door and they'll let you in for free. Tell them DJ Pon3 sent you.” “We will!” I parted ways with the colts and my steps felt strangely heavy all the way to my apartment. Once inside, I tossed the dime bag in the trash alongside a few others. Author's Note Straight-edge Vinyl, quite a change of phase from my other Vinyl Scratch fanfics, isn't it? I've long given up the idea of having my fanfics take place in a coherent universe, at this point unless they are explicity linked, each fanfic is its own universe with perhaps some similarities.
Track 4. Track 4. Track 4. I nearly stumbled over my latest copy of “International Geographic.” Good, the evening was saved. I prepared a little nest for myself on the sofa, with soda and ice cream. The latest “Doctor Whooves” audio drama was coming on, and I wasn't gonna miss it for the world. This was my weekend entertainment, science and Doctor Whooves. But at some point, I started tuning out the plot of the episode, and the photographs of naughtily clothed tribal zebras began to look more enticing... Damn libido, this was an itch I was tired of scratching myself. I considered my options. there was at least a hundred ponies who'd be more than willing to share my bed in the area, at least a dozen of which had already given me their number... And just about all of them would talk about The Night They Fucked DJ Pon3 until their jaw fell off or a reporter noticed, whichever came first. Who could I trust to be discreet about this? A list appeared in my mind, but it was quickly whittled down due to personal or geographic incompatibility until only one name remained. My old boyfriend I dumped back in magic high school, the kindest and most bashful stallion you'll ever find. I wonder if his acne have improved... I went back to fantasizing over the striped equines while Doctor Whooves ran away from some threat in the background and the ice cream slowly melted. Author's Note There seems to be a difference in European and American art when it comes to sexuality. It's often framed as we Europeans being horny perverts and Americans being prudes horrified by even the sight of a nipple, and that is ~~absolutely true~~ completely false. If I can generalize to a MASSIVE degree I think it is that Americans prefer to have a clear dividing line between porn and regular art, while European art tend to treats sexuality as just another aspect of life.
