Humble Beginnings

May 2006

The journey to school that morning in May was the same as any other, if not a little chillier, but it didn’t phase me. Nor would nearly dying as I crossed the street, in such a miasma of thought that I was completely oblivious to the oncoming carriages hurtling towards me from my right side.  Fear not, no harm came to anypony, just the occasional screeching of wheels stopping emergently which I was also oblivious to seeing as my cheap and cheerful headphones were currently residing in both of my ears, blaring out some of the more nostalgic tunes of my childhood. Various funk inspired house beats from the late 80’s and early 90’s that my brother Needle Drop introduced me to in my more naïve years. As naïve as I was though, I could understand the appeal that music had on me, but not necessarily the aesthetic. It was quite quiet which, I admit, was something that I thought dance and electronic music should have been against in an almost rebellious sense. But the rhythmic trotting, bobbing head and swishing clumps of electric blue and cerulean tinted mane as I listened to these songs indicated otherwise. I was quite a sight to behold, gathered I remember not having showered at all since the last, sweaty night. My coat was greasy, my hair was stiff and knotted and my eyes confessed the night which had gone by without much sleep. But, in spite of all this, I had never been more awake.

Everything seemed to be swept under the rug that morning, because I knew that I currently had, in my saddlebag, the most valuable piece of music in the world and, as far as I cared, the best song in the world. My first song was in my saddlebag, and it was glorious. I hadn’t felt that sense of achievement before, having neglected the majority of my homework over the years and sleeping in to ungodly hours on the weekend and it would grow to be something I absolutely relished in. Being able to smile to yourself after a hard nights work was an orgasmic feeling to say the least.

I had the day pretty much planned out, the plan for that day was simple; show the other ponies in my class the song anonymously. I understood the rules of friends and peers all too well however. All those goody goodies would say about the track, if I told them it was me who had made it, was that it was; great, fantastic, bitchin’, regardless of whether or not they thought it was shit. But at that time I thought that wasn’t even something to worry about. What was there to worry about? I know they would love because I loved it like my own child.

The security guard at the gate, Safe Keeping, nodded to me sullenly as I passed and I did the same, as had become customary. I had never spoken to him but I knew his name from the badge he wore proudly on his lapel. Living in the rough part of Canterlot, as we did, wasn’t necessarily tough, but I pin that relatively easy living on the jobs of ponies like Safe Keeping and the various other law enforcement workers in the area who worked tirelessly to keep to honest citizens safe from the muggings and bludgeoning that were more common than anypony would like around this area. It was nice to have a sense of security, but it never hurt to be too careful.

My friend Fabia had learned that the hard way. She was a wonderful girl, utterly loyal and painfully charming, but she was inclined to show her crueller and more bitchy side at home from what I gathered. It wasn’t uncommon of her to sleep on the streets some nights or up on a cloud somewhere after a punch up or thrown words at home. For a Pegasus, she had always preferred the ground. She was quite cowardly when it came to flying for a Pegasus with such a big mouth, but there you go. One night on the streets she was beaten so badly by some passing youths that she spent the majority of that month in a hospital bed, her parents and me at her side hoping and praying that her liver or heart didn’t give out from her merciless injuries, watching helplessly as nurses and doctors ever so slowly did their best to bring her back into the normal world. What was even worse was the fact that the perpetrators were not caught and that it was most likely those same ponies that beat a poor old stallion to death some days later before they were, eventually, caught and sentenced.

I apologise for bringing down the mood of the story there. I know right? The nerve of me. But that was where we lived and they were the kinds of ponies were shared our common space with. I thought you deserved to know.

My school was described as a hell-hole. It wasn’t bad, mind. Hell, it was probably one of the best schools in the area. Everypony just hated school. The teachers were always nice enough if you stayed on their good side (which we rarely did,) but it was always seemed to end with the entire class sneaking out the nearest window as the teacher wrote some notes down on the board, only for us to knock on the door and walk nonchalantly back into the room like nothing happened and enjoy the detentions we would all be issued. Harmless fun, it was absolutely necessary.

I always said, I love education but hate school. It never made sense to me why I would need to bother to learn maths when my eyes only really came alive when sat in a music classroom. Who is ever going to use Ponythagoras Theorum in their entire lives, am I right? What angered me most was the fact that we were constantly told that what happens in school and college will be what shapes you for the rest of your life, deciding your fate. Bullshit. We have cutie-marks for a reason. Well, some of us at this point. I know for certain that Fabia had her fairly boring cutie-mark at this point, but me and Lyra were still lacking in ours.

Lyra was another close friend of mine, unlike Fabia I had known her practically my entire life. For those of your more in tune with classical music, you’ll know her as the mare that grew up to be the first chair lyrist in the Canterlot Symphony Orchestra. Yeah, that’s her. Mint green coat, lyre cutie-mark. And she always said she hated classical music.

The story of her cutie-mark is rather funny and kinda cute. You see, all Lyra’s life she had condemned to the very depths of her soul that classical music is the single most uncool thing a single pony could do. She didn’t even just mention it, she straight up raged about it. Beethoofen, forget about it, Lyra would tear your oesophagus out if you so much as mentioned him. Her and Octavia got on like a house on fire, let me tell you. So, the summer of 2006, me, Fabia and Lyra go our separate ways. Fabia did some generic shit like skiing, I would remain home and learn about MIDI and various other components of EDM. Lyra was “going to visit relatives.” We believed her at first, why wouldn’t we? When we got back to school, Lyra was suddenly wearing a dress. She never wore a dress. She wore this dress none stop for about five months, never letting anyone see her flanks. Well, dear old Little Miss Lyra was a Little Miss Liar. She adored classical music, in fact she attended band camps regularly. Not only that but she played the Lyre, which none of us were aware of. And, buck me, she played it well. It would be a few years before we saw her play but, oh boy, that pony could play. Tears in my eyes just thinking about it. The dress was a means of covering her brand-spanking new cutie-mark, which was simply a Lyre. I won’t lie, I was so proud of her and I couldn’t give two damns if she liked classical music, although my exterior couldn’t help but tease her about it mercilessly.

The only other pony that held much relevance in my life was Octavia, another pony you classical-heads may be familiar with. But the story of the relationship Octavia and I shared is far too wonderful and progressive to tell in one short paragraph.

Entering the common room in the early hours of the day was the rite of passage for the day. It made the days seem slightly less hopeless when you were reassured that you would spend those days with the ponies in this room. It was a fairly large room, which was shaped like a cross, with two little alcoves wandering off to either side halfway into the room. Our common-place was the right alcove along with several other ponies who I had very little social interaction with. Of course, Fabia and Lyra were there before me as they were everyday. I wasted no time approaching them and putting my promotional plan into action.

“’Sup guys!” I said that every morning.

Lyra would always reply with ,”Heyya Vinyl,” and Fabia with a very forced, “Whaddup Scratch.” I always hated being greeted like that but years of knowing this girl have put those qualms to rest.

Idle chit-chat will always pursue. Which one of us had the best weekend. I won this one by a landslide by seeing Dead-Pon3 at a club that I was three years to young to even be attending. 50 cool points to me. Fabia would tell a fairly mundane tale about how many stallions she had fucked at the weekend but we always knew better than to believe her. Lyra, similarly, would come up with some lie, anything that she believed was as far from, “I play the Lyre and I love classical music,” as possible.

Showing them the song I had created the previous day was proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated. I believed in the very depths of my soul that what I had created was a tour-de-force of Electronic goodness but something was pushing that belief further into the realms of uncertainty. I narrowed it simply down to nerves but, truth be told, something was telling me that this song was simply no good. My younger self, being as naïve as I was, was sure this song would be adored.

“Hey, do you wanna hear this song? Some pony outside the club last night handed it out to me, he must be a local artist or somethin’ but I thought it was pretty good.” And the plan was now in motion. I couldn’t help but smirk as I thought about the moment when they would finish the song and start begging me for the name of the pony who created it. And I would them… It was me.

Lyra hesitated before sullenly saying, “Eh, is it really that good? Something about handing out music at a gig doesn’t sit right with me.”

Fabia quickly countered by saying, “Hey, it’ll be a good laugh if it’s no good though won’t it?”

Yes, yes it would. But that wouldn’t happen.

…

Would it?

I let out a nervous and girly giggle, “That won’t be necessary, here, I have it loaded into my Walkpony. Have a listen!”

My CD Player was a simple thing. Given to me one Christmas a while back by my brother when I first began showing a noticeable interest in music. It was simple and cheap but it went everywhere with me. I also carried around a little booklet of my favourite compact disks with me. Literally everywhere I went, those two items went with me. Try separating me from it, I dare you. I would sit in the middle of some classes and sneakily hide my headphone under my mane and just bob my head slightly to my favourite music. I never got caught doing that, or maybe our teachers noticed and decided that so long as it was keeping me from disrupting the class like I normally do then it was a welcome addition to my list of wrong-doings, although they never actually brought it up. I wish I still had it. I threw it out many years ago to replace it with a digital MP3 player, but it never held the same quality or sense of musical adventure which I had developed from owning it that many years.

Lyra and Fabia at first looked like they were listening intently, which was a very good sign for me. I even began to develop in that moment an uncontrollable smile as I saw the fruits of my labour become appreciated. I really believed in that moment that this was all it took. I was good enough to just sit down for an evening, create a song and everypony would love it just like that. I began to contemplate the possibilities. I was already excited about sending this song off to a record label and getting signed. I was going to be world famous, rich and adored by everypony. Nopony could deny that I was the best and it would stay that way until I died… And it all started with my two best friends.

Those thoughts were quickly dragged to the trash when Fabia let out a giggle, quickly followed by Lyra.

Now is the time to try and describe to you how truly awful this thing I had created really was.

…

Maybe it me not being much of an author… or maybe it’s simply that no pony can put into words how abysmal this song really was. I was just straight-up bad, okay? I hate to admit it but there it was. I sucked.

The two were soon in hysterics and I couldn’t help but feel utterly confused. I honestly had no damned clue why they would find my musical sex so funny. I mean, it was awesome. Fabia finally removed the headphones and filled me in on what I was asking myself.

“Vinyl this is terrible.”

Shit... No. Oh Celestia no.

Lyra’s turn, although she had become a bit more serious at this point... That stung, “Yeah Vinyl, it seems like this ‘guy’ really has no idea what he’s doing. There is nothing good about this whatsoever.”

No. No, no, no.

I tried to salvage what little credibility I felt I had left. "Aww come on guys, it's not that bad right? I mean, for a guy giving it out at a gig... You really didn't like any of it?"

Fabia retorted with further obscenities about the song I had created. My song. The song I believed I had put my heart and soul into. It was as if I had suddenly found myself in a pit. A pit with no escape where, no matter how hard you tried, you were doomed to remain in for the remainder of your days. Dad had said to me once, “Life’s a bitch, then you die,” and at this point in time, I truly believed this to be true.

The metaphorical pit was a cold and dark place that I would find myself in more than a few times throughout my so-far short career. Whether it was a bad review or a feeling at a complete loss when trying to produce a song, the pit became a second home for me. And I hated it. I hated it because at the times I was in this pit, I felt that I was completely alone. That no pony else feels this. It was a feeling of complete and utter isolation.

As Fabia and Lyra continued to discuss how much they hated the track I could feel the ground give out beneath me as my pit got deeper and deeper, my life seeming to plummet further and further into complete helplessness and shame. The walls of the pit became slippery and impossible to climb up out of. The humidity rose and resulted in me sweating profusely and I became incredibly uncomfortable. I felt a very real stomach ache come over me and I felt somewhat light-headed. I would take me a few to years to realise something horrible.

The pit is real.

Lyra and Fabia at this point had taken their attention off of me and were now talking about something else, as if they had would have already forgotten the song had it not been for how dreadful they believed it was.

I look back on it now and I understand that it was simply a matter of me not trying hard enough and completely underestimating the time and effort that needs to go into electronic music to make it sound nurtured and cared for. I look back on it now and I realise that this experience was what I needed more than anything. I look back on it now as the moment when my career began.

Of course, at this time I didn’t realise this. I had to get out of this pit. I grabbed my CD player and ran. I didn’t literally run of course. I felt sick, or that was what I had them believe. I just had to leave. I had no desire for school that day. Truthfully, I felt no desire to do anything but lie down and cry. And that was just what I did on a mouldy bench in the local park.