“...Would we call that Prog?” I have to ask, skeptically. “There were no funny time signatures or extended guitar breaks.”

Out of nowhere, the conversation stops, and after a moment I realise I must’ve put a foot wrong. Metaphorically, because obviously I don’t actually have feet here. Man, these internal observations are getting old. No, I don’t have a body here, I’m just a, well, disembodied voice, just like everyone’s internal monologue is. And so are the sirens, who I appear to have upset somehow...?

At last, a strict Adagio says, “Everyone here knows that only we get that kind of treatment.”

“Because we’re the only ones who can pull it off,” Aria says.

“And make it catchy,” Sonata adds.

Adagio, now less unimpressed with me and more impressed with herself, says, “Chrysalis may have managed the duet with herself, but we did Phrygian in 15/8 in a kids’ movie and made it sexy.”

“I’m not sure how many people would try to be sexy in a kids’ movie,” I say, a little uncomfortably.

“Remember what I said earlier about that being part of our meta-villain angle?” she reminds me.

“But anyway,” Aria says, getting back to business, “the parallel substitution between Ionian and Mixolydian is fairly Prog, by Applejack’s usual Bluegrass standards.”

Adagio jumps straight in, “And then you change time signature for the ‘seeds of the past’ line.”

Aria takes it up again the moment Adagio finishes, “And then suddenly, after modulating to the parallel dominant for the bridge...”

“Boom!” Sonata exclaims.

“...Stairway To Heaven!” Adagio says, sounding satisfied.

Aria finishes off the analysis with, “Only the chord sequence is topped off with the VI-VII-and-back-to-i progression from most of the best Iron Maiden songs.”

Well, I mean, I guess it was a little bit Prog, by some standards...

“I wish that bit had been longer,” Sonata says, and I just manage to stomp on my inner Jake Peralta before he can say anything about that being the title of Sonata’s sex tape.

I know what she means, though; I wanted more of that bit too, but it was as long as it needed to be, and any more would have been indulgent and excessive. And since that stopped me, maybe it wasn’t very Prog after all.

“Do you think we should read anything into the fact that the best bit of the song comes just after Snowfall takes her first step towards becoming a villain?” Aria asks mischievously.

I hear Adagio and Sonata giggle to themselves, and Aria join in with them, but none of them actually say anything further on the matter, so I elect to shift the conversation before I have to give Aria an answer.

“Well-aware that last time I asked if you liked a song,” I say, “you told me it was unsubtle; how did you feel about this one?”

“I liked it very much,” Adagio says immediately, and I rest just a little easier. “And I didn’t say I didn’t like the last one, just that the orchestration was rather on the nose.”

“Pony Scrooge traditionally being a character best treated with the utmost nuance and understatement,” I agree with only the barest hint of detectable sarcasm.

“I didn’t say it didn’t fit the character, either. In fact, I loved all of A Hearth’s Warming Tail, and I think it was the high point of the whole season.”

“Pinkie’s song could have been better, I thought,” Aria counters.

“Yes,” Adagio responds. “But Luna’s Future more than made up for it. That was the best one since Rainbow Rocks.”

“Again, I wish that one had been longer,” Sonata says, and once more I agree with her. Is it healthy to agree with Sonata that often? Surely it can’t be a good sign...?

“Sorry, 22-minute runtime limit,” I say.

“Yeah, I know,” she answers. “At least the note range is so narrow that I can extend the song when singing it myself by repeating it an octave higher.”

“It just didn’t feel right pushing into higher territory; Luna’s character demanded more low resonance in the voice, so there was only so wide a range the melody could cover and keep that tone.”

“I get it, it’s cool. It was the right thing to do in the episode.”

Aria then says, “But we’re not Luna.”

“Well, I kind of am,” Adagio argues, sounding embarrassed, “when she’s singing, just like Rarity...”

“I know, I know,” Aria replies, “but not for this song. Anyway, when not trying to be Princess of the Night, sometimes it’s just fun to belt stuff out at the top of your lungs, and repeating the tune an octave higher is a good opportunity for that. And it gets it out of my system so I don’t mind doing the delicate bits in our three-piece arrangements.”

Lots of people forget how soft and controlled Aria’s singing voice is in the Dazzling songs. Some even assume the labels on her track and Sonata’s must be mixed up, as Aria is gruff and pushy in person where Sonata often comes across as more docile.

And some of those that do remember take it as a sign that her tough girl persona is only an act to hide a fragile interior. I think it’s the other way around, though. I think she’s every bit as rough and tumble as she seems to be, but takes her role as main support harmonist so seriously when singing that she’ll adapt her voice to be as gentle as it needs to be to enrich Adagio’s line without ever drawing attention to itself and distracting from the lead melody.

“And I very much enjoyed Crusaders of the Lost Mark, too,” Adagio says, snapping me back to the conversation and swiftly moving it onto other musical episodes.

“I cried,” Sonata says wistfully. “Only time the show has done that to me.”

“Jesus, Sonata,” Aria says, “it wasn’t that bad...”

With my voice full to bursting with insincere jollity, I say, “Oh, Aria, you’re so hilarious and your quips so original!”

Ignoring my sarcasm, Aria carries on, “It brought everything together in such a perfect resolution. I mean, of course Diamond Tiara and her redemption, after five years unrepentant, is instrumental in the CMCs getting their cutie marks; she’s the one who made them so obsessed with not being blank flanks in the first place.”

“...Ok, that ‘instrumental’ pun repaired quite a lot,” I say, “and I forgive you.”

“I didn’t ask for your forgiveness, is there a cash equivalent?”

“I think A Hearth’s Warming Tail had the stronger songs, of the two,” Adagio interjects, “but obviously Crusaders meant more to the story as a whole.”

“Although they were both great!” Sonata says gleefully.

“Whereas the earlier two musicals: Pinkie Pride and Magical Mystery Cure, I wasn’t so keen on,” Aria says.

“Even with Weird Al?” I ask.

“He was great, and the episode was funny,” Aria replies in a consolation prize voice, “but I don’t think any of the songs had persistent melodies that stayed with me after the event.”

Adagio then says, “Not in the same way as, for example...”

“Oh no, don’t...” I plead.

“Shall we all say it together?” she asks.

“Seriously?” I say, exasperated. “That’s still the benchmark, six years on?”

“1...2...3...”

“Winter Wrap Up!”

In resignation I say it with them half-heartedly, while the other three shout it from the rooftops.

“Look,” I explain, “I love the song; it was the first proper, big musical number we did with the show, and it was only doing that that really gave us the confidence to go onto stuff like At The Gala.” Hard to imagine what the show, or indeed, life, would be like now if not for it. Would there be so many songs in the movie? Would I still be involved with the franchise at all? Would it even still be going? ...That last one is a bit of a long shot, I admit, crediting myself and the first song I wrote as being necessary for the survival of the hottest kids’ show around. I’m sure it would have flourished all the same. And maybe we would have tried At The Gala anyway and ended up at the same place as now.

“But really,” I continue, “it was so long ago now, and I think we’ve had some much better ones since, so why is that the one everyone still talks about? I was hoping I Am Just A Pony would have taken over by now.”

“Maybe because it was the first?” Adagio suggests.

“Or one of only two or three full songs that season,” Aria offers, “when they seem to be in every two or three episodes now?”

But then Sonata has her say on the matter. “OMG, guys, you’re really missing the obvious here. People love Winter Wrap Up because it’s so, so happy! That’s why they like the show in the first place – sure, they might get distracted by awesome villains from time to time, but if that was the most important thing then they’d just watch The Dark Knight on a loop. Winter Wrap Up makes you smile; probably even more than Pinkie’s song about smiling does, because it’s so innocent and upbeat and just plain happy.”

She then takes a huge breath before starting up again, “BUT, it’s so wacky and silly, with the idea of cartoon ponies having to clean up winter with shovels and stuff before spring can come, that it doesn’t feel cheesy in the way that BBBFF or Let The Rainbow Remind You do.”

Happy but surreal. Maybe she’s onto something.

“Huh,” I say. “And that didn’t come across with Celestia’s Ballad, from Magical Mystery Cure? It’s a defining character moment, a turning point in the series, not to mention the first time we hear Princess Celestia sing. But the subject matter ran such a risk of being cheesy that we tried really hard to make sure the instrumentation wasn’t.”

“And you succeeded,” Aria says unexpectedly firmly. “The arrangement of ethereal choir and arpeggiating piano was sublime, the accompanying animation was perfect, and the fanfare at the climax, with the key change as Twilight’s cutie mark fills the sky, was nothing short of spectacular.” She pauses and sighs, and then says, “But no, to go back to the same point as with Pinkie Pride, the melody didn’t stick with me afterwards.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” I say. “I guess it doesn’t really have a repeating chorus or anything, so I can kind of understand that.”

There’s a moment of quiet, perhaps with others agreeing but not wanting to rub salt in the wounds.

“Aria,” Adagio says, quietly but insistently.

“...No,” comes Aria’s no-nonsense reply.

“Tell him,” Adagio pushes.

“Why? It’s nothing to do with you, so just leave it.”

“Because he needs to know. And he deserves to.”

“I really hate you sometimes, Adagio.”

“I’m pleasantly surprised it’s only sometimes. Now tell him.”

“Fine.”

As has happened before in the conversation, a tense silence stretches. This time I’m just thankful it’s not down to something I’ve said. That makes it no less nerve-wracking, though, and all the more mystifying.

Eventually Aria drops her wham line.

“I cried at that one.”

And if the silence before was tense, the one after isn’t much less so. Kind of confusing, too, as I don’t know what to say to her admission, but have a feeling that saying the wrong thing would lead to an explosion.

Adagio then steps in to change the subject, guiding us away from the risk of Aria ordinance, “So, the first two musical episodes had their moments, but overall didn’t stand out as much as they should have done. The two since, however, have been brilliant.”

“So you’re definitely moving in the right direction,” Aria says, with no trace of her former self-consciousness.

“Yeah,” Sonata agrees, “if it had been the other way around then you ought to have been really worried.”

“Goodness,” Adagio says in a way that brings to mind her admiring her painted nails while idly speculating aloud, “what could possibly have happened between seasons four and five to prompt an explosion of such dazzling musicals?”

“What could have changed?” Aria asks no one in particular. “What’s different now?”

“Uh, guys?” Sonata says hesitantly, “I think it might be us. He has us now; Rainbow Rocks is what happened between seasons four and five, and we’ve been here anytime you’ve needed us since.”

More audible facepalming. It’s a small wonder the other two don’t have permanent forehead bruises.

“Not to disappoint you or anything,” I say, “but I had muses before you three.”

“Much to Starlight Glimmer’s dismay,” comes Aria’s drawling reply, “not all muses are equal.”

Adagio, as ever, has the smooth answer, “You’re the one who wrote the words – why pretend we’re all the same, when some of us shine brighter?”

“We’re your chance to find your flame,” Aria finishes with a conviction that lives up to her surname.

“And how do I do that?” I ask. “That was why you came to me today in the first place, before we got distracted discussing headcanons and so on – I’m floundering here.” And immediately it’s all flooding back, swirling around me and rising higher. “I’ve been given this huge opportunity loaded with huge expectations, and it’s terrifying. So, what do I do?”

Adagio answers without having to pause for thought. “Aim high. You gave Chrysalis the self-duet. You gave Discord the tongue twister that sounded straight out of Dr. Seuss. You gave us the dark scale and awkward time signature.”

Aria follows hot on her (spiked) heels, “And also so many different harmonies between the parts of Under Our Spell, both vocal and instrumental, that I still struggle to understand how you carried that off.”

Good to know that the avatars of my subconscious are that optimistic about it, at least.

“You can do these things when you don’t compromise,” Adagio says, “and let nothing stand in your way. Why should the sky be the limit, when there are footprints on the moon?”

...

That one, I’m pretty sure, really is profound. I should get it on a plaque on my desk or something. It might be kind of missing the problem here, though.

“But I managed it before,” I say, “with your songs, because I was confident. I believed in myself enough to take risks, and try new things. This movie matters too much to be that cavalier about it.”

“It’s very hard to create something exceptional when you’re trying to play it safe,” Aria says sympathetically.

Adagio agrees, “You have to have the confidence to throw the line if necessary.”

“I know that,” I say. “And acknowledging that lack of confidence is the issue is, funnily enough, not helping with it in the slightest, because it only makes me less confident.”

Then, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, Sonata says simply, “Then we’ll be your confidence.”

“And your technical skill,” Aria adds.

“And your artistic vision,” Adagio concludes.

Would that work? As Adagio said earlier, muses inspire the music. If they’re internalised, can they be more direct about it?

“We’ll be right here with you, singing in your ear,” Sonata says.

“So let us guide you,” Adagio urges comfortingly.

“We haven’t led you aground before, we won’t now,” Aria says.

Since they’re manifestations of my subconscious, the music would still ultimately be all from me, so it wouldn’t technically be copying someone else’s work. It might feel like it at first though. But right now I really don’t have any other ideas, and I have to get the movie score done.

“You don’t have to be that weird forest woman, telling everyone you got this,” Sonata laughs.

“Because you might not have it,” Aria says more seriously.

“But you have us,” Sonata says.

“And we’ve got you,” Adagio finishes. And she’s a voice in my head; the voice of a cartoon hippocampus no less, and I know how ridiculous it is. And I also know she and her sisters won’t let me fall.

And then all three sirens raise their voices and sing me to a warm place, to the tune of the line they earlier said to be their favourite: the prechorus from Under Our Spell.

“You’ve got the muses to get through it, got it all inside, just do it,
Greatness waiting if you try, don’t aim lower than the sky.”

Author's Notes:

I've always found the comedy tag rather intimidating. A couple of times I've considered adding it for stories, because they had their funny moments and were written to be lighthearted, but I think it brings with it an expectation that the story will make you laugh, and therefore the story will be a failure if it doesn't.

The comedy tag didn't fit on my previous works, because aiming to be funny wasn't the primary reason I wrote them; it was always more about plot or character. But this one was written with humour foremost in mind, so I think the tag belongs, although that doesn't make it any less scary as a standard to be striving for. There are still plenty of moments of the characters having their say, though, whether funny or not, so I think the slice of life tag belongs here too.

This story is a concoction of many different thoughts and observations I've had on pony things for a while, though it was written in a very linear fashion, with no end or route in mind, and so none of it was made simply as a framing device for topics I wanted to cover, and hopefully that means they don't just feel shoehorned in.

As such, and thanks to its real-world format, the story can incorporate some of the things I've previously said in blogs (like the meta-villain thing - so I might now delete that blog) or in comment sections (you can see the original siren-magic-responsible-for-Friendship-Games-discrepancies comment here). One line is a direct response from Eyeswirl The Weirded (and the observation that Starlight was genuinely defeated by the magic of friendship, rather than brainwash-redemption-rainbow-lasers, came from him), and another is a reference to NaiadSagaIotaOar, who was kind enough to pre-read the first half of this a couple of months ago. There's even a line that someone said to me as an ill-thought out criticism, along with the response that I wanted to (but restrained myself) give at the time. Obviously, I'm not telling you which lines any of those ones are.

Also, hopefully the musical bits aren't too intrusive. It's something I've wanted to discuss for a long time, and since all the characters involved know the precise terminology, no effort is made to explain what they mean to the reader (which would have taken way longer and completely derailed the story). But I hope that they were brief enough moments that they can be glossed over if you don't know what they're talking about, simply being content with the knowledge that they know about something and are discussing it at expert-level with technical terms.

The format for this story is quite different from my other works, and there are two reasons for that. The first is that of the above paragraph; that anything not explained is moved on from quickly. The second is that I felt the pacing needed to be much faster for the comedy to work best. All my favourite comedy shows keep jokes flowing thick and fast, never repeating or rephrasing a gag, but moving onto the next the second the punchline lands, and that's what I tried to do here.

As such, 60% of all the text here is dialogue, where my average is 20%, and the highest I've previously gone is 37%, with the dialogue-heavy 10,000-word second chapter of my Rainbow Dash story. Originally this story was almost entirely dialogue-only, with colour-coding to show who was speaking, but the story would not have passed moderation in that format, so I went back and changed it. Something about 'says' doesn't blend quite as well as 'said,' I think, and so there's quite a bit more said-abuse (or rather says-abuse) than would be ideal, and a lot more adverbs after 'says' than I'd have liked, too. But when unable to describe characters' actions, that seemed the best compromise solution.

Although I had the idea for the story around half a year ago, I only started writing anything down for it in February, and did so because I happened to be thinking about it while working on something else, and dialogue ideas kept suggesting themselves. And I remembered some of the comedy one-shots CGPH has written (of which this is an excellent example, although written much more recently), and how they're often not far off dialogue-only, and wondered if that might work well here, both for keeping the pacing up and for being quick to do when I had no time to spare. So I got the first draft down in a few quick sections, and refining it didn't take too long as it was mostly adding dialogue tags, and a few thoughts which were hardly deep and meaningful.

That's how I've justified writing this rather than focusing solely on the third chapter of my ongoing story, because I got nine thousand words done here in the time it would have taken to do one or two thousand there, and I'm really meant to be working flat out on IRL things at the moment. So being able to open this story up for a few minutes at a time and write or add tags for just a page of dialogue, and then go back to doing what I'm supposed to be doing, is far less disruptive than putting whole evenings aside to sit down and focus on getting each line in the other story just right.

Finally, I've had a couple of other (much shorter) meta-siren ideas over the last few months, ones not involving Daniel Ingram, so there's a chance this work might become a conglomeration of unconnected tales of siren stupidity, if I can make those ideas work in print. No plans for that anytime soon, though, hence the completed tag.