Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps were undercover ... except that they really weren't.
"There's a concert tonight I want you two to attend," Chief Bogo had told the rabbit and fox that afternoon at Precinct One, and Judy's heart had leapt at the prospect that it might be a surprise, unscheduled performance by Gazelle as the cape buffalo held out the tickets in his hoof. Her hopes sank when Bogo carried on with his explanation.
"Either of you familiar with Steve Squackett?"
Judy looked blank in her disappointment, if as adorable as ever. Her fox partner, however, gave a knowing nod. "The lynx guitarist? Been hearing rumors of trouble at his concerts. He playing tonight in Zootopia?"
"He is. Eight o'clock, at the Rumbler Amphitheater in Savannah Square. We've been receiving reports from other cities on this tour that his music has been having a ... strange effect on mammals in the audience. Especially the predators. Nothing overt, like inciting riots or anything. Just ... strange. I want you to check it out."
"Well, what should we be looking for?" Judy asked, somewhat confused. "I mean, what are his songs about? Are the lyrics that provocative?"
"That's the thing," Bogo answered. "His songs are mostly instrumental. It's not the lyrics that are anything unusual - I've already looked them up online to see for myself - but apparently his closing number includes a passage that leaves listeners ... affected."
"Um ... could you please be a little more vague?" the bunny quipped.
"It seems to defy easy explanation, and the EweTube clips I've seen apparently don't capture the full effect. That's why I want the two of you there to observe it for yourselves, firstpaw. Let me know if you think it's anything that needs to be shut down, and if so, I can pass word to the mayors and chiefs of other cities down the line. I'll have a heavy uniformed presence outside the theater in case there's any real trouble, but you two will be my eyes and ears inside. A predator and a prey, so I can get both your reactions."
"In our street clothes, I take it?" Nick asked.
"As tacky as those are in your case, Wilde, yes. Street clothes. But keep your badges on you, in case you need to identify yourselves, or act in any official capacity."
Judy wore an uncertain expression, causing Nick to smirk, since it reminded him of some of the faces she'd worn during her one and only trip to the Mystic Springs naturalist club. "Um, there's no chance anyone's going to go ... savage, is there?"
"Hasn't happened yet," Bogo snapped off, "so I wouldn't expect it tonight. And I wouldn't be sending you if I thought there was any real danger." Bogo couldn't help a smirk that mirrored Nick's own. "Although, if you want to bring along your fox repellant, do feel free."
"Chief ... "
"You know you're never gonna live that down, don't you, Carrots?" Nick teased.
So here they were, seated halfway up the sloping stadium seating of the 3,000-seat, open air Rumbler Amphitheater, looking down at the stage as the music of a certain lynx guitarist and his band filled their ears. Judy hadn't known what to expect - angsty folk or pounding metal or depressing goth or paw-gazing emo - and had to admit that now, most of the way through the concert, she'd actually somewhat enjoyed herself. Not quite half the songs had lyrics, although even those tended to have long instrumental passages, sung not by Steve Squackett himself but by an ocelot vocalist. Squackett's brother John switched between flute and keyboards, while a mixed backing band of canines and felines filled in on drums, bass and keyboards. The vocal songs had struck the bunny as mainstream rock, except for one bizarre piece where Squackett noodled along on some type of keyboard which mimicked an old-time big band while the singer crooned a sentimental love song and a mirror ball shot shafts and sparkles of light all throughout the theater. The instrumentals, by contrast, were all over the place, from the somewhat sinister and driving opening number in an unsettling, whomping time signature that kept shifting between 5/4, 7/8 and 4/4 - an early indication of the kind of thing Bogo had warned them about - to soaring, majestic midtempo guitar anthems to solo acoustic ditties which showed Squackett didn't need effects and amplification to get across his virtuosity. Another piece, halfway through the show, literally shook the seats beneath them with an awesome, descending five-note synth line that fell counterpoint to joyously explosive guitar solos placed in between, all ending with a thunderous drum solo. Judy loved music - and loved her chosen favorites with a passion - but rarely had she heard so much variety from a single ensemble. And while it wasn't quite her cup of tea - not a pop anthem to be heard anywhere - there were far worse ways to spend a night ... especially at Chief Bogo's orders.
All throughout the concert, Judy had shot frequent glances her partner's way, especially during the more adventurous instrumentals, to see whether this music was having any effect on Nick at all. So far, it hadn't, with smiles of assurance and even a couple of thumbs-up from the fox, who may even have been enjoying the evening more than she was. During a break after the penultimate song, she leaned over to him and said, "I don't know about you, but I think this was a bust, as far as Bogo's worries are concerned. I haven't heard anything that would make predator or prey act oddly. What about you?"
"A couple of the numbers were a bit on the ... intense side. But nothing I don't think any normal, well-adjusted pred could handle."
As fox and rabbit conversed, the star of the show, in his plain black slacks and loose white shirt, stepped up to the microphone he only used for between-song banter, not being a singer himself, and said, in an accent which would have been British if Britain had existed in this world, "I'd like to thank you all for coming. You've been a wonderful audience. I'd like to leave you with the closing song from my first album. This is 'Shadow of the Hierophant.'"
Roars of approval from the audience met this announcement, with many mammals rising to their feet in expectation.
Nick's ears pricked up as he faced fully forward in his seat once more. "Uh oh. Here it comes. Closing number. This is the one Bogo told us to pay special attention to."
"Yeah," Judy concurred. "Let's see what all the fuss was about."
"To sing it," Squackett went on, "I've got a special guest touring with me. Won't you please give a warm hand to the lovely Miss Kimberly Spoor." A lithe and glamorous female leopard walked out onstage to take her place at the microphone as the lynx guitarist stood aside. More applause greeted her, then the enthusiastic fans settled down to let the music start.
"Well, I guess this one has vocals," Nick snarked. Judy resisted the urge to smack him.
The drummer clicked his sticks four times, and the whole band came in with a thunderous fanfare of block chords from the keyboards replicating an orchestra's strings, underscored by powerful bass and drums and enhanced by delicate, sliding guitar notes from Steve Squackett himself. As the brief introductory passage ended, fading into a softly-picked guitar part rendered by Squackett on an acoustic instrument set up on a special stand so that he could play it without removing his electric guitar, Nick commented, "Well, that was loud, but not especially alarming otherwise."
Then Miss Spoor opened her mouth to sing, and the song transformed ... although in a good way or bad, the two officers couldn't have said.
"Veiling the nightshade, bride stalks a flower revealed ... "
Judy actually grimaced. "Is that ... singing? Her pitch is so high, I can't make out any individual words."
"I'm with you on that, Carrots. Almost kinda hurting my ears ... "
And as Spoor sang her almost-indecipherable lyric, John Squackett's delicate flute played in and out of the soprano vocal part, adding a distinct medieval yet jazzy air to the melody. Soon the chord shifted as Spoor delivered the chorus.
"Lost in thought, in search of vision,
As the moon eclipsed the sun ... "
Then the sledgehammer chords of the intro hit again, followed immediately by a second verse, which again Nick and Judy could only guess at, the vocal delivery pitched like a buzzing insect to their ears.
"Casting the same steps, glimpsing his own fate to come ... "
The pattern repeated, another chorus, the pounding fanfare a third time, and then the final verse.
"Tears fill the fountains, failing their promise to heal ... "
"This is almost annoying," Nick opined. "Maybe that's the effect this song was having on mammals."
"Well, the audience certainly seemed to anticipate it with enthusiasm. Let's stick with it 'til the end, and see where it goes."
The third and final chorus exhibited a subtle variation on the previous wording.
"Deep in thought but robbed of vision,
As the moon eclipsed the sun ... "
And then, for the fourth time, the band played the opening fanfare.
"Now this is just getting repetitive," Nick criticized.
"At least the light show's pretty good on these orchestral parts," Judy offered, trying to salvage something out of the number.
But then, as it seemed the song might just go on and on following the same alternation of piercing, unintelligible verse/choruses and lumbering main theme, the chord structure shifted into something new, an upward modulation that faded into an acoustic guitar played not by Steve but by his brother John, who'd abandoned his flute in favor of the stringed instrument. As he plucked, Steve Squackett stepped forth with his electric guitar and peeled off an extended, ghostly series of rapidly-hammered notes which turned to a prolonged wavering drone to suggest some other world.
The audience went wild.
At last the hammering of the strings slowed, producing its own otherworldly effect just by the more measured cadence, and then the whole band exploded in again on cue with another powerful midtempo instrumental section, different from the main theme already played four times, but still of a piece, John strumming away powerfully on his acoustic guitar while Steve tastefully soloed over it. Kimberly Spoor was now nowhere to be seen, having left the stage under cover of this musical distraction.
"Guess there's no more singing," Judy surmised.
Then the song took the most surprising turn of all. The band jam tapered off without warning, leaving just the keyboardist to plink out an extremely simple set of deliberate bell-like notes, replicating the sound of a glockenspiel. No other instrument intruded on this childlike melody, which resonated through the theater like single teardrops falling.
"Oh, great," Nick grumbled. "Now it's turned into a musical box ... "
Playing the entire note progression all the way through, the keyboardist came to a full stop, leaving a few moments' silence hanging over the audience, pregnant and expectant.
Then the bell-like notes started up again, repeating the pattern ... except that this time, halfway through, the bells faded out and Squackett's electric guitar softly faded in, picking up the quasi-melody with gentle, almost ominous swells produced by adroit use of his volume pedal, working it with his foot as expertly as his paws worked the strings. At the end of the second repetition, the rest of the band came in, unobtrusively backing him up in unified rendition of the slow, methodical tune.
"Okay, so the whole band can play it," Nick dismissed. "It's still pretty repetitive, and not very exciting."
Nick would soon have to eat his words - and the players onstage wouldn't need to play a single note differently to make him do so.
After the third time all the way through, the band suddenly grew louder, whether through their own efforts or that of the sound crew, nearly rivaling some of the louder passages which had come before. The simple progression took on a far more dramatic aspect at this volume, an inexorable drive of irresistible urgency. Meanwhile, the most dramatic visual effect of the evening began to unfold as well, as a lighting truss which had lain at the back of the stage now slowly rose as if bidden by this siren call, the lights clamped to it backlighting the musicians, now transformed as faceless servants to the music issuing forth from them, or perhaps as wizards wielding some form of visual/sonic magic.
Involuntarily, Nick's ears pinned back, and he found himself pressed into his seat. Judy, likewise affected but to a lesser extent, cast a concerned glance his way, then returned her attention to the stage from where the mesmerizing mix of music and light continued to pour forth.
The music grew louder now, mammoth synthesized bass notes adding to the plodding giant's march. The lighting truss, now well above the stage, split in two, the twin halves slowly arcing down to form a "V" even as their lights continued to blaze.
Just when it seemed the music had reached a crescendo, it grew even more intense, with heavily-strummed sweeps of electric guitar adding to the deliberate aural tumult. Never had the melody deviated from the notes first set out by the glockenspiel-synth, nor had the tempo quickened, but now what had started as a delicate, ethereal ringing of notes had transformed into a slowly-raging juggernaut of crashing cacophony.
Judy spared Nick another glance, and found the fox pressed so far back in his seat that he looked like he was trying to meld with the plastic. His ears were still pinned back, but now his eyes were wide as if in panic or alarm, and a half-snarl bared his teeth, if only barely. He seemed to be breathing heavily, as if his heart were racing from exertion. Judy recognized the signs as clear as day: her partner had adrenaline coursing through him, his fight-or-flight reflexes triggered.
And yet nothing had happened here, except ... the music.
Onstage, the keyboardist added faux tubular bells to the mix, very sparingly, only hitting them on certain key accents. On top of what the band was already playing, they sounded like the trumps of doom.
Above the stage, a circular projection screen slowly tilted down from the overhead riggings, reminiscent of the ones Mink Floyd had used in their heyday to display phantasmagorical imagery upon. And while this music filling the universe now would certainly lend itself to the phantasmagorical, the screen remained blank; instead, lights mounted behind it turned on, shining out from behind it like the sun being eclipsed by the moon. Perhaps it was symbolism, to signify that this music was blocking out the real world, and perhaps even rational thought.
Judy gave Nick another worried look, to find his condition unchanged; he truly did look like he was having some kind of panic attack, almost gasping for breath. The bunny, ever on the job, glanced around to see what effect these sounds were having on others in the audience. From where she sat, she could see several other predators - mostly canines - suffering the same as Nick, their gazes transfixed and wide, paws gripping the seat arms, ears pinned back.
Judy could not deny she felt some of this herself. While her own fight-or-flight instincts hadn't fully kicked in as they had in fox and wolf, she could understand these reactions. Never before in her life had she experienced music that, quite simply, felt so ... threatening.
And then it was over. The menacing chord progression ground to a slow halt, the band thrashing and slashing through the final sustain before a roll around the drum kit silenced all. Around the musicians the lights faded, leaving the stage in darkness.
Half the audience went nuts, cheering and yelling and whistling and clapping at the dark-symphonic audacity of what they'd just experienced. They didn't notice that the other half, dominated by predators, stayed to their seats, too exhausted from their shared adrenaline rush to raise either paw or voice.
Muted lights came up, revealing the beaming musicians onstage, assembled at the front for bows and waves at their fans before walking off. The cheering from the less affected audience members continued for some time after the band had disappeared.
Judy placed a gentle paw on her partner's shoulder as if stirring him from sleep, a scene playing out in multiple all throughout the Rumbler Amphitheater with many other pairs and groups of friends. "Nick? Nick, are you okay? Can you walk?"
As moments dragged out, Nick's ragged breathing slowly returned to something closer to normal, as did the position of his pinned ears. His deathgrip on the chair arms relaxed, and his pupils undilated as his eyes lost their frantic bulge. He looked to Judy. "What the fur was that?!"
"Looks like we have something to tell Bogo after all," Judy replied.
Nick shook his head. "I ... I don't know what it's like to go savage. Not really, not other than the play acting I did for Bellwether at the museum. But I think that just now is as close as I ever want to come. Let's ... let's get out of here."
"Do you think it's dangerous?" Judy asked as they made their way down the aisle toward the exit.
A coyote behind them overheard, and laughed. "Dangerous? Sure it's dangerous! That music puts you in touch with your primal self! Dude, I feel drained, and alive! Never felt more alive, woohoo!"
Out in the parking lot they found other predators with similar sentiments.
"That was better than nip! Think I'm seeing and hearing more clearly than I have in months!"
"Forget nip, that was like a Nighthowler binge! I feel like I could run through all twelve districts right now!"
"You know," Nick confessed to Judy, "now that the initial shock's worn off, I think they're right. I feel like ... like I'm vibrating. Like I'm all full of energy, and ready to take on the world."
"Well, no surprise there," the rabbit said. "I could see the adrenaline rush working its way through you. You must be all fumed up. But it's nervous energy, and you'll only overtax yourself if you go out and try to exert yourself now. I saw things like this at the Academy. Trust me, rest is what you need now."
Nick nodded. "Yeah, I saw them too. I know you're right, bun, but ... damned if I'll be sleeping a wink tonight!"
Their course took them past McHorn, who stood leaning forlornly against his oversized ZPD cruiser, seemingly bored and disappointed that the concert had let out without incident. He greeted his two fellow officers with a nod of acknowledgment. "Any trouble in there?"
"Define trouble," Nick replied.
"It was ... an interesting experience," Judy added.
The rhino took in the dispersing crowd. "Everyone seems happy with how it all turned out. Guess there was nothing to the Chief's worries after all."
"Um, yeah." Judy looked to Nick. "So, what do we tell Bogo in the morning?"
"That a song freaked me out?" Nick shook his head. "I might want to sit on that one, Carrots."
"It freaked out a lot more mammals than just you."
"And yet no one got hurt. And like our hidebound colleague here says, everyone seemed to have a good time. Maybe mammals just need a harmless thrill like this once in a while to let off a little steam. Beats nip and serum, doesn't it?"
"I ... dunno," Judy said dubiously. "You weren't a tiny prey mammal sitting in the middle of a bunch of predators who looked like they were about to have fits."
Nick tilted her chin up with one finger. "And yet here you are, nary a scratch upon you. Just like every other concertgoer who walked out of that theater tonight. Tell you what. If we hear of even one audience member suffering any injuries as a result of that performance, I'll waltz right into Bogo's office tomorrow along with you and spill everything we witnessed. Otherwise, I'm ready to chalk this up as an interesting cultural experience. Now, are you hungry? Because I think I could polish of a whole pizza just by myself!"
Judy pulled a face. "Anchovies?"
"Of course anchovies. They make the whole pie."
"Yuck. Okay, I'm in - but only if it's half anchovies and half plain."
"Deal. Your treat."
"My - Hey!"
But Nick was already walking toward the subway, more spring in his saunter than usual. Maybe this concert really had left him energized.
Judy spared one last glance over her shoulder at the Rumbler Amphitheater, now emptied of both fans and the music which had brought them there. Harmless fun, like a roller coaster or a horror movie? Or something more? Finally she just shook her head and ran to catch up to her fox partner.
A/N: Okay, these are gonna be long. I don't normally do Author's Notes, but this quasi-songfic requires lots of citations. First off, the Steve Squackett referred to in the story is based upon the real-life Steve Hackett, guitarist for Genesis from 1971-1977. All of the compositions described in this fic are based on real songs, and I had the privilege of seeing most of them performed live during my teen years. (Yes, even the mirror-ball effects and odd keyboard of the crooner's ballad ["Sentimental Institution"], the bleachers-shaking descending synth line ["Clocks - Angel of Mons"] and the driving, time-signature-shifting opening tune ["Slogans"] were all played at a single concert at Bergen Community College in 1980, and I was there to see it.) And yes, Hackett's brother John was indeed in the band, switching between guitar, keyboards and flute, just as depicted here. The name "Squackett" comes from a one-off duet project that Steve Hackett wrote and recorded with the late legendary Yes bassist Chris Squire, the band name being an amusing mash-up of their two surnames. Figured it would be a way to pay homage to two of my favorite musicians in one name. And the name of the leopard vocalist, Kimberly Spoor, is a play on Kim Poor, Hackett's longtime companion who also painted many of his album covers (although, to the best of my knowledge, she was not a singer herself).
"Shadow of the Heirophant" was, as cited in the story, the closing song on Hackett's first solo album, 1975's "Voyage of the Acolyte." As far as I'm aware, the song has never been played live in its entirely due to its complexity, although excerpts have made it into Hackett's concerts over the years. It was while listening to the track not long after seeing "Zootopia" that I began to connect the two in my mind, especially the "threatening" closing section, and started to envision how such a piece of music might affect our dear animal characters, especially impressionable predators. (And wouldn't Impressionable Predators be a great band name?) Thus did this fic slowly form in my mind, and this past weekend I finally decided to write the damn thing. Hope at least some of you like it.
All lyrics from "Shadow of the Hierophant" excerpted in the story are copyright and property of Steve Hackett.
Those interested in hearing the song which inspired this story are encouraged to seek it out on YouTube. Better yet, play it as you're reading the passages pertaining to it. I hope you'll find it an immersive and memorable experience.