Samba de Amigo is a great Dreamcast game with great music.
This video is...I don't know, you guys.
Dreamcast Music Week continues tomorrow. I'm so, so sorry.
10 September 2012
09 September 2012
Happy Birfday, Dreamcast!
13 years ago today, a great video game system was released in America. (It was a Dreamcast if you didn't know. Maybe you're allergic to that goofy font I use for titles?)
Dreamcast, as we liked to say back in 1999, was da bomb. Like, groovy, baby. It was most Napster, dawg, and it deserves a grand tribute, but I've been kind of a loser on this site lately, so I'm instead going to go with a little tribute. Each day this week, we'll have ourselves a listen to one of the best songs to grace the Caster of Dreams.
To be clear, this week will not be highlighting the Dreamcast's best games, but the Dreamcast's best tunes, although the overlap between the two is pretty remarkable.
What are we actually hearing here? Some echoing rain drops? A cymbal crash, slowed and played in reverse? It's remarkable how effectively a few abstract sound effects can create a mood. Every time I listen to this audio and watch that little orange bounce and swirl around, I'm back in 1999, witnessing the future. It's simultaneously traditional and forward-looking. These aren't video game sounds, or the wild techno-laser blasts we loved so much at the turn of the millennium. I think I'm picking up a Japanese vibe, which would be appropriate, but it's nothing overt. There's a sense of vastness and grandeur, but the whole thing is over in less than ten seconds.
We're dealing more in feelings than absolutes, and I think that fits a console called the Dreamcast just right. When I try to describe why I love the Dreamcast, there's always something more to it than I can convey. I can talk about the games, the controller, the modem, the VMU, its place in history, my own nostalgia...there are plenty of concrete reasons why the Dreamcast is remembered fondly more than a decade after going out of production, but the feeling of the Dreamcast - that je ne sais blah blah - goes beyond reason. We Dreamcast nuts are all a little crazy, and I think that's why the system crashed and burned in the marketplace. It was weird, and it did aspire to be great in ways that weren't easily communicable. Financially, Sega needed for it to be a console for everybody, but, fundamentally, it wasn't.
It's unsatisfying as a writer to say something like, "This is good and important and interesting just because it is," but that's the case. This sound was pure magic for me the first time I heard it, and it's remained that way ever since. For most people I know, it has no such effect. You hear this sound that so perfectly encapsulates the Dreamcast experience, and you either get it or you don't, and nothing I write will change that.
Tomorrow: Actual music!
Dreamcast, as we liked to say back in 1999, was da bomb. Like, groovy, baby. It was most Napster, dawg, and it deserves a grand tribute, but I've been kind of a loser on this site lately, so I'm instead going to go with a little tribute. Each day this week, we'll have ourselves a listen to one of the best songs to grace the Caster of Dreams.
To be clear, this week will not be highlighting the Dreamcast's best games, but the Dreamcast's best tunes, although the overlap between the two is pretty remarkable.
We'll start this feature, as is so often the way, with the beginning. Admittedly, it's stretching the definition of the word "song" to include this on the list, but when you're writing a sporadically updated video game site with an average of three hits per month, little things like "consistency" and "making any sense at all" don't seem terribly important. Jackhammer petunia dice.
What are we actually hearing here? Some echoing rain drops? A cymbal crash, slowed and played in reverse? It's remarkable how effectively a few abstract sound effects can create a mood. Every time I listen to this audio and watch that little orange bounce and swirl around, I'm back in 1999, witnessing the future. It's simultaneously traditional and forward-looking. These aren't video game sounds, or the wild techno-laser blasts we loved so much at the turn of the millennium. I think I'm picking up a Japanese vibe, which would be appropriate, but it's nothing overt. There's a sense of vastness and grandeur, but the whole thing is over in less than ten seconds.
We're dealing more in feelings than absolutes, and I think that fits a console called the Dreamcast just right. When I try to describe why I love the Dreamcast, there's always something more to it than I can convey. I can talk about the games, the controller, the modem, the VMU, its place in history, my own nostalgia...there are plenty of concrete reasons why the Dreamcast is remembered fondly more than a decade after going out of production, but the feeling of the Dreamcast - that je ne sais blah blah - goes beyond reason. We Dreamcast nuts are all a little crazy, and I think that's why the system crashed and burned in the marketplace. It was weird, and it did aspire to be great in ways that weren't easily communicable. Financially, Sega needed for it to be a console for everybody, but, fundamentally, it wasn't.
It's unsatisfying as a writer to say something like, "This is good and important and interesting just because it is," but that's the case. This sound was pure magic for me the first time I heard it, and it's remained that way ever since. For most people I know, it has no such effect. You hear this sound that so perfectly encapsulates the Dreamcast experience, and you either get it or you don't, and nothing I write will change that.
Tomorrow: Actual music!
02 September 2012
Finally! The Seventh Fantasy (V)
You may have noticed that the four previous installments of Finally! The Seventh Fantasy have dealt with specifics. I haven't made any broad statements about Final Fantasy VII's story, structure, or mechanics, and that's intentional. Reviews and criticism tend to recap the big picture upfront, but that's difficult to while writing about a game as you play it. Now that I've finally played enough to get a sense of what's happening, I can make some effort to break it down for you, dear readers. Today, we'll talk story.
Our adventure begins with AVALANCHE, a radical eco-terrorism group, attacking a few machine gun-toting guards with swords and automatic weapons of their own. To be fair, the dystopian city of Midgar is awfully bleak, but it's a troubling way to be introduced to our supposed heroes. AVALANCHE is a ragtag bunch of infighting guerrillas with their own motivations for fighting. Barret believes the Shinra company is sucking the life out the Planet, which I guess is a thing in this universe, maybe? Cloud is a bad boy who plays by his own rules, as bad boys are wont to do. Biggs and Wedge...want to remind you that Star Wars exists? That's enough reason to risk your life blowing up power plants, right?
Okay, so it's not so difficult to accept that Shinra, a gigantic energy company, could be a little corrupt, or that their plants could cause environmental harm. Let's just go with that, because your first objective as a player is to sneak into a Shinra facility and bomb a generator. It's more comforting to think that you're delivering comeuppance to an Enron or a BP than it is to imagine the lights shutting off at Midgar Medical Hospital because some guy with a gun in place of an arm told you that Mother Earth is crying, man.
After successfully pulling off the mission, the members of AVALANCHE hop aboard a train back to their hideout, and I have to say that I appreciate AVALANCHE's efforts to stay green by riding public transportation. The base is hidden in the basement of dive bar lit by a neon sign that says "Texas," which is a baffling sight in a fantasy world. Is Texas actually a place here? Is Texas a fictional brand of beer, maybe? I can only hope these questions will be answered by the game's end. For now, I am helplessly nonplussed.
The next day, our plucky crew sets out to bomb another generator, and that's exactly where we'll pick up tomorrow, children.
18 August 2012
Finally! The Seventh Fantasy (IV)
If you've been following this feature, you know that I haven't played enough Final Fantasy VII to pass any judgement on its overall quality, and yet today I feel confident telling you that anyone who claims this is the best game ever made - and there are plenty who would - is patently wrong. Look! I have proof!
In this scene we have some manner of control console with three stations, and the buttons at these stations must all be pressed simultaneously. Barret and Tifa automatically press their buttons, while the player is left controlling Cloud, who must match their timing. There is no real indication of when Barret and Tifa will move, and precision required is ridiculous. Hit the button a tenth of a second too early or too late, and Tifa will reprimand you and tell you to try again. Unfortunately, the button used to skip through dialogue is the same button used to make Cloud act, so when you're on your ninth attempt, and you're mashing your controller, frustrated by the text scrolling across your screen once more, it's all too easy to keep pressing until you've triggered another early button press. Ugh.
What is the point of this segment? There is nothing remotely enjoyable about guessing the correct time to press a button. There is no consequence for failure except having to try again. It doesn't develop the characters, world, or plot. It's a moment of sloppy, needless frustration with no purpose, and I hope it doesn't indicate anything about the rest of the game.
What is the point of this segment? There is nothing remotely enjoyable about guessing the correct time to press a button. There is no consequence for failure except having to try again. It doesn't develop the characters, world, or plot. It's a moment of sloppy, needless frustration with no purpose, and I hope it doesn't indicate anything about the rest of the game.
16 August 2012
Finally! The Seventh Fantasy (III)
It was fairly late yesterday by the time I installed Final Fantasy VII, set up an account to start playing, and wrote nonsense about it on the Internet. I stopped playing before I even reached the first save point, so I had to start again from the beginning today.
I think the enjoyment in a game like this is in the progression. Tetris never changes, and yet I'll keep playing that game until I drop. I don't have to reach the end of Super Mario Bros. to feel like my playing time has been well-spent - I will gladly run through World 1-1 a thousand times, because the sheer act of running and jumping is its own reward. Moving through the world - seeing surprising new sights and overcoming ever-more-difficult challenges - enhances the game immensely, but it you can still have a great time while dying over and over on the first stage.
In a story-driven role-playing game, progression is essential. Even when you're running around in a field fighting the same slimes and rats for hours on end, you're progressing. Your actions as a player may be the same in every fight, but the in-game character is gaining experience points, levels, gold, and items. Something is changing. There's an arc from where you were when you started playing to where you are when you finish, and that's why players tolerate and even crave repetitive RPGs.
Likewise, most RPGs I've played - okay, most video games in general - have had cringe-inducing-ly bad stories, and yet players really latch onto this tripe. I've heard several game developers claim that games are superior to movies because once a movie starts playing, it will continue to the end, even if no one is present to watch it, but a game requires a player to push it forward, and this means the game/player bond is closer than that of the movie/audience. While I personally find this viewpoint absurd, the fact that some people do buy into it goes a long way toward explaining why video game fans hail certain video game stories as brilliant, while they would never tolerate the same story if it were presented in a movie. The written narrative of a Final Fantasy game does not take the player's choices and actions into account, but it also wouldn't be told without somebody being present to hit the "Continue" button every few seconds. There is a connection to the storytelling process, even if that connection is largely an illusion.
More important than the content of the story is its presence. That is, it doesn't matter so much if the plot or characters are worthwhile, as long as the story is present enough to create a sense of progression. Cutting to a cinematic sequence conveys the idea that something, anything, has happened. Has the state of the game changed between when I started playing and when I ended? Good enough.
Over the years, I've probably gone through the opening scenes of Final Fantasy VII half-a-dozen times. If I play Sonic the Hedgehog's Green Hill Zone two days in a row, I'm going to have a blast both times. If I play the intro to Final Fantasy VII two days in a row, on the other hand, my characters will have lost all their gained experience, and I will already clearly know exactly what awaits me in the story. That isn't to say this is a bad or invalid way of designing a game. The blame is on me for not pressing on to the next save point. Still, I expect my excitement levels for this game will remain pretty tepid until I finally reach a point I haven't played before.
I think the enjoyment in a game like this is in the progression. Tetris never changes, and yet I'll keep playing that game until I drop. I don't have to reach the end of Super Mario Bros. to feel like my playing time has been well-spent - I will gladly run through World 1-1 a thousand times, because the sheer act of running and jumping is its own reward. Moving through the world - seeing surprising new sights and overcoming ever-more-difficult challenges - enhances the game immensely, but it you can still have a great time while dying over and over on the first stage.
In a story-driven role-playing game, progression is essential. Even when you're running around in a field fighting the same slimes and rats for hours on end, you're progressing. Your actions as a player may be the same in every fight, but the in-game character is gaining experience points, levels, gold, and items. Something is changing. There's an arc from where you were when you started playing to where you are when you finish, and that's why players tolerate and even crave repetitive RPGs.
Likewise, most RPGs I've played - okay, most video games in general - have had cringe-inducing-ly bad stories, and yet players really latch onto this tripe. I've heard several game developers claim that games are superior to movies because once a movie starts playing, it will continue to the end, even if no one is present to watch it, but a game requires a player to push it forward, and this means the game/player bond is closer than that of the movie/audience. While I personally find this viewpoint absurd, the fact that some people do buy into it goes a long way toward explaining why video game fans hail certain video game stories as brilliant, while they would never tolerate the same story if it were presented in a movie. The written narrative of a Final Fantasy game does not take the player's choices and actions into account, but it also wouldn't be told without somebody being present to hit the "Continue" button every few seconds. There is a connection to the storytelling process, even if that connection is largely an illusion.
More important than the content of the story is its presence. That is, it doesn't matter so much if the plot or characters are worthwhile, as long as the story is present enough to create a sense of progression. Cutting to a cinematic sequence conveys the idea that something, anything, has happened. Has the state of the game changed between when I started playing and when I ended? Good enough.
Over the years, I've probably gone through the opening scenes of Final Fantasy VII half-a-dozen times. If I play Sonic the Hedgehog's Green Hill Zone two days in a row, I'm going to have a blast both times. If I play the intro to Final Fantasy VII two days in a row, on the other hand, my characters will have lost all their gained experience, and I will already clearly know exactly what awaits me in the story. That isn't to say this is a bad or invalid way of designing a game. The blame is on me for not pressing on to the next save point. Still, I expect my excitement levels for this game will remain pretty tepid until I finally reach a point I haven't played before.
Finally! The Seventh Fantasty (II)
Ordinarily, I appreciate both privacy and cookies; often at the same time. However, a glance at the fine print here indicates that this agreement has less to do with me eating sugary junk food alone in my bedroom, and more to do with me paying for the right to let some company spy on me in exchange for the chance to play an old computer game. Yes, I have purchased, downloaded, and installed Final Fantasy VII, but I will not be granted permission to play until I have created a Square Enix account and agreed to the terms above, or signed in with a Facebook account, which can't be any better.
Why? Why is this a requirement?
--- A few minutes later ---
I'm in the game now. I've played the intro before, many years ago, so there shouldn't be any real surprises for me at this point, and yet there are. I shouldn't be surprised by the over-indulgent, heavily compressed cinematic scenes, and yet I can't believe how much time I'm asked to spend looking at CG stars. Like, a minute of erratic camera swoops showing nothing. Pixelated white blobs on a black background. Then there's some girl, then some city, then, okay, fight!
I guess I like getting thrown straight into a battle more than I would like heavy-handed tutorials teaching me how to walk, but the jump in pacing these first moments provide is startling. I fight a few policemen (Is that right? Policemen?), then learn that my spiky-haired little name is a guerrilla/terrorist guy named Cloud. Or he would be named Cloud if the game didn't give me the option to rechristen him "I am dumb," because that's totally funny, and there's no way I'll think my little joke is stale when I'm still reading it 100 hours into my adventure.
It was at this point that I tried to take a screenshot to show off my enviable wit ("What's your name?" "I am dumb." "I am dumb, eh? Hmmm..."), and it was at this point I learned that you can't take screenshots of this game with the Print Screen button. It just saves a blank black image. I'm sure I can find a way around this limitation, but come on. What harm am I going to do by taking a picture of a game that came out fifteen years ago?
Oh, right, I'll probably take pictures of the ridiculous bugs. Within two or three minutes of starting, I'd already discovered a simple method for making I am dumb appear upside-down at 200 times his regular size. Whoops.
I kept going and met a character who was happy to provide a bit of exposition. "You were in SOLDIER," and I guess we don't like SOLDIER, because he followed it up by telling I am dumb, "I don't trust you." Well, gosh, what a way to hurt a guy's feelings. Sorry, "Barret," from now on, your name is "Meanie."
Finally! The Seventh Fantasy (I)
 |
| I identify with this wild-haired youth. |
Fortunately, Square Enix released a slightly updated version yesterday. This edition looks like it should make the game a bit more functional on modern computers than the original, without any changes to how the game plays. The story and characters which are still inspiring embarrassing fan-fiction and anime convention costumes to this day should be completely intact, and I am ready to judge them with my modern, jaded perspective.
Here's the plan: I'm going to play this whole game, and I'm going to record my thoughts from start to finish. Recaps, criticism, video with commentary, drawings - anything is fair game. Each time I play, I will also, in some way, document my experience, until I discover that I was on Earth all along, or whatever happens at the end of Final Fantasy VII.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)