Biweekly Music Wednesday! No. 41 ~Rainbow Road~ (Mario Kart 64)

Origin: Mario Kart 64

Plays In: Rainbow Road
Status: Original Composition
Composed by: Kenta Nagata

In the past, I've used the following imagery to describe early nostalgia:

"I remember the starry luminous skies of the Rainbow Resort in Kirby's Adventure eliciting memories of when I was very young, strapped in the car's backseat as I stared in silent wonder at the luminous neon lights passing by."

While used to describe the ending levels in Kirby's Adventure, the imagery of cars and neon lights just as easily bring to mind Rainbow Road from any one Mario Kart. When it comes to my own nostalgia for that series, there's no other choice but  Mario Kart 64, the very first game I ever asked for at the age of 6. And I'm certainly not alone in my fond memories of the game; in particular, Mario Kart 64's Rainbow Road iteration elicits similar sentimentality to that aforementioned imagery: neon imagery of the game's roster up in the night sky, an endless guardrail of stars, that soothing music....

But can nostalgia speak for a game's actual quality? Diving deeper into Mario Kart 64 discussions will uncover many who feel that particular Rainbow Road far too long and boring; in fact, it often goes hand-in-hand with criticism of the game not aging too well. Even today, I wonder if that's true: whenever I'd briefly return to my first Mario Kart, it'd always feel so clunky and unfamiliar relative to the newer titles.

That should be decided through a Leave Luck to Heaven review, you may say, but there's another point I'd like to discuss for today: haven't you ever wanted to replay your favorite old games with the same exact sense of wonder you felt as a child?  It's tough to admit, but there's certainly been many times I've prepped my game sessions like that, and they were often abandoned in misery; for example, for the longest time I had difficulty replaying Super Mario 64 because I would never relive that wonderful sense of discovery.

Knowing that I would never relive my childhood years was one of the most difficult realizations I've ever had to endure. In itself, that is not wrong: you have to grow up to recognize and tackle the trials and tribulations around not just yourself, but of the world. But do we recognize that burden when we're just entering our teenage years, when our bodies undergo changes and we grow fickle over every little thing? Perhaps, but that only validates our fears and declining perspective of the world.

"That's how nostalgia gets to you. You're reminded of a familiar fragrance or feeling that perfectly mirrors how you felt during a certain period of your youth, and you desperately try in vain to contain it. You attempt to revel in it to make the feeling last a lifetime, and you think of everything that happened to you to contain it, whether it was your favorite cartoon or video game and all the friends you had. It's a several month, perhaps year-long experience all packed in a few seconds, and then it's gone."

Like it or not, cynicism takes over us as we grow older. It's why we grow so excited when A Link to the Past sequel is being made for 3DS, or grow misty-eyed at video game orchestras or when Super Smash Bros. arranges beloved EarthBound and Mega Man tunes, or simply stare in awe when Mario Kart 8 reimagines a fan-favorite course with an explosion of color. To us, it's as if developers are saying "we remember how you feel, too," and hold our halcyon-day memories to the highest regard.

In turn, their nostalgia introduced to a new generation, and the cycle continues.

Mario Kart 64 is the furthest form of nostalgia as it the most mysterious. It was a time where I thought the N64 controller was loosely based off of Mario's gloves, where the 3D models on the character select screen felt larger than life and that half-finished wall painting of Mario down in the basement, which my mother never finished. How much of that can be replicated? Not much, unless I want to stare at unfinished paintings in the filthy, dirty backside of the basement.

Point is, we can never replicate exactly how we felt when first playing a game, as they'd require outside influences to be replicated again and again (that, and do I really want my mother to make incomplete paintings of Mario?) Maybe Mario Kart 64 isn't all that hot now, but having replayed Super Mario 64 over three times in the past three years, it's stunning to me how that game holds up today despite its rudimentary nature. 

Take the old in with the new, and forge on. Criticize the new and the new, and accept their quality as they are. As a writer, it is my duty to record such experiences.

Final Thoughts: No, really, how does Mario Kart 64 hold up? Hmm...maybe it's time for a Mario Kart retrospective.

Biweekly Music Wednesday! No. 36 ~Rainy Day~ (Animal Crossing)

Origin: Animal Crossing
Plays in: All day during a rainstorm

Status: Original Composition

Composer(s): Kazumi Totaka, Shinobu Tanaka, Kenta Nagata, Toru Minegishi

When it rains, it pours. Over the past month, the circumstances regarding my job have only gotten from bad to worse, and it's been affecting me deeply. I won't get into the gritty details, but it's been a maelstrom of miscommunication, finger-pointing and radio silence that's wearing me down. Not good, not good. 

I try my hardest to be a resilient human being. I've had a countless amount of challenges and hardships to overcome in my lifetime, yet every struggle ends the same: I slowly rise back up to face whatever comes next. At the end of the day, I have my dreams to live for, and there's people who love me that count on my existence. So far, it seems this case will be no different, as there's plenty of opportunities to look forward to. For instance, I'll be starting my JTP with GameSkinny next week, so I probably won't be completely jobless in the near feature. And I've excelled in my self-studying of Japanese (I was able to translate some of the 1st One Piece volume today!), so there's that.

And yet, this situation is still immensely disappointing to me. That I was able to make a difference in a district I spent over decade loving and hating as a foolish adolescent was both cathartic and monumental to me, and now that may not be the case soon. Not that neither side is completely faultless in the ordeal, mind, but I'd rather be honest over the ordeal rather than hearing, well, nothing.

At the heart of the matter is something I've slowly grown to fear over the past couple years: social skills, cues and conveniences I cannot glean due to having Asperger's. I still cannot comb my hair properly. My rate of speech is still too fast, and I cannot properly gauge the volume and tone of my voice. I unconsciously pace around. I hate using it as an excuse--at the end of the day, we're all human beings no matter what we do--and yet it's who I am. What's an Aspie to do?

It's not that I hate myself for having the syndrome; in fact, I'm proud I came this far as a member of the spectrum. But it's that fear that no matter where or what I'm doing, it always ends up being socially unacceptable or wrong. This is despite the fact I'm on the high-functioning end of the spectrum: I still know the difference between right and wrong, and what's sensitive and insensitive. But there's always going to be a blind spot in areas I continue to fail in, and neurotypicals will, without fail, pick up on that.

This isn't the struggle I imagined myself back in 5th Grade, where math problems were the bane of my existence and I was struggling with the reality that I was falling for my best friend. I've always known I was different and people were going to have difficulty accepting who I am, most of all myself. Funny how I always paint my childhood with rosy innocence, and yet I wonder if my hardships back then were just as poignant.

Does my choice of an Animal Crossing theme--one that happens to be one of my favorite rain themes in gaming history--strike as fitting? It's not particularly gloomy, given that it's from Animal Crossing and all, yet it's something I always turn to whenever I'm pondering myself. I usually walk away content, yet today is different. Am I searching for a piece of childhood that's calling out to me, refusing to be buried in the mists of time? Am I just looking for catharsis? I don't know, and yet I'm just staring at the storm.

Just what am I missing? What am I missing?  

Final Thoughts: By the way, this is the first time I've done a second music column on a single game, hasn't it?

Biweekly Music Wednesday! ~No. 29~ Great Fairy Fountain (The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker)

Origin: The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Plays in: Fairy Fountains
Status: Arrangement
Arrangers: Kenta Nagata, Hajime Wakai, Toru Minegishi, Koji Kondo

Gueeeess who's attending the Master Quest tour for The Legend of Zelda: Symphony of the Goddesses this Friday? That's right, I'll heading down the Mann Center in Philly to have sweet, sweet orchestrated Zelda music grace my ears once more. I attended the first tour back some three years ago, so I figured it was about time to revisit.

So for today, I thought I'd share one of the songs that's scheduled to play: the Great Fairy's Fountain. Anyone who calls themselves a Zelda fan should be intimately familiar with this theme, as it not only signals the start of a magical new adventure via the file select, but it also plays within the mysterious fairy fountains hidden across Hyrule. However, this particular Fairy Fountain theme is located not within the hidden crevices of Hyrule, but in the blue expanses of The Wind Waker's Great Sea. It also happens to be my personal favorite.

And why's that? Just listen to that video! Look at that background! Wind Waker was in no short supply of gorgeous setpieces, and the Fairy Fountains were among the cream of the crop. Home of the spiral streamer-adorned Great Fairies, these interiors are decorated with an ethereal blue so stunning it never fails to take your breath away. And that choir! The choir! This is actually the one and only Fairy Fountain theme with vocals, whiiich is pretty much the main reason why it's my favorite. Can you believe how well it elevates those familiar harps?

The Wind Waker was the very first Zelda game to capture my imagination as a child, back in the later era of my prepubescent age. I'd played Zelda games before, but it was here where I first lost myself in the immersion of dungeons lost to time and abandoned treasures waiting to be discovered. It was the dawn of a new hidden reverie for me, one very different from the sugary sweetness of Kirby and the wistful nostalgia of EarthBound.

So often would I lose myself in the game's locales. I was no longer the player, but a lone explorer who seeped between dimensions. I inhaled the musty, ancient air of the Wind Temple. I crossed the holographic projections of the Tower of the Gods. I sunk deep, deep down into the forgotten realm of Hyrule.

I would stand in awe within the Fairy Fountains. I'd gaze up, the heavenly chorus filling my ears as the luminous lights lifted themselves higher and higher into a mystical abyss. Where did they lead? Why did they go? I didn't know, but I did know I was no longer the awkward 6th grader trying to fit into a scary new environment, or the one everyone thought was mentally retarded. I was the me I always dreamed of.

Will this version of Great Fairy Fountain be at Symphony of the Goddesses? No, but the non-vocal harps everyone knows will be there. And The Wind Waker suite will be there to greet me again, along with many other familiar faces. Just like how last year I was transported into the old shoes of a young Pokémon Trainer, I'll once again be the free adventure-seeking boy that linked me to paradise.

Final Thoughts: ...gotta say, though, I'm not sure why they have two separate Majora's Mask suites in the Master Quest set list. That they don't have the Link's Awakening suite (or at the very least, the brilliant Ballad of the Windfish arrangement) is a crying shame. Also not looking forward to the Skyward Sword suite, ick.

Biweekly Music Wednesday! No.5: ~8 PM~ (Animal Crossing)

Origin: Animal Crossing (2002)

Composer: Kenta Nagata

Plays in: Every night from 8 PM to 9 PM when your character avatar is outside. 

Status: Original Composition

They say nostalgia is a hell of a drug, and I suppose that saying isn't so far off from the truth. Drugs are capable of granting euphoric highs, but their use only leads to suffering and a hollow existence. While nostalgia isn't quite as life-threatening, it can be equally cruel in breaking one's heart. It strikes suddenly, maybe upon the discovery of a long-lost photo album or the sight of an old friend. Gradually, the sugar-coated days of childhood and yesteryear flood your memory, along with the bitter realization that they are now a fantasy that can never be repeated. Get sucked into it too much, and you start living in the past. You know that feeling? I know it all too well.

For a while, Animal Crossing was the poster child of this tragic nostalgia for me. Animal Crossing is unique in that each game possesses a "you had to be there" quality to them. While the same could easily be applied to the earlier Pokemon titles, the melancholy associated with Animal Crossing is what makes it stand out to me more (that, and there was no mass exodus from the fanbase like Pokemon suffered from after Gold/Silver). With every new game, people flock to the latest entry and abandon their old towns. You have virtually the entire community shifting from one game to the next, and any form of villagers experiences immediately outdated. Of course, the games can still be played by newcomers, but I imagine there'd be a distinct loneliness to the experience (odd, given the large amount of intractable critters)

Much as I loved Wild World and dig New Leaf, the original Animal Crossing remains the series classic for me. It being an unexpected, overnight success in America eleven years ago remains one of my favorite childhood memories of Nintendo, and I think so much of it has to do with that the style of the game hasn't really been replicated in future entries(since Wild World, every new Animal Crossing has followed in its footsteps). While the "scrolling world map" shift never bothered me like it did some people, the Gamecube game represents to me a version that is undiluted. I freaking adore the horned hats your player character wears .The village personalities are not the diluted pansies found in WW/NL, and will flip their shit at the drop of a pin. The soundtrack has only been finally rivaled with New Leaf's, and even then I don't believe it topples the masterful blend of eccentricity and forest life the original had.

Yet I can never play it the same way again. It's a completely different era now. No one trades furniture or NES game codes anymore. I'm no longer in fifth grade. I'm no longer interested in spamming the villagers' mailboxes with letters straight from my hyperactive mind. Not everyone who participated in the joys of Animal Crossing with me is in my current life, and I'll probably never speak to them again. Even with the references in New Leaf, I wonder if Nintendo even remembers it exists.

This song used to scare me recently. Before, the ten year old me sighed softly at it's entrance, knowing he was blessed with the mysterious reveries that soothed his heart, the presence wonderful friends, and the existence of the greatest cartoon comedy in the history of the world (that is, Spongebob Squarepants). It was beautiful. As a young adult, it's haunting. It makes me wonder if the magic of my youth was just fiction, something I just dreamed up. Was I really, in secret, a wistful old man trapped in a child's body? What if I was the only child in the whole country who reveled in hanging out with the internet "in-crowds," and knew that no one else at school would understand? Questions repeatedly flashed across my brain, and each one hurt more than the last. It didn't help that over the past year, I parted ways with my best friend, who loved the game just as much as I did, and I couldn't really bear to the think of Animal Crossing during the same period. Not since Mario Kart DS and its relation to the fiasco with my brother's drug addiction had I so desperately avoided a game.

Playing through New Leaf these days, I went back to my old Gamecube town recently to face my fears..Things weren't quite the same. Weeds and cockroaches flooded the fields and homes. Not every villager who'd been around before was still present. Out of the four people who made player profiles in the game, only three are still alive.

This song was playing, but I wasn't scared. I was laughing at how much I kept inducing the grumpy neighbors to endlessly scream at me, how Michael's memory was kept alive by the letters said neighbors were showing me (and who else would be? Admiral, the green bird he kept trying to piss off), closing my eyes in a familiar frustration as they were still mentioning that "Bob" happened to visit town just the other day (yeah, try ten years ago), wistfully shaking my head at the eye-assaulting, demented nature of my house, and smacked the shit out of Pompom the duck with my bug net. I wasn't really a kid again, no, but there's a certain joys to playing it with the mind of a matured adult.

Does 8 PM still haunt me? A little, but now I find the memories it evokes now resonate with fondness; in other words, the good kind of nostalgia.To this day, Animal Crossing is the perfect time capsule of who I used to be.