Origin: Kirby Super Star Plays In: Crystal Field and Mystery Paradise areas of The Great Cave Offensive Status: Arrangement Composed by: Jun Ishikawa, Dan Miyakawa
The Super Nintendo Classic Edition is finally coming!!! In just two days, we'll be reliving twenty classics from Nintendo's greatest system, as well as the never-before released Star Fox 2! Has such a package ever blended the nostalgic and the new so perfectly? Needless to say, if you call yourself a Nintendo fan, you know you gotta get one.
But with so many incredible games featured, which one could I possibly play first? Those who know me could rule it down to two titles: EarthBound and Star Fox 2. Both are great guesses, but they aren't what I've decided upon. Humbling as it is to know EarthBound, the greatest game ever made, will be on it (let us have a moment of silence for our Japanese brothers and sisters), I know I probably won't be able to stop playing it and as I wish to play at least a little bit of every game just once, I may save it for last. I suppose that's fitting for the best game ever, yes?
Origin: Xenoblade Chronicles: X Plays In: New Los Angeles at night Status: Original Composition Composed By: Hiroyuki Sawano
I intended to begin this installment with a question, yet now that I've actually sat down to listen to our song for today, it's now that I realize the night theme for New Los Angeles -- the central hub for Wii U's Xenoblade Chronicles: X -- really is annoying. Just notice how the head-ache inducing nausea begins instantly, as an obnoxious chain of "YEAH! UH! UH YEAH! UH! UH! UH!" never ceases in their assault on our eardrums.
And yet, for over the past half-year since I began playing the game, I can't recall a single instance where such an effect happened as I strolled down the nighttime streets of New Los Angeles. In other words, hearing it in-game was perfectly fine, yet I can't stand listening to it by itself. How odd!
Origin: Star Fox Plays In:Credits Status: Original Composition Composed By: Hajime Hirasawa
The SNES Classic Edition -- it's been two weeks since its announcement, and it's all I've been able to think about. It's the first time Star Fox and Yoshi's Island will be officially available via emulated form. I've been checking the listings on Amazon and Best Buy every day in scant hopes I'll be able to pre-order. Thoughts and prayers are sent out to the universe every day that we'll see these games unfiltered, just like the glorious NES Classic Mini before it. (My kingdom to have a bright, unglitched Kirby Super Star!) An equal amount of thoughts and prayers sent out in hopes I'll secure one.
Most of all, I think about how we will witness the very first release, to my memory of a cancelled game in Nintendo history: Star Fox 2.
Origin: Metroid II: Return of Samus Plays In:Main Tunnel Status: Original Composition Composed By: Ryoji Yoshitomi
Where do I even begin with this E3? The pseudo-3D sequel to Yoshi's Woolly World? The "best-of" approach to the new Kirby Switch game? The remake of Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga that comes packed with a hilarious sidestory? The genuine, infectious passion behind Mario + Rabbids Kingdom Battle, which is as unpredictable as the concept itself? The DLC for Zelda: Breath of the Wild, which I desire to play this very instant? The explosion of ideas, presentation and joy that is Super Mario Odyssey, which I believe without a doubt will be GOTY?
Well, I think my selection for today speaks for itself. Out of all the wonderful announcements and previews from yesterday, there was nothing more exciting, blissful and cathartic than the news of not one, but TWO new Metroid titles: Metroid Prime 4 and Metroid: Samus Returns. As a fan of the original Prime trilogy, I let out something resembling an inhuman scream of joy upon the announcement for the former, so that should tell you how excited I am for that.
Origin: Kirby's Adventure Plays In: Various levels in Grape Garden and Rainbow Resort Status: Composition
Composed By: Hirokazu Ando, Jun Ishikawa
It's Kirby's 25th Anniversary!!! Well, in Japan, anyway, but it's not like we can't join the fun a little early.
Back in 2002, I couldn't get over what a coincidence it was that I'd gotten into Kirby not only on his tenth anniversary, but on the cusp of his upcoming popularity. The anime was coming out to America, a new game was releasing for Game Boy Advance, and best of all, a fall media blitz was scheduled to turn Kirby into the next Pikachu! How lucky I was, I thought, to join this fandom just as he was about to hit the big time.
As we all know, things didn't exactly pan out like that. The Kirby: Right Back At Ya! cartoon debuted to minor success (and was dubbed to dubious quality by 4Kids), the media "blitz" only amounted to a Wendy's fast-food toy promotional a year later, and Nintendo of America sorta forgot to tell consumers Kirby: Nightmare in Dream Land was a remake of 1993's Kirby's Adventure. Woops.
And yet, that 10-year-old me realized it the summer before release made my connection to Kirby all the more personal. When I discovered Kirby's Adventure in the wintry depths of December 2001, it was stunning how it felt tailor-made just for me. Whereas Mario and Sonic's 2D adventures felt too difficult, Kirby hit a delicious sweet spot of never being too patronizing, but never being too tough.
To this day, while Kirby's never afraid to get difficult when it needs to be, the philosophy of "anyone can reach the ending" still beats at its core. Haven't you ever stopped to think how delightful it is how so many of our favorite game franchises are still around? The likes of Mario and Zelda being alive and well in 2002 may've been something I took for granted, but now we've passed their 30th anniversaries, and it's all thanks to just how much Nintendo nurtured and preserved their values from day one.
Aside from being irresistibly cute, it's that exact design philosophy for why Kirby is still around 25 years later. Somewhere out there, right now, there's a kid in awe how he can beat Triple Deluxe and Planet Robobot without any help from his parents or siblings. He and his friends all regularly gather to play Team Kirby Clash Deluxe and Super Smash Bros. for Wii U; naturally, his character of choice for the latter is Kirby.
But what he cherishes most isn't how fun they are; it's how every time he enters the first level of Nutty Noon in Kirby's Return to Dream Land, his heart swells at the Sky Waltz music and the sight of ribbon-like sky patterns floating across Dream Land. It's the same gooey euphoria he encountered in Kirby's Dream Collection, where the tinny chiptune songs of Kirby's Adventure, the hypnotic, beautiful backgrounds of Kirby Super Star and the Bubbly Clouds remix of the main menu swallowed him whole with love.
He has become a young romantic, cherishing not merely the fun mined from
the series but from the magic that has set his heart and mind aflame. It's a secret he keeps close to his
heart: a young child discovering the nostalgia he's heard whispers of. He can do nothing but sigh at the thought of mysterious island house from Kirby's Dream Land 3 and grin with joy at the Butter Building remix in Kirby 64's sky level.
Was nostalgia really the right word? It had to be; after all, it was salvaging murky memories long lost. The forests of Spring Breeze recalled the mysterious, abandoned playhouse just around the corner from his cousin's house. Grape Garden's music and Rainbow Resort's setting reminding him of sleepy car rides when he was very young, where warm Christmas lights decorated the streets. The silent cheering of Kirby's Adventure's arenas unearthing the hazy, mute mornings as a 4-year-old when no one else was awake in the house. The credits of Milky Way Wishes recalling his just looking out the window and into the skies and clouds beyond.
"Did the kids who played this back in 1996 do this?", he wondered.
So long as anyone can reach the ending, this gooey nostalgia will make Kirby live forever.
Final Thoughts: Actually, Grape Garden was one of the songs in the Kirby's Adventure medley at the Kirby 25th Anniversary Orchestra Concert. Augh, I need a CD release so bad it hurts!
Plays In: Menu Status: Original Composition Composed By: Ryoji Yoshitomi
Video games are often cited as a method of escape: be it stress, tragedy or dysfunctional families, we depend on our favorite hobby to smother our woes. Even if it's only temporary, anything from a ten-minute foray into Super Mario Bros. to being absorbed for hours by our Animal Crossing village may be the only daily relief for troubled lives.
Yet how often is it games give something back to us? In today's example, it's not as if I was going through anything difficult when WarioWare, Inc: Mega MicroGames! reached my grubby 5th Grade hands, but I remember it most fondly as a game that spoke with me. This is hardly unique to WarioWare--just observe the troves upon troves of preschooler computer games where characters speak directly with toddlers--yet somehow Wario and his new crowd of game developers constantly engaged with me and made me one of the gang through one common thread: random, dumb humor.
My childhood secret of nostalgia was always kept clutched to my chest, yet I always outspoken with my favorite area of comedy. I constantly devised stories and characters representing the most demented products of my mind, be it sentient spoons or zombie men crimelords who feasted on the flesh of cereal character mascots. The sacred "Game in the Basement" action figure rituals with my and my friend Matt involved Pepsi Seal murder mysteries and Kung Fu Beanie Babies (among other vastly inappropriate adventures I won't be sharing here). Invader Zim, Ed, Edd n' Eddy and Courage the Cowardly Dog all embraced these themes and were three of my favorite cartoons growing up. It was one of primary reasons why EarthBound, gaming's masterpiece, meant to so much me.
Most of this, as you may expect, went over the heads of my peers. Not that they didn't watch Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network, but seeing as how my brand of humor circuitry isn't exactly the norm, it was difficult to find others who shared my passion of blood-sucking monkeys (it would eventually lead to an eventual outcasting due to the belief I was "retarded," but that was a ways off). This is echoed even in my adult life: I'm the guy whose favorite episodes of South Park adopt the "bludgeon one stupid joke repeatedly" model (Terrence and Philip in Not Without My Anus, Jakovasaurs, Crippled Summer, etc.), which were never very popular.
When considering all that, it saddens me quite deeply WarioWare's presence has practically dropped off the face of the earth. That it had to die with Game and Wario--a project that betrays the very core of the series--is especially heartbreaking; I'd take flawed entries in the vein of Smooth Moves and D.I.Y to keep the blood pumping, and it's all because like EarthBound and Animal Crossing before it, it understood me. It knew I'd shake my head in amusement at warped Nintendo references, grin at a falling nail yell "HYAAAAAAAH!!!" in-between a poor man's fingers, and laugh at watching a beautiful anime woman shed tears after retreating a loogie up her nose.
It was Nintendo's modern embracing of random humor, and now it's gone. All I have left are the entries that spoke to me in elementary/middle school; in fact, it'd be inaccurate to label it "modern". WarioWare's now yet another childhood dream: one I can return to any time, because it came true.
Whenever I hear this song, I say to myself, "I've come home." And just think: it was Wario of all characters who made me feel welcome. How peculiar!
Final Thoughts: Naturally, I was thrilled when this received not one but two arrangements in Super Smash Bros. Brawl. Yoshitomi-san himself returned to do a medley, but Keigo Ozaki's version is actually one of my favorite arrangements from the game.
Plays In: Knitty Knotty Windmill Hill/Wobbly Mobile Jaunt Status: Original Composition Composed By: Tomoya Tomita
It only makes sense this installment of Biweekly Music Wednesday! would feature a song by Tomita-san, right? I figured it should be a song from a series I haven't visited much.
Much of the music in Yoshi's Woolly World evokes to me an image of summer hayrides, like the ones you may've had as a child. Some songs render these rides a bit bumpier than others, but this one is certainly more gentle. I can picture it now: infants snoozing in their mothers' arms, children excitedly pointing out the sights and sounds, and parents echoing their fascination without a care in the world.
Being that they're by the same composer, it's no surprise Yoshi's Woolly World instills much of the same calm present in Kirby's Epic Yarn, yet there's undeniably more of an active feel going on in the soundtrack. That shouldn't be a surprise: Epic Yarn does not employ death or game overs, while Woolly World is more punishing as an action game thanks to Yoshi's health bar.
Not that the levels this song plays in (Knitty Knotty Windmill Hill and Wobbly Mobile Jaunt) are particularly tough--that honor goes to the game's Special Courses--but there's certainly some activity going on within. It helps that their respective set-pieces are among some of the game's best; particularly with Wobbly Mobile Jaunt's sky-bound spaceships and celestial bodies.
There's many reasons why Yoshi's Woolly World is the best Yoshi game since Yoshi's Island debuted back in 1995, and the music is probably one of the best reasons why. No longer are there homogenized scores accompanying the entire game or boring, sleepy tunes that could never dream of surpassing Koji Kondo's '95 masterpiece; it's a score that echoes the whimsicality and wonder present in each and every stage.
Knitty Knotty Windmill Hill is one of my favorites for this very reason: the likes of silky windmills and yarn rockets are nostalgic symbols in themselves, and so the song must bring that nostalgia to life. This was a quality previously stitched into the heart of Epic Yarn, and so it's no surprise Tomita-san succeeds with flying colors.
There are other songs that instill the aforementioned "hayride" quality, but I think this song is particularly representative of that theme. Is it a coincidence it's named after a structure one might spot on such ventures? Hmm. Final Thoughts: You can definitely bet this will pop up in my interview with Tomita-san!
Plays In: Shiver Snowfield Status: Original Composition Composed By: Yuka Tsujiyoko
Listen. Do you hear it? Do you hear the jingling bells down the street, echoing faintly in the night sky? Do you see the neon lights decorating your neighborhood, the snowmen lining up across the street? Do you taste the snow resting upon your tongue, smell the crisp winter air chilling your nose and cementing the warmest of winter memories?
'Tis the holiday season: be it Christmas, Hanukkah or Kwanzaa, families across the globe gather around to celebrate togetherness and holiday cheer. Children dream of Santa and his infinite stash of presents as the scent of cedar trees fill living rooms everywhere. Candles and carols are ubiquitous, as are the imagery of flying reindeer and wreathes.
For over the past nineteen years, my house has been the Christmas mecca for our family. Celebrating our Italian heritage with the Seven-Fish Dinner, family and friends come together to feast upon seafood and engage in joyous festivities. Due to my sensory issues, I've never so much as touched the fish, but I do get to feast on delicious Pillsbury Shape cookies. And bread rolls. And fried dough. Mmm.
It only makes sense it'd be my house, after all. Not that our relatives don't have party-built homes, but we have the biggest house, complete with a pool table and a game-filled basement. Now that I'm grown up, I wonder if it's a bit selfish, but everyone always seems to have a good time.
I'm still a big kid, so hardly anything thrills me more than the Christmas season. I always dictate what ornaments hang on the Christmas tree. I salivate at the thought of carb-filled snacks laid out in the dining room table. I can't help but dream of a White Christmas, and always cheer the presence of snow. And yes, even at 25 years old, my parents can't help but still leave presents under the tree.
Maybe it's that quality of mine that attracts kids' attention. At family gatherings, I'm always surrounded by nephews and nieces, all practically climbing over me to come play games, come watch cartoons, come laugh with us. All are still dreaming of Santa, still enraptured by the innocence of the Christmas spirit.
What courage and dedication it must take for us grown-ups to carry on that spirit for their sake. Tensions are still high across America, and I'm certain some family gatherings won't end so happily. Things certainly won't be perfect at mine: my aunt, despite her broken ankle, is dedicated to attending our Seven-Fish Dinner and I'm certain there'll be a cousin or two gloating about the US election, but I'll be focused on ensuring the kids have a Christmas to remember.
A Christmas to remember like mine: where the scent of cedar trees instantly bring to mind of sprite comics and Nintendo GameCube and SpongeBob Squarepants. Where maybe there'll be small tiffs between friends and siblings, but it's nothing fried dough can't cure. Where new toys and gifts become irreplaceable pieces of our lifetimes.
These are dark times. But so long as the laughter of children surround us, it's a sign we'll make it out okay.
Final Thoughts: I wonder how much holiday cheer has involved Paper Mario.
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, thevery 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.
Plays In: The Forest of Hope Status: Original Composition Composed by: Hajime Wakai
Whenever I hear the Forest of Hope, I'm there. I'm there in the sunbaked Japanese countryside I dreamed of as a little boy, swallowed by trees and creeks. They whisper endlessly, their shaded bases and sunken pebbles holding as much allure as Kirby Super Star's backgrounds, as much gravity and significance as the greatest of Super Mario's battles and the fainted nostalgia of EarthBound's streets.
But I cannot relax for long, as a memory calls for me.
I'm walking down an obscured dirt path, the leaves crunching beneath me as I sink further into a tunnel of trees. The road is endless, the sun shining through the mass overarching of leaves no matter how long I walk. What I seek is here, but it slips further and further out of my grasp. I can feel it: the knowing prodding from the deepest recesses of my memory growing ever more quiet. I stop and observe my surroundings, absorbing the futility of it all.
Do I even remember what I'm looking for?
Just as I'm about to take another step, movement catches my eye. Emerging underneath from a decayed leaf arrives a lone Yellow Pikmin, hopping excitedly at my presence. As I crouch down to meet its level, it dashes over and gibbers in its alien language. With a sideways glance, it points giddily to a nearby crowd of shrubbery and runs off, making motions for me to follow.
Has it been waiting for me?
Letting it take the lead, I watch as it's swallowed in a sea of green before taking cautious steps forward. Am I afraid I'll squish my new friend in the mess of flora, or am I simply not ready for what I'm about to find? I quiver in fright until the shrubs shake, the Pikmin protruding its head and motioning to me again before diving back in.
I hesitantly step into the brush, and then I remember.
Long ago, just outside of my cousins' backyard lied an urban dirt road. To the right lied a small patch of woods by the neighbors, and within was a small playhouse. It was homemade, wooden with chipped, white paint and a red roof. It hadn't been used in a long time: strewn inside were dusty chairs, tables and windows, and Daddy-Long-Leg spiders hid within the cracks of the walls.
What was it doing in Japan? I don't know, but maybe it was there all along.
I keep walking. Pushing aside branch after branch and leaf after leaf, the memories gradually piece themselves together. How I walked out of my cousins' house without a word, opening the gate to leave and find my hidden playhouse. How I always wondered who it belonged to, who played within its tiny confines, how no one ever noticed my silent occupation inside.
How, someday, I never managed to find it again.
And then, there it lies.
Situated just outside a spacious clearing, the playhouse is bathed in a ray of light. A side window is host to a fallen tree branch, and perched on-top is the Yellow Pikmin. It waves silently before hopping through the empty pane,
Holding my breath, I stride over, crouch down slightly to meet the door size, and walk inside.
It is just as I remember it, dust and all. But a gentle aroma fills the air; two warm cups of ocha tea sit on the old table, one much smaller than the other. The Yellow Pikmin sits opposite of the cup and, turning to face me, points to its larger counterpart. Another gift. I make my way over to a chair and wrap my fingers around the cup handle, lifting it to gently clink our glasses together.
We sip from our cups and turn to watch the sun set over the clearing. The euphoria settles within both of us, words not needed as what we've waited our entire for lives sinks in. The reminder that so many other abandoned memories remain unsolved prods in my brain, yet for now, the catharsis of salvaging this one moment rises above all.
But it's not for long, because it is already time for bed.
Final Thoughts: If the above narrative hadn't implied it, this is one of my gaming comfort songs. What are some of yours?
Plays In: Gourmet Race courses 1 and 3 Status: Original Composition Composed by: Jun Ishikawa, Dan Miyakawa
Now here's something I don't understand in the least. In Kirby Super Star, there's a mode called Gourmet Race, where Kirby and King Dedede dash along three courses while grabbing as much food as possible. Contrary to the name, it's something of a side-dish mode; not quite the appetizers Samurai Kirby and Megaton Punch are, but not nearly as filling as Revenge of Meta Knight or The Great Cave Offensive.
And yet, it somehow gave birth to one of the most notable series elements that even non-Kirby fans recognize: the music. A fast-paced frenzy of chaos, Gourmet Race instantly springs the player into action as King Dedede looms behind them. It's a great song, yet it was never one of my Super Star favorites; in fact, I only recognize its greatness in retrospect. Why is that?
Well, here's where things get interesting. In the year of Kirby Super Star's release (1996), the final installment of Japan's annual Orchestral Game Concert was held, and there was a suite inspired from Kirby Super Star! With how orchestral that game's soundtrack is, that's a great idea! What would be the song chosen: the orchestra take on Green Greens found in The Great Cave Offensive? Any of the thrilling pieces from Revenge of Meta Knight? The nightmare that is Marx's Theme? The tear-inducing credits of Milky Way Wishes?
The answer: none of them. It ended up being Gourmet Race; as in, the happy, upbeat song probably least suited to an orchestra.
...or so you would think. While joined by the Mine Cart theme and Kirby's Triumphal Return, the Gourmet Race opener steals the show. This arrangement doesn't just turn the song into a masterpiece; it's transformed what could very well be a completely different song altogether. What was once a race for dessert is now a legendary battle for glory among the stars of Dream Land, setting the stage for one of Kirby's greatest final battles.
And it didn't stop there. What truly propelled Gourmet Race into stardom was its representation in the Smash Bros. series, particularly in the first two games. For the N64 iteration, every other series was represented by their respective main themes, yet Kirby's Dream Land stage was given the theme from what was essentially a mini-game...yet even today, it's everyone's favorite arrangement from the game. The case is also the same for Melee, where Tadashi Ikegami's sweeping orchestral that is The Fountain of Dreams owes more than a little to the Orchestral Game Concert version.
Let's not forget Kirby itself, for the song naturally began to proliferate in the source material. It was a stage theme in Dream Land 3, featured in a Kirby 64racing mini-game, and, in my personal favorite twist, replaced the boss theme for Nightmare in Dream Land's King Dedede fightwith The Fountain of Dreams arrangement. Since then, its etched itself into the hallowed halls of great recurring Kirby themes, joining the likes of Green Greens and King Dedede's Theme.
And to think, this all emerged from a little racing game. How truly bizarre. This would be completely understandable if Gourmet Race had been within one of Super Star's main adventures, yet I can't think of anywhere else where it'd be an acceptable substitute. Were the folks behind Orchestral Game Concert interested in the challenge of adapting a more light-hearted piece into an epic score? Does it have anything to do with the mysterious Dan Miyakawa? Was Sakurai just really fond of the theme?
Am I reading too much into it? Probably, but I simply can't get over the song's humble origins. It's up there with Dan Miyakawa as one of Kirby Super Star's greatest mysteries, and with that game's enchanting prowess, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised it launched such a song into the gaming public consciousness.
Final Thoughts: Oh, that reminds me. You remember how I said in my Super Star review how the game throws something new at me every time I play it? Here's one such example: I'd always blown through the second Gourmet Race level so quickly that I never listened to its accompanying theme in full. Needless to say, it kinda blew my mind when I left it paused one day and heard the second half.
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?
Origin:The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess Plays in: Various cutscenes
Status: Original Composition
Composer: Toru Minegishi
They say that whenever Nintendo holds a stockholder's meeting or the like, you should always expect the worst and hope for the best. Predictably, the results have lately been falling upon the former, and today's bombs are no exception. The nebulous NX console won't be arriving this year as most expected, but instead March 2017 so as to ensure a strong launch line-up. The next Zelda title has once again been delayed, as it'll launch alongside the NX next March. What this means is that Nintendo will once again have to ride its current money-making waves from amiibo figures and their mobile ventures, as the Wii U's paltry lineup will hardly sustain another Christmas season.
I've largely come down from the disappointment this morning, but there's no denying things are looking bleaker than ever for Nintendo. 2015 was already one of their roughest years despite their high-quality output, and the ways thing are going, 2016 looks to be even worse. We still have no idea what exactly the NX is, and outside of Pokemon Sun and Moon, who knows what else they'll have scheduled for this fall.
Origin: Metroid Prime Plays In: Tallon Overworld for the game's first half. Status: Arrangement Arranged by: Kenji Yamamoto
I don't think anyone can disagree that Metroid Prime has one of the greatest opening sequences in gaming history, no? Samus's infiltration of the Frigate Orpheon is heart-pounding, thrilling, and haunting all-in-one, concluding with a true-to-Metroid-form escape from the exploding facility as she chases down her (now mechanized!) archenemy, Ridley. Cue her landing on the mysterious planet Tallon IV, where you soak in the view of the raining jungle as the above song plays.
I can only imagine the euphoria long-time Metroid fans found themselves in, as a masterful combination of synth, choir, percussion and a lone trumpet conjured up an atmosphere so powerful that I suspect many just stood there taking everything in. I know I have, but how many stood knowing this adventure would live up to every expectation they'd been building for eight years?
That it works so beautifully is no coincidence. Kenji Yamamoto may not have composed the original Brinstar theme (that would be Hirokazu Tanaka) but his experience with Super Metroid bears fruit. With how Frigate Orpheon came out guns blazing, Yamamoto takes the opportunity to provide a nostalgic cooldown for the player as they slowly absorb their surroundings. It segues perfectly into the ambience that paves the way to the Chozo Ruins, and continues to do so until it's replaced by the equally amazing Tallon Overworld 2.
Together with Metroid Fusion, this GameCube masterpiece kicked off an era of Metroid that lasted well throughout the 00's. None managed to top Retro Studios' part revival, part 3D transition, but that Metroid was once again a starring member of the Nintendo family was enough fans to ask for...that is, until the disastrous reception of 2010's Metroid: Other M brought the series to a screeching halt.
The protracted silence on Metroid since then drove fans to unease, and last year's equally-disastrous reveal of Metroid Prime: Federation Forces has, once again, made those very fans to label the series as "dead". Bear in mind said game hasn't even come out. Ouch.
Putting aside the possibility that Federation Forces could end up a quality title (it's by Next Level Games, after all), where does Metroid go from here? Yoshio Sakamoto, undoubtedly burnt by Other M's reception, already expressed he's moved on to less-ambitious projects like Tomodachi Life. Do we hope that Miyamoto's interest in a Wii U Metroid title has somehow manifested into a NX project? And what if Federation Forces ends up bombing and Nintendo takes that a sign the series is no longer profitable? It's a scary time.
The wait from Super Metroid to Metroid Prime was a masterpiece being topped by another masterpiece, but here we have a dud transitioning to an unknown quantity fans won't even give the time of day. You have those wishing for Metroid Prime 4, and while Retro Studios has expressed interest in taking on the series again, you have an equal number of fans begging for them to take on something new. There's just no easy answer.
Even what I personally wish is certainly no easy feat. Metroid may not rank in my Top 5 Nintendo franchises, but what I desire is a game that has an opening reflecting that Tallon Overworld moment. It doesn't have to be as good as Metroid Prime or Super Metroid, but something that tells fans "you're home" and guarantees another sci-fi spelunking epic would be enough.
Samus Aran has been through a lifetime of horrors. I'm sure she can survive a character assassination and a spin-off misfire. Maybe she can pull it off.
Final Thoughts: Man, now I want to play Metroid Prime again. So good.
Origin: Fire Emblem (Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword) Plays In: Overworld Map for Lyn's Story Status: Original Composition Composed by: Yuka Tsujiyoko
Now here I find myself in a peculiar predicament. This song, which hails from the seventh Fire Emblem title (don't let the confusing localized title fool you), is probably the most nostalgia-laden song in the whole series. Anyone who's read this blog knows this is right up my alley: after all, discovering EarthBound and Kirby Super Star years after they'd released was a huge part of my childhood, and the way their respective nostalgia bled into my own is nothing less than mindblowing to me today.
Yet here we have a game that came during my time; one that passed me by. For whatever reason, Fire Emblem was never on my radar despite its landmark release in America--after all, it was the first Fire Emblem game coming stateside! Though I passed it up, however, it still found a sizable audience in America, one I interacted with frequently on the long-gone Nsider Forums. Every member frequently sung the game's praises, none the least that of an acquaintance who casually claimed she beat the game over forty times.
It was no wonder they fell in love with it; after all, this particular installment was designed with new foreign players in mind. It was the first Fire Emblem title to include the player as an actual character via in-game tactician, who slowly learned the ropes under the character Lyn's careful guidance. As with any good SRPG, it slowly sinks its addictive hooks into you. In fact, it may very well be the series masterpiece.
Fast-forward to 2008. I spot a used copy at GameStop and, having recently been awakened to Fire Emblem's glory thanks to Path of Radiance, I pick it up. Soon after Lyn's introduction, this song plays. Unlike the sweet nostalgia of EarthBound, however, I'm hit with a sense of melancholy, for Nsider had only closed a half-year ago, in the fall of 2007. While I was still in touch with several friends from there, all excited that I finally picked the game up, I could only look back and wonder about those I lost forever. All the pre-teen boys who worshipped Lyn, people who used the avatar of the healer Serra (whose awkward position made it look like she was about to poke you), those who kept making fun of Jaffar's name...
Most of all, I wondered how my friend was doing, the one who beat it over forty times. Had she beaten it even more? Was it still her favorite game? Did this song make her sigh with wistfulness, just like Kirby Super Star and Smash Bros. Melee made me do so long ago?
Except, it wasn't quite like either of those cases. It wasn't a game that came out before my time, yet I passed it up when it arrived into my own. I was no longer a boy filled with dreams, but a hardened teenager worried about what my future held. As was too often the case, I was now reminded of a time I would never get back.
Had I played it just a few years earlier, I was certain it'd give birth to the warm nostalgia it was supposed to exude...but it would perhaps be far more painful.
Funny how game music can evoke feelings they never meant to summon. Anyone could tell this particular track, Winds Across the Plains, has all the makings of a journey's beginning. It plays during what's basically an extended tutorial, but it's the rare kind that's lovingly remembered upon by gamers. While it's undoubtedly in part to how they're introduced as an actual character, this wistful song undeniably plays a role.
How many others feel the same about wistful game music? Does Dire, Dire Docks make people sad? Aquatic Ambiance? Smiles and Tears? How many were intended to make players cry? Were they intended to make me feel nostalgic about an age long past...?
Today, I'm a much more healthy human being, so Winds Across the Plains no longer holds such away over me. I can listen to its DLC cameo in Fire Emblem: Awakening just fine. I smile when I hear it in the above video, where the song was orchestrated for last year's Fire Emblem 25th Anniversary Concert in Japan. I wonder if it'll ever be arranged for Smash Bros.
I still wonder about my friend; namely, how many times she's heard this by now. I hope she's doing alright.
Final Thoughts: Man, I want to hear that concert. I know they just released a DVD, but I want a CD to import, dang it!
Origin: Donkey Kong Country/Donkey Kong Country Returns Plays In: World 5 levels, most notably Rickety Rails Status: Arrangement (Mine Cart Madness by David Wise) Arranger: Kenji Yamamoto
For whatever weaknesses Donkey Kong Country Returns had in its original tracks (barring the RocketBarrelTheme and the Tiki Theme), it more than made up for it by its superb takes on David Wise's score for the original Donkey Kong Country. Headed by Kenji Yamamoto (of Super Metroid/Metroid Prime fame), his arrangements can go from either simple renditions of certain classics (such as the DK Island Swing opener) to radically different directions (the tropical take on Aquatic Ambiance). I'd dare say some of these arrangements surpass the already incredible original soundtrack--most notably the catchy Treetop Bop and the rockin' Life in the Mines, both ofwhich came across as a little too subdued in their initial appearance.
While I'm not sure if it's my exact favorite of the bunch, the Rickety Rails arrangement of Mine Cart Madness stands out to me. For one thing, I firmly the believe that Returns' Cave world is by far and away the funnest, most spectacular display of concept inspiration and art direction in the entire game. Predominantly featuring mine cart levels, Returns takes what was a staple trope from the original Country, revises it with outrageous twists and repeatedly lobs them at the player. My jaw wouldn't stop dropping at the danger constantly imposed on Donkey Kong, as the mine cart tracks were endlessly bombed, shattered by crystal formations and even served as a mode of transporation by themselves. The latter has to be seen to be believed.
And more often than not, this arrangement is playing. It's as every bit as dangerous and frantic as Mine Cart Madness, and is obviously a perfect fit for its accompanying levels. These levels are, of course, every bit as tough as their SNES predecessors, and it adds the right amount of tension and fear as the player narrowly dodges one obstacle after another. Me, I'm personally no fan of having to duck under the spikes in the crystal level, as I'm always in constant fear of mistiming my popping out of the cart. Rickety Rails is the embodiment of that fear, that by-the-second precision and excitement that my poor heart endures with every one of these damn mine cart levels.
What I really do adore about Returns' arrangements is that some of the more faithful renditions briefly take their own spin midway through the song, adding some sort of...I'd like to say mysterious air around the song. It's right there in the Fear Factory arrangement and there's a touch of it here as well when the song loops at 1:42, although I'm more a fan of the post-ride segment at 3:52. In what I swear is something swapped straight out of The Lion King, there's this kick-ass choir that's more in line with the atmospheric tone of the original DKC, of which emphasizes the isolated, dangerous nature of the cavern. Very cool.
I've often noticed complaints of Returns lacking in that aforementioned atmosphere, and I'd like to think it strikes a fine balance between that and cartoony visuals. The way moments like the post-ride segment and the design of the underground mole town mesh together is really a thing of beauty, and I'm always brought back to details like the abandoned tree houses in Donkey Kong Country. Haunting beauty alongside harebrained monkey antics...who'd thought?
Final Thoughts:...and that's not even getting into the musical masterpiece that's Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze! Agh!
Origin: Super Mario Bros. 3
Plays In: Underwater sections
Status: Composition
Composer: Koji Kondo
Yet another water theme! Can't blame me for this one; those areas are treasure troves for quality game music.
Anyway, this song is particularly interesting in that it's somewhat emblematic of a certain experience I've been chugging through lately. See, I've been playing the 2D Super Mario games in the past half year and one question--well, okay, questions revolving around a certain subject--keeps prodding at the back of my mind: how superior or inferior are these classics to their respective remakes in the beloved SNES compilation Super Mario All-Stars? How are the backgrounds, the character sprite animation? Is the color palette more effective here or there? Is this particular song more catchy in the 16-bit era or is it better left off in the chiptune 8-bit era? I keep playing and judging, unable to stop myself from mentally sifting through my memory banks of my ancient Mario-All Stars playthroughs. What is better? What is worse?
As is implied and will become very evident in an upcoming Kirby Reverie, I'm very harsh and analytical when it comes to Nintendo remakes and their original. It all began some ten years back (wow!) when I was giddily anticipating the release of Super Mario 64 DS, only to find myself disappointed at the numerous changes within (despite the coolness of the new characters). That disappointment eventually morphed into a rigorous habit of studying Nintendo remakes and their numerous upgrades/downgrades, and I've found it rather scary as to what can turn me off.
So imagine my surprise when I downloaded Super Mario Bros. 3 on the Virtual Console one day and was kinda...sorta..stunned at how it was not the All-Stars version I grew up with on the SNES and GBA. I'm serious! I was playing an old-school Mario and couldn't have any fun at all because I was constantly comparing it to a remake! Holy cow, was that really the original Airship Theme? What the heck's up with Fire Mario being drenched in orange paint? Good god, what was that hideous graphical glitch constantly buzzing at the side of the screen?
Even with my current playthrough today, the struggle is very much real. Bear in mind that, yes, I still recognize the game's an all-time masterpiece and am able to have a jolly ol' time playing it while having various South Park episodes play in the background, but boy can I have trouble accepting this isn't the SMB3 from my childhood. In particular, those scrolling visual glitches I mentioned earlier still kinda piss me off. Apparently they have something to do with the memory for backgrounds and weren't too noticeable on the TVs of yesteryear. I guess Nintendo lacked foresight on this since it's plain as day on my flat-screen TV.
But there's one thing that never fails to not piss me off: this lovely piece of yet another underwaltz waltz. Despite being heard by at least twenty million people, Super Mario Bros. 3's Underwater Theme is often neglected in favor of the original one from the, well, original Super Mario Bros. I don't necessarily have a problem with this seeing as how iconic that game is, but I'd be lying if I said I preferred it to this. Probably what I love most about it is how unlike practically everything else in Super Mario Bros. 3, it sounds nearly identical to its SNES counterpart. Seriously, have a listen!
Okay, I'm bullshitting you; it's just another hopeless case of selective hearing. Yet this is still one of the very few exceptions within SMB3 where I get the same exact vibe I did in the SNES/GBA versions. I'm still there, in 1988 or 1990 or 1993 or wherever at the turn of the decade, when The Simpsons was plowing through pop culture and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are capturing the imaginations of children everywhere and my parents have just gotten married and I'm starting to walk. I'm there in Super Mario Bros. 3's aqueducts, tubes and warp pipes witnessing all this happening in a colorful collage of the past. It's the past I cherished to learn about, the ones my family and people I never knew cherished to have a part of their lives. I speed along as the water pressure pushes me away, feeling the rush of past and present join together.
This is an obscure Mario song--which is pretty mindblowing considering it's one of the most famous Mario games--but its for its obscurity that I love it. It's a SMB3 element that was almost never referenced in the countless Super Mario games and spin-offs that followed (save for a brief Super Paper Mario reappearance), and so it's isolated. Out of place, alone. But it's still a piece attached to a world-famous work beloved and cherished by many. I, too, can feel alienated and alone, yet I remember I am a vital component of so many peoples' lives. I am connected.
So long as I can keep swimming, I can go forward with the love and burden the past provides with the exciting future held for me.
Final Thoughts: man this game is hard as balls though
Composer: Junichi Masuda
Plays In: Anywhere you can surf.
Status: Arrangement
Arranger(s): Go Ichinose, Junichi Masuda, Shota Kageyama.
Pokemon Heart Gold and Soul Silver are without a doubt among the best of Nintendo's remakes, if not at the very top. I imagine it struck a chord with so many people in that everything regarding the soundtrack is laced with the very fabric of nostalgia, as the soothing lullaby of the opening New Bark Town signals to the player they're about to relive an unforgettable childhood journey. Not every song in the game borrows this tone, yet not a single one of them comes across as an afterthought in their revision, whether it be the earwormy Goldenrod Town or how the originally dangerous Viridian Forest is transformed into a pleasant afternoon stroll (superbly complimenting the area's restructuring into the original forest from Red/Blue). Even the unlockable GB Player tool evidences the importance of the game's music, as it reverts the entire score to Game Boy Color chiptunes when activated.
And yet for a such stellar job revitalizing the soundtrack, I have no difficulty in selecting my personal favorite: the Surfing Theme. It's a perfect example for contrasting the original game's soundtrack: Gold/Silver has its surfing theme take on a faster--if not still slow--tempo while maintaining a gentle air of serenity to suit the ocean theme. It's a definite highlight of the original soundtrack, as its adorability meshes in quite well with the colorful 8-bit aesthetic. The remake, however, takes it up a notch: the entire song is composed as a sort of grand waltz, complete with stellar use of harps and percussion.
The beginning build-up alone is nothing sort of breathtaking, and I remember gasping when I first heard it. Whenever I listen to it, I can instantly conjure up the image of preparing to dive off a springboard, ready to engage myself in swimming through a sea of memories. The majesty of the rest of the song provides a convenient segue for this fantasy, as I'm swept further and further away into the depths of this mystifying sea.
To me, I have no doubt this was intended to be the musical star of the soundtrack. Water music such as Aquatic Ambience and Dire, Dire Docks tend to have deep resonation with gamers thanks to their calm nature, and what better way to induce the player into yesteryear with a similar track? I think I've touched upon this subject before, but even though people tend to criticize Nintendo's reliance on nostalgia (through sequels and remakes and the like), it's instances like this where I always welcome it. To me, it's proof that Nintendo cares about their history as much as their players, and always desires to honor their memories through sequels (Donkey Kong Country Returns/Zelda: A Link Between Worlds) and orchestrated concerts.
...okay, maybe the idea of a magical company appeasing to their customers at my age is nothing sort of blind fanboyism, but hey. We're talking about the same company that okay'd the Zelda: Symphony of the Goddesses concert just in time for the series' 25th anniversary; I'd like to imagine they have some heart.
With the announcement of Pokémon Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire set to continue this tradition, I'm ready to engage into yet another trip into my realm of Pokémon memories. Yet one must ask: will the same amount of production value and care involving the score be retained here? After all, Pokémon Ruby and Sapphire don't exactly possess the deep fan resonation Gold and Silver do, and the rather rushed nature of Pokémon X and Y may be cause for concern (granted, I'm still playing it!). But fan reception has never stopped me before, as Pokémon Ruby still remains my favorite, trumpets and all.
Just imagining what the diving music could be like...next week's E3 can't come soon enough!
Final Thoughts: Gee, I sure can't wait to raise yet another Spoink to level 65!
I haven't talked about the Star Fox series too much on this blog, have I? Not to my memory, no. I suppose it'd only make sense to initiate its Leave Luck to Heaven introduction via the first game.
The debate of Star Fox vs Star Fox 64 will surely last until the end of time, but the former is unanimously favored in one area: its soundtrack. Hajime Hirasawa's SNES score is wonderfully suited for a space-shooting 3D thriller, entertaining mixes of the rock and orchestral variety. The latter in particular is a highlighted standout, what with it contrasting the endless grandeur of space with a cast of anthropomorphic space fighters. Despite this, I've always relished in the powerful emotions it instills into me as the player, such as the heart-pounding tension of narrowly dodging the crossfire of an galactic armada and the hard-won victory following a difficult boss battle, soaring off into the distance with my trusted wingmates.
Sector Y is particularly notable for refusing to align with the battle-ready/victory fanfares of its orchestral brethren, instead opting for a soothing space waltz. An odd choice for an action-heavy game, but it succeeds with flying colors. For starters, it's a beautiful complement to the stage's vague ocean theme, with lead Fox McCloud shooting up space-bound amoebas, eels, whales and the like. It recalls similar themes used for other games' underwater levels (Hello, Super Mario Bros.!), and with the level's black expanse of space stretching out for what seems like forever, it may as well just be another underwater level.
But gosh, it's just such a gorgeous song regardless! What astounds me most about the song is how it masterfully touches upon areas not explored anywhere else in the rail-shooting realm of Star Fox. It's as soft as a lullaby, yet grand as an orchestral hall. This does not delve into the philosophical (why is the leader of Star Fox shooting down whales?), but the dreamy hypnosis it induces on the player is so palpable, so distinct that it can't be merely shrugged off. Take me, for instance: the high-score driven gameplay gradually but surely slips away as I'm whisked away into a fantastical wormhole, its brilliant colors morphing together into gentle vibrational shapes not unlike that of the Windows Media Player visualizer.
Sector Y is optimal for that moment of Zen we so desperately seek from the daily turmoil of our working lives, and I suppose that's why I often turn to it for an escape. Donkey Kong Country's Aquatic Ambience is also a stellar choice, but there's denying that it can instill some serious gloominess; in the case of Sector Y, the song is more on the netural side, so I can count on it for not letting me slide down the slippery slope of depression (nor being uplifted by the false promises of more uplifting songs; it merely refocuses me). The compounding stress of schoolwork and working on my personal projects such as this lovely blog are no match for this zoned-out waltz, and for that I'm grateful to it.
It's a shame Mr. Hirasawa never worked on any future Nintendo projects following Star Fox, as I would've loved to see his fantastic sense of genre into more classic video games. However, I suppose that is why this particular soundtrack is so unique and treasured, for there truly is nothing quite like it.
Final Thoughts: Man, I should write about Star Fox one of these days. It'd be fun to rip apart Star Fox Adventures.
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Hmm...three Biweekly Music Wednesdays in a row. I think I hear Kirby calling me.
My first play session with Pikmin 3 back last August is by far my favorite 2013 moment. The hypnotic disbelief of playing a sequel I'd waited nine years for took held my mind captive in a blissful state, and hours flew by as I once again visited the beautiful world of the Pikmin. I was still dazed with euphoria for the rest of the day, not registering anything around me as my brain continually repeated, "I just played Pikmin 3. I just played Pikmin 3. I just played Pikmin 3, and it was glorious."
The theme for the Garden of Hope location played a major role in my ecstasy. Continuing the series' tradition of dividing area themes into morning, daytime, and sundown portions, Garden of Hope is quite reminiscent of the original Pikmin's Forest of Hope in they both share the serene, soothing nature like that of a lullaby. Garden of Hope takes it a step further though and instills a soft, gradual sense of realization into the player: that they've returned to the mysterious alien world that captivated them a decade ago, and oh, is it sweet.
The morning bit happens to be my personal favorite portion of the song. It's a pure, distilled representation of the isolated early morning, and I can practically feel the morning dew emerging on the flowers of a beautiful garden. In the context of Pikmin, it perfectly complements the series' beautiful tone of the fragile balance between and death, and I always sigh in reverie when this is reflected around 35 seconds in. As I attend a Christian university, it's actually what I imagine playing whenever the concept of Heaven crosses my mind, and it helped a lot in dealing with the third anniversary of my brother's death (which fell three days after the game's release).
The daytime version with the banjo is pretty damn great as well, building off the previous part with a more active feel. The laid-back plucks of the banjo steal the show, and yet the piece never loses its serenity. It's part of why Pikmin remains Nintendo's most eerily beautiful franchise: even as your Pikmin soldiers become devoured by the dozens, you fell giant beasts with explosions, and ample evidence of a post-apocalyptic Earth lie everywhere, it's all accompanied by beautiful, careful strokes of instruments like the banjo and piano.
And yet the player moves on, despite their mistakes. Life continues on in both the game and the real world, as the player laments the loss of their Pikmin and the in-game characters march on without time to mourn. The banjo continues plucking on, not discriminating against who dies and who survives. Rare is the video game track that embodies both the tone and the themes of a game, and Garden of Hope passes with flying colors.
So long as I continue to enjoy life despite the tragedies surrounding me everyday, I can move on knowing he's watching me.
Final Thoughts: Man, I'm so excited to begin my third playthrough.
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11:56 PM.....barely made it. But at least I did it, even if I didn't get as deep as I would've liked.
