And now, to reiterate gaming's most famous switcheroo: what we know as Super Mario Bros. 2 in Western territories is not the actual Super Mario Bros. 2, which was deemed too difficult and too similar for foreign audiences. The solution: take an unrelated platformer (Yume Kōjō: Doki Doki Panic, a Fuji TV collaboration that originally featured an Arabian cast), repackage it with Mario characters, get Shigeru Miyamoto and co. to polish up the gameplay, and voila -- you have gaming's greatest magic trick. It wouldn't be until five years later with the remake collection that was Super Mario All-Stars that rumors and urban legends whispered about Western audiences, with internet inertia finally dawning what would place among Nintendo's most historic fun facts.
In other words, this is why Mario and the gang are suddenly throwing vegetables at bad guys rather than stomping them. Without this knowledge, it becomes all too easy to label Super Mario Bros. 2 as one of the many infamous "black sheep sequel" so dreaded on NES -- sequels in the vein of Zelda II: Adventure of Link, Castlevania II: Simon's Quest or even the Japan-only Final Fantasy II, all which were being divisive experiments that messed with their predecessor's formulas a tad too much -- but even knowing that, is it really the game's fault it doesn't live up to the Super Mario name? Adding to the confusion is how despite the Japanese version being called "Super Mario USA," Nintendo has been all too quick to brush Super Mario Bros. 2 under the rug and not only inducting this localized version into series canon, but has since referred to this game as the realSuper Mario Bros. 2 (as recently as being heavily referenced in Super Mario 3D World, in fact).
When Super Mario Bros. launched in 1985, it captivated a worldwide audience through subtle accessibility and an addicting idealism that made players say, "I can do that." It was a game that fed upon muscle memory via carefully crafted physics and manipulation of Mario's surrounding environment, all nuances anyone could enjoy thanks to its accessibility. It was a pick-up-and-play game of the best kind, with level design fine-tuned as subtle tutorials and music that manipulated us to try, try again.
In contrast, its wombmate The Legend of Zelda offers relatively fewer cues, doesn't involve as much exertion, and requires a dedicated commitment for full enjoyment, but it captivates us through a slightly different ideal: "I can do it this way." Its world of Hyrule entices us with an open world, one where we can explore anywhere and are rewarded for doing so. Much like Super Mario Bros. before it, it becomes "our game": Shigeru Miyamoto's personalized garden can be tackled any way we wish, even if it's not bound by a set order.
Origin: The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past Plays In: Hyrule (Light World) Status: Arrangement
Arranged By: Koji Kondo
Zelda.
For two months, Zelda has graced us with its glorious presence. Breath of the Wild made the gaming public fall in love with the seriesall over again, with an avalanche of perfect scores (including my own!) from the media and players still being overwhelmed by its massive world. I am no exception to the latter: even now, nearly two weeks later and having already beaten the final boss, I still feel like I haven't so much as scratched the game's surface.
Of course, Breath of the Wild is not without its criticisms: be it the oversights found in the "Blood Moon" mechanic, the difficulties in rain patterns, or people's woes with weapon durability, it just goes to show no game is perfect. Personally, I find the "drop and switch" nature of the weapon durability to be the most interesting gameplay Zelda's utilized in over a decade, and I find most of the voice acting complaints to be rather overblown; really, I've found the game to be a near-perfect experience.
Origin: Super Mario 64 Plays In: Peach's Castle Status: Original Composition Composed By: Koji Kondo
A new Nintendo console is coming in just over a week! How's everyone handling the suspense?
For me, the anticipation for a new Nintendo console is unlike anything else; of course, other company consoles have come and gone with some great hype periods as well, but there's just something magical about your favorite home team ready to unleash five-years worth of untold adventures, dreams and memories to the public. Nostalgia will be cultivated in young one as us grown-ups revel in the magic that's kept us coming again and again for the past thirty decades. With how much Nintendo is banking on the Switch to last and the ever-changing expectations of the game industry, perhaps we'll enjoy all those and more in a longer cycle.
One of my favorite gaming memories is the time I surely first laid eyes on a Nintendo 64...we were in a Blockbuster (remember those?), and I couldn't stop staring at the demo station in the corner. It was playing Super Mario 64, and everything about it was a marvel: the new 3D graphics not found in my Super Mario World game at home, the way Mario hopped and swam about with precise ease, how the controller echoed to me that of Mario's gloved hands...everything about it was a mystifying magnet to six-year old me, one that screamed "play me!". It was then the seeds of my gaming passion were certainly born.;
Switch might not have a Mario 64 of its own; in fact, that it's launching with a Zelda game and a title introducing the system's controls (1-2 Switch) recalls more to that of the Wii, a system that captivated many because of how it played rather than the context and dynamics of the games themselves. Certainly, the Switch is set to sail a similar course: a system that captivates the public through one central gimmick. In this case, a hybrid that brings people together and encourages outdoor player is highly appealing.
And yet, I am always reminded of Super Mario 64 and its gardens and castle walls whenever a Nintendo system launches, no matter what the goals it sets for itself. The Wii's motion controls may've defined its respective generation, but Super Mario 64 changed everything on such fundamental levels that its heartbeat still lingers in every 3D title today. Even now, when we're about to be introduced to a Zelda designed to demolish everything we've associated with the series for the sake of a proper open-world experience, I can only think of how Super Mario 64 did the same for the purpose of revolutionizing gaming.
Well, that, and how it looks godly and it may very well be the game to finally surpass the N64 Zelda duo and A Link to the Past, but the point here is that while envisioning a new Super Mario 64-esque impact on the industry is near-impossible, I can't help but see its footsteps being followed here. Yes, Breath of the Wild was built as a Wii U game from the ground-up, but like Twilight Princess before it, it'll be largely associated with the new console. And that already renders it the most exciting Nintendo launch title in over a decade.
Next Friday will surely be something special.
Final Thoughts: Or, hey, maybe it's that Super Mario Odyssey is going back to the original 3D template for Mario? Easily the best thing to come out of last month's conference; I already can't wait to hop around for the heck of it!
Has there been any Nintendo game,nay, any video game as critically acclaimed as The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time? As beloved, as revered, as worshiped? The likes of Super Mario Bros. and Pac-Man may have deeper permeation in popular culture, and it can be argued other 3D Nintendo masterworks like Super Mario Galaxy and Metroid Prime have long since usurped its throne, but Ocarina of Time's reverence is just a tad more special: that being, it hails from a period where the once-stunning transition from 2D-to-3D is now as dazzling as a two-week old moldy sandwich.
Make no mistake: Ocarina of Time is not infallible to the aging process -- even Zelda creator Shigeru Miyamoto believes it looks rather rough now -- but I dare any one of you to tell me its opening title screen still doesn't possess that awe-inspiring calm of late '98. The clomping of Epona's horsesteps greeting Hyrule Field's sunrise, the game's title slowly materializing into focus, the accompanied piano/flute rendition of the NES Zelda's Fairy Flute fanfare introducing Link's much-awaited transition into 3D are all still a feat of attention-grabbing magic in everything from camera direction, music and the sense of grandeur involved.
Let us dispel any doubts; nearly twenty (twenty!) years later, Ocarina of Time remains a stellar high-point for video games, for Nintendo's library, and, in the relevant constrains of this review, within its legendary source series. The extent of its perfection remains debatable; to my mind, it is surpassed by both its offbeat, poignant sequel Majora's Mask and SNES predecessor A Link to the Past, but Ocarina of Time surpasses its brethren in what perhaps matters most in any action-adventure game: rock-solid pacing.
Whereas future Zelda games got too caught up in constantly spoon-feeding context and mechanics, Ocarina of Time doesn't spare a moment in capturing our attention: we're introduced to a boy without a fairy, nightmares of runaway princesses and evil horsemen, prophecies of destiny, and a wondrous bird's-eye view cruise through the skies of the enchanted Kokiri Forest.
This is all done in less than five minutes. Yes, there is a quest ready to be started, but there's no overbearing NPCs or dumb mini-games stopping you from exploring the enchanted forest at your leisure. Haven't you ever noticed how the Lost Woods is just sitting at the back, begging to be explored? What about marveling at how you can chop up signs every which way? Okay, there's no point to that, but what's wrong with a little mayhem? Regardless, the way it's set up, you're actually encouraged to explore; you wouldn't be able to nab the Kokiri Sword and Shield, otherwise.
Right from the beginning, Ocarina of Time gives just enough breathing room to familiarize ourselves with the world, all the while taking care not to distract us with pointless trivialities. There's not the thrilling, if not slightly weary dungeon rush of A Link to the Past, nor the bloated in-between-dungeon antics of Twilight Princess or Skyward Sword; the game is supported by relevant setpieces to ease into the mechanics without being overbearing or coming across as pointless padding. Just look at how it's even sly enough to include mini-dungeons along the way; be it the Ice Cavern or the haunted well beneath Kakariko Village, we're continually discovering fascinating facets of Hyrule.
The true heart of Zelda--an open, personal garden to do whatever one wishes--beats harder here than any 3D Zelda hitherto thanks to its organic sense of discovery. Who hasn't messed around with playing the titular Ocarina? Experimented with masks from the Happy Mask Shop? Leapt off ledges and rooftops with Cuccoos to see where you'll land? Placed bombs in the most inconspicuous of places to find hidden caverns? Rolled into trees to see if a Gold Skulltula would fall out? Caught bugs in bottles and planted them anywhere just to see what would happen? Hyrule Field and its fellow provinces are designed not merely for exploration, but also of enticing experimentation (all of which expands two-fold with the game's second-act twist of time travel, but we'll get into that later).
Part of why this is so effective is the seamless camerawork: taking lessons from Super Mario 64's foray into 3D paved the way for Zelda's own transition, as simply flailing your sword about in third-person would be woefully awkward without some careful camera precision. In response, Z-targeting was devised to simultaneously shift the camera behind Link and any one targeted enemy. That it extends to beyond battle--NPCs, landmarks and even signs are applicable--awes in its simplistic intuitiveness; there are no barriers in engaging with the game's world, as you can efficiently "point" to any interactive target while still on the move. It's little wonder such a mechanic was carried over to future Zelda titles, even now.
There are many other elements I could cite, but any discussion of Ocarina of Time simply isn't complete without its immaculate dungeon design. Current series directer Eiji Aonuma made his Zelda debut in their design, yet you'd hardly be able to tell they were the work of a newcomer. The best Zelda dungeons enthrall not merely in their beautiful set-pieces or the creativity involved, but in how they echo organic quality of the overworld: by constantly traversing and retracing our steps within their depths and trying new things, we become as engaged as an actual explorer delving into ruins long lost.
This is best seen in the dungeons traversed as Adult Link; not that the Young Link dungeons aren't anything to sneeze at, but the adult ones are just on another level entirely. We're greeted one by one by what's probably the best series of dungeons in Zelda history, be it the Fire Temple's acrophobia-inducing catwalks or the Spirit Temple's excellent duality of Young/Adult Link segments. Even the oft-criticized Water Temple is a thing of beauty. Yes, there's lots of water-raising switches and Iron Boots to be equipped, but it's all a matter of patience as opposed to any actual flaws (that being the occasional obscure cue for progression, such as a certain pit). That it's Zelda's most mind-bending dungeon is a good thing: it demands our full concentration even when dealing with the game's trickiest bosses: Dark Link's mirroring movements within his ghostly, ethereal battleground and the twisting trickery of the water demon Morpha.
And yet even it hardly matches the euphoria of the Forest Temple: an abandoned mansion haunted by Poes and Stalfos. The Forest Temple represents the other side of the Zelda dungeon spectrum not in its game design --a ghost-hunting expedition, which is fantastic-- but that our senses are captivated from the moment we step in. It is hauntingly, mesmerizingly beautiful, with the outdoor gardens and vine-covered walls all tantalizing details leaving us wanting to know everything behind this unusual dungeon. Even from a technical perspective it still stuns, it being host to not one but two "how did they do that?" feats of music in twisting hallways and bosses galloping through paintings. It being the best dungeon in the game is not its highest honor; it is Zelda's finest without question.
The accompanying BGM is really what cinches it. From the very first wood-rattling, we're compelled to soak in every detail, right down to the Wallmasters preying upon Link's shadow. Its alternations between soothing flutes and ghostly vocals render it game music at its most hypnotic, successfully seeping us into the actual Forest Temple itself. Considering that Ocarina of Time is home to the best dungeon music in the series, it only makes sense the best temple has the best theme. (It's so good that I had no choice but to embed the 10-hour version I found on YouTube. Listen to it, dang you!)
Ah, speaking of music, Ocarina of Time just so happened to be Koji Kondo's last solo work for the company. While he'd gradually gravitate towards a supervisory role, Ocarina of Time is a near-flawless send-off to his solo career. The game may occasionally suffer from weak instrumentation, but you'd hardly know it from the aforementioned title theme: a gentle mix of piano and flutes slowly greets latest adventure with the upmost importance.
Just as the actual intro itself, the music wastes no time in captivating us. Kokiri Forest is perhaps one of the most nostalgic songs in Nintendo history; it embodies child-like wonder, as it should for an enchanted forest of eternal children and fairies. Its counterpart, Lost Woods, is rivaled only by the Song of Storms as the game's catchiest song. Its close proximity to Kokiri Forest demands a
childish, mischievous innocence that's echoed in the woods themselves, be it the presence of dancing Skull Kids or the skitterish, cowardly Deku Scrubs.
Limited as it may be now, the expanded repertoire of the N64 sound systems provides technically-impressive arrangements. Ocarina of Time Hyrule Field is notable for being the first dynamic-shifting song in Nintendo history: the song shifts accordingly to context, be it for enemy encounters or during sunset, so it's an excellent replacement for the main theme (which, in what is perhaps one of the game's few oversights, is strangely absent). Meanwhile, Temple
of Time still wows in how it sounds like an actual Gregorian choir. True to the
events that unfold within its hallowed hall, such a glorious sound
renders it as holy as an actual church.
Gerudo Valley, a fan-favorite, instantly sweeps us off our feet with Spanish-flavored guitars and clapping percussion; both are standouts, but the latter is especially notable for continually carrying both string and brass to craft a wild, perilous sense of danger. The canyons and deserts of the valley are hardly desolate, so it's vital the song conveys an active emotion.
(As an aside, Ocarina of Time is host to one of the very few instances of post-release music alterations inNintendo history. The Fire Temple was initially host to a chilling choir prayer containing Islamic chants, whereas future versions and ports removed said chanting and altered the melody to include a MIDI choir. Both are superb, but I think of the original Muslim chant as being more distinguished since it's so unlike anything Nintendo's ever done. It reaches a level of eerie darkness that Zelda has never tackled since, and it still reverberates at the back of my mind whenever I'm reading of history's dark moments).
Indeed, there are many things we can praise Ocarina of Time for...but is there really nothing we can critique? Perfect as its fans claim it to be, that still hasn't stopped many harsher players--or dare I say, non-fans!--from airing their grievances. It is the rushed nature of Ganon's Castle, they may say, or the Water Temple's fiasco of Iron Boots, which eludes me as much as complaints directed towards The Wind Waker's sailing. These aren't within my own gripes, yet if I were to give as spotlight on any one flaw, it would be most anything regarding text.
This isn't necessarily a dig against its script/scenario as more as how they're framed. For one thing, character dialogue is infrequent in its display speed, and it's never pleasant whenever the game churns out text to a slow, unskippable crawl. What's initially a minor quibble gradually becomes compounded with some mind-boggling decisions, and it can make for a frustrating, non-intuitive ordeal. Even when the game allows you to skip dialogue, it tends to warp instantly to end of what the character has to say as opposed to that particular text-box, so information can be accidentally skipped.
There are other niggles, like having "No" being the default option for Kaepora Gaebora's "Would you like to hear that again?" and Navi, Link's accompanying fairy, occasionally interrupting movement to blather about objectives and incoming danger. Ocarina of Time is relatively free of hand-holding otherwise, but it's in those two characters the embryos of chatterbox NPCs and helpers--soon to plague future Zelda games--are born.
Yet perhaps the deepest flaw of all lies in how Ocarina of Time is host to one of the weaker localizations released by NOA Treehouse. This isn't to say it's bad, but while there is some unique flair such as the Great Deku Tree's "ye olde" English dialect and the script is evocative when it needs to be (more on that later), there's a lot of rather plain, dry dialogue ("I should go to Lake Hylia! Many things float down the river and end up there!) and I actually cite this as the most aged aspect about the game. Characters even sometimes go OOC (Kaepora Gaebora, again: "Hoo hoo! Wait up, buddy!") and render the game more childish than it actually is.
But not even that can't smother the player's connection to Link. In the past, both Miyamoto and Aonuma have discussed how Ocarina of Time isn't necessarily "epic" in itself; rather, that feeling derives from the player's sense of accomplishment. Every puzzle we solve, every dungeon we master, every boss we overcome ingrains into us within our quest to save Hyrule.
Any video game can do this, you may say, and you'd be right. But yet again, Ocarina of Time is a step ahead: it doesn't endlessly chuck monsters and caverns to make us feel epic, thanks to its use of time travel, our actions as Link and those of other characters produce a blank, yet fatal period of history. Take Hyrule Castle Town: as Young Link, it was a bustling capital rich with activity and life. After a seven-year slumber, we are shocked at the changes wrought by Ganondorf's reign: pitch-black skies, crumbling ruins, withered trees and a population not of Hylians, but moaning hordes of ReDead zombies. Before, the town's existence was simply something we took for granted; now, its devastated state instills one goal: "I have to do something".
The game doesn't need to hammer us in the head with the characters' grief. My absolute favorite example is the Kokiri bully Mido, who obstructs and antagonizes Link at the game's beginning. Seven years later, we're provided not just with a stunning size difference--being a Kokiri, Mido is blessed with eternal youth--but a change of heart. Unable to recognize Link, he begs him to pass on a message: "Hey, you. If you see him somewhere, please let him know...[about Saria]. And also...I'm sorry for being mean to him. Tell him that, too."
Nothing more is needed. We're left to wonder how he spent seven years of regret and loss, of how much he missed someone he pretended to hate. Other characters such as the carpenter's son evoke similar emotions, as do locations like the aforementioned Castle Town. We're left to fill in the blanks of everything just out of reach, be it the legacy of the Forest Temple to the dying soldier found within the Castle Town's alleys.
It's an indescribable power that extends even beyond narrative. Hopping down into a cavern only to come face-to-face with a treasure chest we opened seven years ago. A nighttime ride on Epona in Lon Lon Ranch to the echoing, nostalgic tune of Malon's singing. In terms of Zelda, it's an intimate poignancy surpassed only by Majora's Mask and perhaps even Link's Awakening; a high bar most games can only dream of reaching.
Any issues regarding text and the occasional Eldritch Abomination found in the NPCs do not prevent the revolution brought on by Ocarina of Time. Majora's Mask would soon arrive to upend its successes by transcending the medium of gaming itself, but Zelda's first foray into 3D may very well still be sitting on its throne via duality: it is gaming at its most pure, but also evocative and alive. Even now, through time, we grow up with it.
(Also, it introduced Gorons, which are the best Zelda race because I said so. So chubby!)
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 suitewill 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.
Origin: Star Fox 64 Plays in: Main Menu Status: Original Composition Composer: Koji Kondo
You're adrift. You don't quite know how you got here, yet your mind can't muster the strength to ask why. The deep darkness of space threatens to swallow you whole, but being surrounded by thousands of stars instils only calm. You merely float along, devoid of all will, content with wherever the gentle pull of space takes you.
And then, within a moment's passing, you land. Your surroundings materialize via wireframe before taking solid form. It's a forgotten museum isolated within the reaches of space: crafts and mannequins of all sorts are on display, all depicting the heroics of Team Star Fox. Be it wall-embedded videos detailing General Pepper's military accomplishments, a diorama of the Battle for Katina, and even a room dedicated to the inventions of the Toad family (complete with prototype replicas for the Landmaster and the Blue Marine), you roam this museum for what seems like years.
There are no other visitors. There's not even a sign of whoever built this museum hidden away amongst the stars. Your only companion is the above song, which plays endlessly through the speakers. It fits the place like a glove, and compels you to delve further and further into these hallowed halls, to learn all you can about the most legendary merc-for-hire team in the universe.
But you never finish. The moment the song begins to fade, your surroundings begin to revert alongside it. From solid form to wireframes to nothingness, only the stars remain as your consciousness drifts back to reality. And that's quite alright; you'll be immortalized within these hallowed halls one day.
After all, you finally got your own spaceship.
...sans the surprise ending, that's the imagery that always come to mind whenever I start up Star Fox 64. It's amazing how the game can switch between its typical B-movie atmosphere, a hardened space drama, and degree of prestige within a moment's notice. It's all thanks to the tagteam duo of Hajime Wakai and Koji Kondo, although the latter's work is what we're featuring today. Koji Kondo's menu theme for Star Fox 64 remains one of the finest menu themes in Nintendo history, elevating the game to the aforementioned level of prestige while maintaining the chillest calm.
A calm that I often sit back and reflect upon before attempting a high-score. I don't have a choice; it compels to recline and let my mind wander. And that goes for even after I've finished my latest campaign; after all, it does play when you're entering your latest score. If not, I zip right back to the menu to ponder a bit.
And while I'm at it, here's the version found in the 3DS remake. While its rearranged soundtrack had its ups and downs, I rather like the take on this song. I still lack the proper vocabulary to discuss the finer points of music, but the instruments used here grant a different flavor while largely maintaining the same tone. Dunno if that made sense, but given the severity of music misfires in this remake, it's more than enough to earn a thumbs-up for me.
I wonder if Star Fox Zero's menu theme will be as good? Between this and the starry theme for the original Star Fox, it has a lot to live up to. Come to think of it, who's composing that game, anyway? I wonder if Mahito Yokota's arrangement for the Star Wolf/Sector Z themes in Smash is a sign...?
Final Thoughts: I went in a bit of a different direction here today. Did you like it? I'm thinking of ways to differentiate entries so I can flex out my writing, so lemme know.
Origin: Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island
Plays In: Numerous stages, typically ones that have you jumping around for dear life.
Status: Composition
Composer: Koji Kondo
Try to resist not dancing to this. I dare you. It's impossible.
Since Super Mario Bros. 3,, a number of Mario games possess not just main themes but Athletic themes that often accompany the wilder levels; in particular, they're often associated with scrolling stages. Super Mario Bros. 3 had a piano-inspired piece, Super Mario World had its banjo, and last year's Super Mario 3D World has some real amazing jazz.
Regardless of whether or not we can explicitly classify Yoshi's Island as a Mario game, the fact remains it comes with the greatest Athletic of them all: a slaphappy ragtime piece that's immediately infectious and will not leave your head. Or will not leave without inspiring your body to break out into mad dancing rhythm.
In the context of the game, it plays up to the greatest of the Athletic series' strength in that its happy-go-lucky nature is taunting the player during some nerve-wracking platforming. Take its first appearance in Hop! Hop! Donut Lifts, where Yoshi has to outmaneuver a scrolling screen via hopping on a series of collapsing donut-shaped lifts. As you're carefully aiming your jumps, Athletic cheerfully drills its way into your skull and driving you further into madness every time you make a misstep and fall to your doom.
While I struggled with that level in my youth, I could never unleash my anger out on the song itself, though. If anything, I'm glad it took such a morbid approach into making my acquaintance. My repeated deaths meant I could hear it again and again, in all of its glory, before I would finally triumph over the donut lift pitfalls and move on to the next level. Mind you, Yoshi's Island had such a wonderfully sincere, bouncy soundtrack that I was in aural heaven regardless of where I was, but this song was in a league of its own. It captivated me even at the cost of precious, precious lives. I had to keep listening to it
It's more than what could be said about the present state of Yoshi music these days, with Yoshi's Island DS taking a lethargic piss on our eardrums and Yoshi's New Island...well, I'm sure this explains enough by itself. Thankfully, what I heard from Yoshi's Woolly World at E3 sounded mighty fine, though its Kirby's Epic Yarn inspired direction makes one wonder if there'll be anything to match its level of lively playfulness. Of course, it shouldn't have to--Epic Yarn's soundtrack being absolutely wonderful and all--but I reckon a new Yoshi song surpassing the likes of Athletic would immediately capture the attention of the Nintendo music fandom.
In any case, with Athletic being a Nintendo fan-favorite, the song has appeared here and there since its inception. Soon after Yoshi's Island's release, the song was featured in Japan's formally annual Orchestral Gaming Concert with an equally bouncy arrangement. Hard to believe I first found this recording a decade ago. Hey, come to think of it, I think I'm lying down in the very same spot right now.
Athletic was also selected to be a part of Super Smash Bros. Brawl's elite soundtrack, and it received a fantastic arrangement from Shota Kageyama (Pokémon Black and White). It's notable for not just including the final boss music from the source material, but for also being accompanied by an alternate version that plays when the seasons change to fall and winter on the Yoshi's Island stage. In their never-ending crusade against the game, the leagues of Brawl bashers and the Youtube comment hivemind will tell you this is a terrible remix, most likely for the reason that it's association with Brawl means that it's terrible by default. Do not listen to the people.
Final Thoughts: I don't mean to end two articles in a row with comments railing against people with different opinions of Smash Bros. Really! It just turned out that way. Cross my heart.
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
There was once a young boy who, in the far-off times of 1992, held a secret considered sacred to the heart of a young mind. The type of boy whose imagination was stroked by tales of swords and sorcery, the video game The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past was the perfect outlet for the fantasy adventures he so loved. No longer was he forced to sit back and listen to the stories of bravery found in storybooks, for now he was able to weave such tales for himself. He was the hero in the green cap, tasked with slaying the forces of evil to rescue Princess Zelda of the kingdom of Hyrule. Such a journey was fraught with danger, packed with deadly monsters, dark dungeons, and the ever-looming threat of Ganon, the King of Evil. And, perhaps living up to the mischief typical in young children, he also decided to attack some chickens for the fun of it.
Yet there was one part of his adventure he treasured above all else. To the north of Kakariko Village lay the Lost Woods, a hallowed ground said to house the Sword of Evil's Bane. Entering the sacred forest never failed to take his breath away, for the mist-shrouded surroundings and muted ambiance were more than enough to cloud the woods into an eternal mystery. While the random bandit or sword forgery would interrupt his reverie, nothing topped the moment when he finally located the Master Sword. The forest wildlife pranced along the hero's path as he marched to the altar, ready to fulfill his destiny.
But what truly struck him was the music. A song dipped in serenity and mystery, the Lost Woods theme captured his heart in a feeling he was left unable to describe. It was the reason why he returned to the woods again and again, long after its purpose within the game had been completed. Whether it was the subconscious awakening of a young appreciation for beauty or a desire to relive that epic moment of claiming the sword was unknown, but his imagination burst aflame with the reverie it brought him. It would be cemented as his favorite moment in his gaming career. Many years afterward, the song would continue to represent his idyllic adventures in the world of Hyrule, and he'd be able to look back upon his childhood with a smile.
This young boy, however, was not alone. Another child would have a near-identical experience within the very same time period. And more in the year after that. And countless more in the remaining duration of the Super Nintendo's lifespan. Years would continue to pass on, and yet numerous children continued to discover the forest. Some came across it late in the wintery recesses of 2002, when Nintendo re-released A Link to the Past on the Game Boy Advance. Others discovered it five years later when the game made its first digital release on the Wii's Virtual Console. Yet even more children clutched it close to their hearts in the cracks of the years between, and more since then, and will undoubtly continue to do so as time goes on.
Of course, such an experience is not exclusive to A Link to the Past. What Link's SNES adventure meant to another child was no doubt rivaled by what another child treasured in the romps of Super Mario World's Dinosaur Land. Other children found glory within the alien world of Super Metroid, some found solace within the nostalgic homes of Earthbound, and even more cherished the rest houses deep within Kirby Super Star. But this pattern was not born to the SNES, nor did it end there. Gamers found such moments on the NES, and the Game Boy Color, and the Gamecube, and the DS, and so on.
To think what an astonishing feat it is, then, that these endless experiences of gaming legacies were sprouted within one man. A man who happened to inherit a small-time trading card company and gradually transformed into popular toy producer that exploded into the video game giant it is today.
My gaming heroes include the usual suspects: Shigeru Miyamoto, Mashiro Sakurai, Shigesato Itoi, Koji Kondo, Charles Martinet, etc. As far as I'm aware, Mr. Hiroshi Yamauchi was not a gamer. The transition from cards to toys to electronic gaming was nothing more than a set of calculated risks that had a likely chance falling into the depths of obscurity; in other words, the man was a businessman through and through. But the man was fully aware of how to make a great video game, and it required just one ingredient: to create a video game that will stick with the masses, one needs not a team of highly-trained engineers, but of devoted artists that can bring any concept to life.
Such a mantra might not sit well with certain game developers (including Nintendo's own Miyamoto), but moments such as the Lost Woods scenario provided above would not have been possible without this vision. The next time I remove the Master Sword from its pedestal, or soar to the skies with a Wing Cap, or even take a stroll down the streets of Twoson or Celadon City, I'll be sure to think of the man who made such feats possible. The very feats that inspired countless childhoods like my own.
Plays in: The entirety of Hazy Maze Cave and Wet-Dry World, Shifting Sand Land's Pyramid, Snowman Land's igloo, the Metal Cap Cavern, and the interior of Tiny-Huge Island.
Status: Arrangement
For all the love that Super Mario Bros.'s main theme is showered with, everyone seems to have just as much fun loudly humming the counterpart Underground Theme, which originated in the same game. While not at the same level of popularity, it's certainly regarded with the same level of fondness by Nintendo, as the song makes numerous appearances in many of Mario's adventures. Personally, it never got stuck in my head like the main theme did, but it's not like I'm complaining.
Presented above is the rendition that is my personal favorite, although not in a very hummable appearance at all. The Cave Dungeon song, which plays in the Hazy Maze Cave/Wet-Dry World levels along with several sub-sections, arrived in a time when Nintendo's musicians (that is, Koji Kondo himself) realized that the game music should take on a more dynamic nature so as to complement the more active 3D gameplay of the Nintendo 64; in other words, certain songs would appropriately transit into versions that would better fit for whatever happening's onscreen (tension or calmness, for example). If you listen to the full song above, you'll notice how the song moves from a "cryptic headscratcher" tone to a choir-esque piece that reeks of forgotten mystery. Awesome, right?
Naturally, this is a perfect fit for Hazy Maze Cave, as the level's many twists and turns lead to various scenarios, more dangerous or mysterious than the last. The first half plays when the level starts out, as Mario slides on poles, guides floating platforms with navigable buttons, smoothly hangs on red metallic bars, and dodges boulders Indiana Jones-style. Things take a different turn when, after a long downwards elevator ride, Mario finds himself in an underwater cavern that is solely populated by a lone sea monster, whose un-cartoonish, yet gentle appearance instills a mystifying feeling into the player.
I used to come up with all these weird game theories when I was a kid, and I feel it's appropriate that I share mine for Super Mario 64. See, there's a reason why Peach's Castle, the main hub of the game, has no bedrooms, kitchens, or furniture: it's because the game takes place in an separate dimension. While the game did happen in the canon series of Mario events, the truth is that the Power Stars he collects are the source of the magic of the Mushroom Kingdom, and due to this nature are locked away in a secluded, magical realm that has a secret entrance (via warp pipe) locked deeply within Princess Peach's castle. It is this very power that Bowser covets, and after he kidnaps Peach, invades this dimensions, steals all the stars, and seals the victims within the castle's walls (the last two of which are the only actual canonical events).
Numerous plot-holes and unexplained elements aside, think about what this means for a moment. In this scenario, Mario is completely alone. Yes, he interacts with the Toad guards and the odd friendly character here and there, but they have been eternally bound to this realm and are thus unfamiliar with the famous plumber. This unease would no doubt eat away at Mario's sanity, and while I cringed at the thought of my childhood hero combating the fears and hallucinations of loneliness, this dark twist added so much more to my perception of the game. Much like the "Spring Breeze" fiasco I detailed in my last post, it's another childhood fact I have trouble distancing from (then again, it was my favorite theory, so I don't mind very much).
Now, why is this all relevant? You guessed it, it's all thanks to that awesome second half of Cave Dungeon. You know how a suspenseful movie reveals some huge secret around the climax and you can feel your blood run cold? That's is what this part represents to me. I always feel like I've stumbled across some kind of forbidden secret, locked away from modern knowledge and forgotten to the sands of time. I'm always alone when I do so. It's scary, but it's so mysteriously thrilling that you can't turn your eyes away from it. What's the deal with the sea monster? What happened to the lonely, toy-like town in Wet-Dry World? I was no longer a player; I was a universal explorer who seeped through dimensions in-between and discovered the unknown.
That a song could inspire and even enrich the perception/enjoyment of a video game is wonderful. It's one aspect of video game music I'm always grateful for.
Final Thoughts: Man, I swear the beginning of the song sounds different than it does on the official soundtrack (which the embedded song above is ripped from). Like, really! Anyone else notice this? Used to bother to hell out of me as a kid.
Also, I always thought it would be awesome if an even creepier version was composed. Shame it never happened.
