Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Biweekly Music Wednesday! No.4: ~Cave Dungeon~ (Super Mario 64)


Origin: Super Mario 64 (Nintendo 64, 1996)
Composer: Koji Kondo
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.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Ten Years of Kirby ~Reverie 2~ Kirby's Dream Land

Notice: while this is part of my Ten Years of Kirby retrospective, this review does not meet my current quality standards and will be superseded in the future. A link to the new version will be provided whenever it arrives. 


Having barely survived from the effects of liquidation, video game developer HAL Laboratories was roped into exclusive development for Nintendo systems. While they enjoyed minor success in dipping across numerous platforms (their most notable franchise being the Adventures of Lolo puzzle series on the NES), the developer split from HAL Corporation following declining sales, and thus found itself unable to pay off taxes. Nintendo, which had previously invested in the company, stepped in with the offer to provide financial support with two conditions: that not only would all of their future games would be developed just for Nintendo consoles, but that up-and-coming programming prodigy Satoru Iwata be moved up the corporate ladder into a supervising role.


In charge of overseeing new programmers, one in particular caught Iwata's eye. This individual, Masahiro Sakurai, had been doodling plans for a new character since the age of 19, and was clearly eager to start his own project. Seeing potential in the youth's concept, Iwata allowed Sakurai to direct his first title for Nintendo's portable Game Boy. Initially titled Twinkle Popo, one of Sakurai's test designs for the game's character was used as a beta placeholder until a more elaborate design was ready. This "dummy" figure, named Popopo, was fabricated from the simplest of concepts: a short, rounded marshmallow-esque body with pudgy little arms and big, clown-like feet, whose facial features consisted of tiny, dotted eyes and the faintest of blushed cheeks.


Whether it was the character's beady eyes or his aforementioned clown feet, Sakurai's design team quickly grew to love the adorable dummy and trashed all plans for a more complicated character. However, they felt the Popopo name didn't quite stick.

Shigeru Miyamoto, creator of Super Mario Bros. and The Legend of Zelda, assisted with the naming process and ultimately helped the character find a final name. Some years earlier, lawyer John Kirby had helped Nintendo overcome a lawsuit from Universal Studios over the alleged infringement over the Donkey Kong name. By pure coincidence, the name "Kirby" had appeared on a list of suggested names, and Miyamoto thought it would be amusing if the two shared a connection; furthermore, he found it further humorous that the name produced a harsh sound in Japanese ("Kaabi"), as many cute characters in Japan are typically labelled with soft-sounding names.

The name was set. The game was renamed Hoshi no Kaabi ("Kirby of the Stars") and was eventually released in April 1992 for Japan, being eventually localized to the American market as Kirby's Dream Land later that summer.

And the rest is history.

-----



Kirby's Dream Land, despite its underdog origins and composition, was a smash-hit for Nintendo's portable system. One can imagine this success was quite the surprise for Sakurai, who had no intentions of any mainstream success. He instead directed a humble focus for the game, squarely aiming it only for the budding gamer. Kirby could float indefinitely all the way to the area's end, and levels were quick and breezy to the point where Dream Land could be completed within a mere half-hour. But why make a game so easy? In a conversation with Dragon Quest producer Ryutaro Ichimura, he explains:

"No matter how much fun the Super Mario Bros. games were, they were still too tough for normal people and kids. I could feel people drifting away from games, and it bothered me. In the midst of making Kirby, a lot of the team started wondering if we were maybe making it too simple. But I think it was necessary for us to consider people who hadn't played a game before, and I think doing that earned us fans that wouldn't have been around otherwise."


Sakurai ended up being right. For all its simplicity, the quirky concept of a walking blob innocently swallowing bad guys quickly caught on with gamers. Beginners, particularly young children, had discovered a niche crafted especially for them, and they reveled in in it with great glee. No longer did the deceptively affable likes of Super Mario and Sonic the Hedgehog bully them into pit-ridden level designs and dangerous traps, as there was now a  funny little character who could fly around forever and ate candy and devoured the innocent. Even experienced gamers found themselves strangely charmed by this miniscule addition to the Nintendo universe, and a new profitable franchise was born.


With the game's immense success, there should be no doubt that it would be immortalized forever in the history of famous video games.  After all, Dream Land gave birth to what would eventually become one of Nintendo's most well-known franchises. Sure, it's no Pokemon or Zelda, but Kirby's first outing reported to have sold five million copies; if true, it would be easily the best selling Kirby game by over three million. That's kind of a big jump, especially since the game reached the five million mark. While setting a million copy mark is usually regarded as a huge success for most anyone else, in terms of Nintendo games that's actually an ordinary number, and most Kirby games knock out one or two million copies. For Dream Land to have reached five times the former means it must be something special, right?

Well, get this: no one ever talks about it. Ever! Isn't that crazy? It is when you compare it to the first entries in the rest of Nintendo's famous catalogue. Everyone still loves Super Mario Bros. and Donkey Kong Country. The Pokemon Red and Blue versions are so beloved by the nostalgic 90's crowd to the point where they refuse to play the new games (looking at you, cousin Tommy). Even when the most ardent of Zelda and Metroid fans admit to struggling (even to point of being unimpressed!) with the NES originals, they are still often noted as some of the greatest games ever made. So why isn't Kirby's Dream Land's name spoken with the same awe and love?


Maybe it's not that far-fetched of a situation. I believe that while there's no overt reason for the game's obscurity, there are multiple, more subtle factors that perhaps sullied its reputation. For example, Dream Land can be justly compared to F-Zero and Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon and the Blade of Light in that while they aren't bad games, the deeper mechanics and flashy splendor of the later titles render them less attractive. In the case of Dream Land, however, this is more of a severe problem. While Shadow Dragon and F-Zero are outclassed--both graphically and mechanically--by the likes of, say, Blazing Sword and F-Zero GX, there's more than enough meat to chew on in their NES/SNES predecessors should the curious Nintendo fanatic be willing to take a chance.

In comparison, Dream Land offers no such meat; rather, it's the lightest of impulsive snacks. In case you were wondering, I really wasn't kidding earlier when I mentioned that the game is beatable within a half-hour's time. It consists of four complete levels--of which contain a minimum of three screens and maybe six or seven at most--and a climax stage involving a retread with the previous four bosses and a showdown with the gluttonous penguin King Dedede.


Cue credits.

Compounding upon the short length is the issue of Kirby's famous Copy Ability, in which he obtains the powers of the enemies he swallows. While Kirby had an hungry appetite from the start, nowhere in Dream Land is his mimicry to be seen; indeed, it would not be until Kirby's Adventure a year later where this magical feat would see the light of day. As the series would continue to establish creative ways to build upon this mechanic, Dream Land's comparatively neutered state became more and more obvious. While the concept of inhaling one's foes is novel enough, that it's stranded in a sea of lively superpowers---with some sightings of yarn, paint brushes, and clones here and there--strips its quality into a more bland state.

Of course, this shouldn't just be exclusive to those who haven't played Dream Land. After all, I did witness my first-year college roommate play through the game via a ROM while I was busy being impaled in Skyrim, and he had shared memories of it too. But that was a rare exception, and I think it only further proves my point. People have played it, yeah, there's just not much to say about it. Why talk about a short-lived platformer when one could elaborate at length about the meaty wonders of Kirby's Adventure or Kirby Super Star, or the bombastic mix-'em-up style of Kirby 64, or pretty much anything in Canvas Curse and Return to Dream Land?

The other reason is more personal in that, alas, I also have contributed to this issue. It all boils to down to the existence of 1996's Kirby Super Star, and while I can hardly be found at fault to play through a gaming masterpiece, it is the very reason why I was indifferent to playing Dream Land. You see, Super Star is composed of a compilation of sub-games, the very first of which happens to be an abridged remake of Dream Land by the name of "Spring Breeze". What was once a total of five stages is now four, as the Castle Lololo stage is merged with Float Islands (with the Kaboola airship boss axed from the game). The final stage zips straight to the King Dedede fight instead of revisiting bosses. The term "abridged" even extends to Dream Land's unique features, as Kirby can no longer utilize the items strewn about the levels.


But why should he when he now has access to the Copy Ability? As Super Star emerged in an era where it was the staple feature of Kirby games, this slight retcon to Kirby's first adventure was no doubt much appreciated by the fanbase. With each new console adventure/spin-off--as well as a Game Boy sequel--it became clear that a gradual focus of attention was lavished on the flexible Copy Ability; in contrast, the original Dream Land quickly become antiquated, and Dream Land's Spring Breeze instantly rendered it obsolete. Yes, they did cut a bit of content here and there, but what is there to miss in a half-hour adventure when you have the

From my ten year old perspective (the dawn of 2002), it was a bit different. I perceived Spring Breeze as the story of how Kirby came to control his transformative prowess and saved Dream Land for the first time. For what was such a short-lived sub-game, I imagined numerous scenarios that revolved around said prowess, such as how Kirby honed his powers under the guidance of a mysterious voice, or how the Whispy Woods tree boss wasn't actually a boss at all, but was instead an innocent friend of Kirby's imprisoned by an evil doppelganger that was slain by Kirby's Fire ability. As fueling a young imagination was once a high priority, there wasn't really a need for me to seek out a version that wasn't really compatible with that. Yes, my little Nintendo scholar-minded self still recognized Dream Land as Kirby's introduction, but that was really all I viewed it as: an introduction, and I'm sure many other fans recognize it only as such.


Frick, I'll admit it: I still struggle with this. For those old enough, you know how Pluto isn't considered a planet anymore but your mind instantly rebels to that fact? It's the same deal here. I've played so much of Kirby Super Star that the Spring Breeze introduction is, for better or worse, stubbornly solidified for me as Kirby's initial adventure. Yes, I'm aware it lasts all for ten minutes.Yes, the length is woefully short even when juxtaposed to a Game Boy title. Yes, yes, I know, they cut out an entire level along with a boss. I get it. It could, and should, be considered inferior, and given how harsh I typically am with Nintendo remakes I would normally bash the shit out of Spring Breeze for committing these crimes. And I'm not! I'm biased!

If I'm conveying the impression that Dream Land should be dismissed, don't fall for it. It doesn't deserve such a fate. It's a good game. It's a quality game. It's just one that's, sadly, been outclassed by many of its successors. That, and I'm biased and am therefore unqualified to review the game all because I can't wrap my head around the fact that my own little perception of what falls under Kirby canon has absolutely no bearing and would not hold any sort of water in any form of Kirby-related debates. And this is all because my ten year old self had nothing better do and decided to mercilessly pound it into his skull to the point where it became a matter I take more seriously than raging politics and whatever the hell's going on in the Middle East, that bastard.

...but woe is to biased writer who had resigned himself to reviewing every Kirby title for the year, so I suppose I must make do with what I have. That, and I guess the whole canon thing doesn't really matter since I think the "official" Zelda timeline unveiled a year or two back is complete shit (Link dies? Really?), so screw what Nintendo thinks. Onward!

------

So, what exactly propels Kirby's first adventure? Well, it just so happens that King Dedede, the self-proclaimed ruler and resident douchebag of Dream Land, spontaneously decides to dabble into the latter one night and initiates a heist of the highest proportions: robbing the entire food supply of his home country with the help of his goons. And because he enjoys being such an asshat, he decides to make matters worse by stealing the Sparkling Stars--of which guides the Dream Landers in finding food--and divides them among his buddies (Whispy Woods the tree, globular siblings Lololo and Lalala, female blimp Kaboola, and Kracko the stormcloud). Consequently, the citizens wake up hungry and severely dehydrated, ready to croak until a puffball named Kirby eagerly vows to get the food/stars and sets off to score some copies of Shaq Fu and troll My Little Pony fanboys at conventions.

PG-13 embellishments/obscure references aside, while video games were at the cusp of incorporating half-decent storytelling, no one bothered to attempt doing so on the Game Boy, and Kirby's Dream Land was no exception. Of course, that a game is light on story-telling elements isn't really a big deal; in fact, should such a game enchant players, it's not uncommon to an abundance of fan theories and re-interpretations of events via fan fiction/message board musings.



...that, and let it be known that Spring Breeze's brainwashing made absolutely no mention of Sparkling Stars. Even though they were still there and made Kirby into a giant balloon at the end. NONE!

But, yes, the gameplay! That Kirby lacks the Copy Ability is unfortunate, but one must remember to enjoy it purely within its own, however short-lived, context. When isolated, the abnormal concept of swallowing bad guys is still innovative enough to make for an enjoyable platformer. While the pacing is noticeably different from the frantic acrobatics of Super Mario (more on that later), in regards to the pantheon of Kirby games I would actually argue that Dream Land's action sequences comfortably sit within the middle tier of Kirby level design despite its compact nature. Dream Land 2 simplified things a little too much (particularly early on), Amazing Mirror's Metroid influences were a tad too distracting for my tastes, and the less said about Squeak Squad, the happier I'll be. That this was the only Kirby to feature devastating items for Kirby to utilize until 2011's Return to Dream Land lends it a quality all on its own, but like the best Kirby games, the levels quickly transition from scenery to scenery without pause, and numerous scenarios are instant classics From traversing a tree's inside within Green Greens to the shooting star hallway in Bubbly Clouds right down to the freaky Kirby doppelgangers found in King Dedede's castle, the chaotic visuals pepper Dream Land with a sort of insanity not commonly found in the series.


The Castle Lololo stage--the one absent from Spring Breeze--is the notable representative of this disorder, and all it takes to realize that is taking a gander at the screenshot above. Upon entering, the player immediately stumbles across a microphone that, while can only be used once, produces a horrendous screech that explodes everyone in the vicinity. Shaped as a vertical hall, the room reveals several entrances that lead to unique pathways, of which lead to further doors and rooms within the castle. Lather, rinse, repeat. Yet the stage's chaos plays to its strength. Some doors simply lead to arduous hallways with armies of goons, while others lead to explosive weapons (none the least of which is the fiery Superspicy Curry, of which Smash Bros. fans will no doubt recognize) and tasty treats that recover vitality. The visuals also aid in creating an air of chaos, what with disturbing heads convulsing around the room and floating masks that stalk Kirby. Oh, and obvious nods to Super Mario World's ghost houses, that too.

To elaborate more on this front, a reminder must be set in that there is no denying that Kirby games are aimed at children, and an analysis of Dream Land benefits the most out of the whole series from this perspective. A young mind wouldn't be foolish enough to label the game an epic, but is intrigued enough by all the chaotic, cartoonish antics involving the spontaneous enemies, the shifting nature of the levels, and destructive curry to keep playing over and over.


I suppose that's part of what made the game appealing to both audiences. The game emphasizes replayability with its short length, and by that I don't just mean playing it over after completion, but through trial and error. I doubt every child breezed through the game as easily as others, as bosses such as Kracko and Kaboola bear erratic attack patterns that tend to frequently encompass the entire screen (no, really, Kaboola is one of the few Kirby bosses I still encounter struggles with. I am so glad she is radically underused). In the event of a game over, Dream Land's short length assures the young player will be back for more very soon, allowing them to frequently memorize enemy/boss movements until they've finally triumphed.

Moreover, Dream Land's focus on the child is successful in that instills a sense of empowerment. I still remember back when I was seven/eight and, being inspired by my brother's claim of having completed thirty games, strove to surpass that count and kept record of how many game completions I had under my belt. I imagine the short length of Dream Land would have appealed greatly to me in the purpose of being a easy pass, and I'm certain that rang true for many other children; that is, even if they didn't possess the same ambitions as I did or were even that good of a player.


Of course, Dream Land's "beginner" theme isn't restricted to its length or level design. Of particular interest is the lack of a run button, which while having the unfortunate side-effect of contributing to the game's archaic nature, makes sense from the developer's viewpoint. The compulsive nature of children means they just run around and scream everywhere, right? Translating such an attitude to electronic hand-eye coordination often results in sloppy movement that has a penchant for falling into bottomless pits; that, or dashing at breakneck speeds with no sense of control or planning, often with the same end result. I wouldn't be surprised if this was the basis for Sakurai's decision to make Kirby games function at a slower pace than Mario, and he went the extra mile into telling the child to slow down and take their time. This is the one great thing I believe is still relevant from Dream Land, although more so in that nearly every Kirby game since has followed its play model (while the ability to dash was brought back in Adventure--adding a touch of flavor to its sugar rush nature--no complex form of platforming were to be found).

But even then it's not just how it plays. So much of it, I think, has to do the game's atmosphere. The Hello Kitty meets Candy Land approach is something that should instantly turn off anyone over the age of six, and yet the aesthetics and characters of Dream Land, what with the cloudy kingdoms, parasol-wielding foes, and little blob witches sweeping the level grounds with brooms, are all so infectious that's tremendously easy to get wrapped up in it all. I guess it's because even though it's constructed with a cutesy-poo nature, it's not interested in being condescending like many forms of children's entertainment. It's just concerned with creating a comfortable experience, and anyone's invited to play.

I mean, really. Just stare at the wonderful beauty that is Broom Hatter. Truly a worthy candidate for the next Smash Bros.


And an infectious atmosphere requires the presence of an equally infectious soundtrack. Now, it wasn't uncommon for Game Boy music to consist of tinny, screechy nonsense (i.e. Metroid II), but Dream Land's compositions--however cheery and loud they are--are created with an unusual upbeat expression of a children's fairy tale. Composed by Jun Ishikawa (who, along with several others, become the series mainstay), such a style was seemingly born to play on 8-bit hardware, as evidenced through the continued success of the score found in Kirby's Adventure. If anything, it should be praised alone for introducing the Green Greens and King Dedede themes, of which would constantly reprise throughout the franchise. Featured above, however, is the sole agent of repose and what I consider to be the game's most nostalgic tune: the Float Islands.

...that, and the boss music. Kirby tends to dabble into some dark music now and then (see Kirby 64), yet I don't think I've ever heard anything so chillingly foreboding in the series. Very surprised this hasn't made a rearranged comeback.



Yet, advocating Dream Land's graphical charm and music is something one can gush about for any future game in the series, right? You have orchestrated tracks and crayon aesthetics and yarn-stitched worlds and techno and all that good stuff later on. No matter how many excuses I can come up with, it all boils down to that damn length! Just like I was, people are content with playing the little remake in Super Star and don't want to bother with an ancient Game Boy title. As much as the game leans on it, replayability can only get you so far, I suppose.

So, what is there then?

If I already haven't made it clear/implied it enough, then I'm going to be honest in saying that the game's size doesn't really bother me. For what seems like a blasphemous length today or even back then, the idea of citing brevity as a detriment towards Dream Land is, strangely, just as equally blasphemous. Not that because doing so would counter my worship of Sakurai's approaches to gaming, but it seems unjust to rail against something geared towards newcomers. For what it's supposed to be, the game works well enough. The swallowing mechanic is fun, the level design is professional and full of character, and the replayability is wonderful should it suck the player in. Let it also be clear, however, that Dream Land being a game for newcomers does not exclude it from criticism, and I'm of the opinion that one could certainly criticize it on that front, but I can only detect maybe only one or two flaws. While I am fine without the addition of the run button, I can't say the same for the lack of a proper swimming function for Kirby. I'm not kidding, it's literally just the same walking animation, albeit slowed down a tad. While it's obviously due to the lack of water-traversing sequences, it is painfully awkward to control and not in any sense of the word "enjoyable."

If I am given another reason to defend length, I point to only one factor: the Extra Mode. Let it be known that I'm not particularly well-versed in the realm of hard mode, as I'm of the opinion that a game's default/"normal" difficulty represents the developer's vision. While I don't mind dipping in for a challenge after an initial playthrough (with the exception of my recent forays in Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep and Dream Drop Distance, having previously been burnt out on the franchise thanks to the series' second iteration and its braindead design choices), I've always perceived it as post-game content; in fact, that's what the Kirby games typically treat it as in the form of unlockables. While they're typically nothing more than minor nuisances difficulty-wise, they can cough up some cool bonuses.


This is different. The Extra Mode could not have been any more of a polar opposite to its regular counterpart, as it is relentlessly gleeful in its goal of screwing over the player. While perhaps not among the most fiendish of Hard Modes, it is a monster in the realm of Kirby. The chaos found in the normal mode is amplified to the point where swarms of enemies home divebombs on Kirby, or innocently fly past him only to instantly U-turn and ram into him. The coconuts of Float Islands were the only perceptible threat in the normal mode, and now the Shotzo cannons and spiky Gordos are waiting just outside the edge of the screen, waiting to launch themselves onto the player. And now for the perfect example: look up at that screenshot. Look at that tree. Look at that piece of shit. That is Whispy Woods. His main method is attacking is blowing gusts of air at you and making apples fall from his tree. He's defeated when you spit the apples back at him. He is the biggest wimp in all of Kirby. In Extra Mode, he is bloodthirsty. Kirby is left on his toes as wave after wave of the aforementioned Gordos drop from the leaves to puncture him. Hardly any time can be spent picking up apples. It took me over ten times to beat him when I first played this. Ten times to beat a tree. Ten times.


And that is just the first level. The rest is devilish and ruthlessly fast. The experienced gamer is suddenly thankful the game is so short. And what does one get for braving through this torture? Nothing. Oh, Sakurai.

But even then, what else? Are swimming controls all I can ding it for? Can I really not fault the game for being composed of such short length? Here's how I think of it: it's not that Dream Land's length is a flaw, it's just simply not a game applicable to today's generation. The title was developed as a response to what Sakurai perceived as an exodus from gaming due to the infamous high difficulty in games, a situation that has no bearing on the gaming world of today. Difficulty modes have become the norm, game introductions are slogged with forced tutorials, and that's not even bringing up Nintendo's "Super Guide" feature. With just about every game out there trying to ease the player into its experience, the need for a game like Kirby's Dream Land is simply irrelevant. It's not bad, there's not much to, y'know, talk about.



I like Kirby's Dream Land. Can I say I like it a lot? Maybe, if Spring Breeze suddenly ceased to exist. It's just a game I can't get excited about (despite the anomaly that is Extra Mode). And that's not a very bad thing to say at all, as I could point to numerous other games I feel the same way about. It's the perfect game to play for a half-hour break, and there's nothing wrong with that, either. It just has the unfortunate luck of being outdated, and I can't help but wonder that a game with Kirby's Copy Ability would serve as a better introduction. Luckily, I think Kirby's next title fits the bill.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Biweekly Music Wednesday NO.3 ALL MY FEELS EDITION ~Twoson (Boy Meets Girl)~ (Earthbound)






ALL MY FEEEEEEEEEEEELS

Lately, I've been noticing the blessings of being tardy. Now, it's not like I necessarily condone it, but it's led to some awesome moments that wouldn't have been possible otherwise. For example, the other day I was procrastinating like crazy on an assignment and decided to take a break via recycling all the empty bottles in my dorm room. Along the way, I came across a friend who, after informing him of my mouth ulcer, earnestly said he'd praying for me. Despite attending a Christian college, I was touched that he'd keep me in his praying thoughts over something that was, at most, a minor nuisance.

Then we have my blog. I kept (unintentionally) putting off the next few installments, particularly Biweekly Music Wednesday since I already said it'd be coming back last week. I'd already had the song for it planned out, but I forgot that was the date for my root canal appointment and I couldn't focus on it during my recovery period. In any case, I was ready to commit to it today when the most joyous of news broke this morning...


After years and years of pleading....


Wave after wave of unsuccessful petitions and vigorous outcries that fell upon deaf ears...


The assault of the cruel despair that destroyed the hearts of untold amounts of fans that legal issues would prevent any hope of re-release...


Watching helplessly as Japan is able to once again enjoy our holy grail with no red tape blocking their way to salvation...










Periods of where the bitter realization sunk in that, indeed, we'd never see our beloved friend resurrected for a modern audience....

As of today, we were wrong.




My friends, we are now ushering in a brand new era where EARTHBOUND IS BEING RE-RELEASED ONTO THE ONLINE VIRTUAL CONSOLE SERVICE AAAYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEe

For those not in the know, Earthbound is the second in a beloved trilogy of RPG (Role-playing games) known in Japan as MOTHER, a series of games featuring children in modern-era American-inspired settings embarking on soul-searching adventures to repel the advances of alien civilizations and soldiers garbed in pig-inspired outfits. The series bears an odd name, yes, but it all makes sense when you learn it's named after the John Lennon song (not really). Moving on, MOTHER 2 was released here in the Americas in the form of Earthbound back in 1995 on the beloved Super Nintendo, but a mismanaged marketing campaign rendered the game a sales dud, and was quickly swept under the rug by Nintendo's American division.


However, Earthbound was not without its cult fanbase, charmed with its quirky atmosphere and setting. The series accumulated a frenzied followed thanks to the wonderful Starmen.net website and character appearances in the Super Smash Bros. series of games. The latter was my introduction towards the series, as my seven-year old self held a strong fascination with the mysterious Ness, a young boy who stood out from the cast of familiar Nintendo mascots.

Not more than a month after Smash's Gamecube sequel arrived, I tracked down a copy of the elusive Earthbound. What I discovered that night was unlike any game experience I'd had up to that point; despite its old age, the game invited me in as if it'd known me its entire life, and I identified with its premise immediately. Resulting from this newfound piece of gaming bloomed an intense loyalty that, other than perhaps the neglected Super Smash Bros. Brawl and the Kirby series, I have yet to display for any other form of electronic entertainment. Despite my noobish demeanor, I posted on the Starmen.net forums and idolized the grown-up posters. I signed the petitions. I started countless files that were never finished. I defended the game numerous times from real-life naysayers and came across fellow fans. I participated in the PK Call'n. I've cosplayed as Ness. I fucking mourned when my cartridge fell victim to dust contamination. And yes, I threw a hissy fit when my parents wouldn't let me wear my Hatness apparel anymore (too nerdy, they say! I got it signed by freaking Tommy Tallarico!).



I shit you not, I felt tears welling up at the news. Over eleven years later, I still love Earthbound. Despite my preference for the Game Boy Advance sequel MOTHER 3, it is the game I point to as defining my video game career. Yes, Super Smash Bros. Melee may have permanently cemented my status as a Nintendo fanboy, but I can no longer summon its old magic no matter how hard I try. The Nintendo 64 may have  jumpstarted my interest in gaming, but I've found that the console doesn't resonate with me as much anymore.



And yet, I found that as I've grown older, Earthbound continues to grow with me in ways I've never envisioned. Back then, the beauty of the game's world was that anyone could identify themselves with the character of Ness, thanks to the modern-day setting and the staples of RPG mechanics (for example, being able to name your character). In my experience, it was a case of duality: Having an absurd sense of humor as a kid, all the weirdness going on in the form of battling evil hippies and aforementioned vomit (the existence of which the residents in the in-game towns seem to take for granted) was right up my alley, and the way Earthbound handed me all that like it was perfectly normal was kind of a godsend; I mean, it was basically saying "Hey, kid, it's perfectly okay to be weird. Go have a ball." And even with all that going on, the game is laced with childhood nostalgia. The presence of a secret tree fort is uncovered if one looks carefully. The thrill of a bicycle and the expanse of the big city is yours for the taking. You can head right into the fast food store and order a slice of pizza with your friends. And no matter how far you've traversed in your long journey, Mom is always waiting for you at home with your favorite snack, complete with a heavenly choir.



I've often discussed my perception of nostalgia on the blog before; in the case of Earthbound, it was always a perplexing issue. The way the folks on Starmen.net spoke of their memories with the game, whether it be shaking their heads at all the whimsical jokes or discussing the game's wonderful soundtrack left me with a spellbinding impact that I eventually applied to my experience with Earthbound. I wasn't just creating my own vision of childhood when playing the game; I was experiencing their childhood as well. I shook my head at the Beatles in-jokes even when I didn't fully understand them, and engaged in the euphoric rush of yesteryear when entering Playskool-esque households and getting to know my weird virtual neighbors.

Now that I'm older, I am that wisftul old coot. It's more than just appreciating the game's more subtle wisecracks and mature themes, it's that I'm remembering all this and enjoying it at the same time. The choirs of Ness's house still gives me chills. I can't get enough of the bicycle music. I still space out with the Coffee Break theme. I still smile through it all. To be fair, I feel the game's mostly lighthearted nature has a smoother connection with children, but that trademark musty scent of nostalgia that Earthbound so joyfully revels in is one I've always treasured, and it's why I still love the game today.



It's why that, instead of celebrating with just the game's ending themes or the famous final boss music, I'm finding myself drifting towards the Twoson town music. This is primarily what I'm talking about. As a child, I wasn't crazy about the actual theme, but I loved exploring the town's nooks and crannies. Who can forget, for example, the mysterious tiny home near the bus tunnel, or encountering an NPC who's obviously a nod to Mr.T? Today, I find myself laughing at the guy at the flea market who offers to sell me the "world's greatest ruler,"  yet the song sends me back to not just era of experiencing the 80's/90's suburban America I never experienced, but of a beloved piece of childhood entertainment I still find joy in. Seriously, I can't wait to get a car just so I can turn this on and drive away. Seems perfect for a drive.


Thank you, Nintendo of America, for no longer ignoring this classic. As not just a fan but as someone who's been through much of the fanbase's series of heartbreaks, I'll certainly be there day one to pick up the digital download.


As the whimsical camera man would always say....fuzzy pickles!!


Saturday, April 6, 2013

Apologies and Upcoming Stuff

Hey!!! Sorry for missing this week's Music Wednesday as well as the drought of posts. Long story short, a mismanagement of schoolwork/time got in the way as well as a rotten case of an inflamed nerve causing major headaches and (ouch!) toothaches over the past week. Thanks to the latter, I haven't exactly been able to enjoy my free time lately (it's still going on, actually).

...but fret not! We'll be pumping some life into Leave Luck to Heaven over the next couple weeks! We'll start with the return of Music Wednesday next week. I'd already picked out the song weeks ago, so no throwing claims of "lulz you couldn't just pick out one in time," mmkay? Also, remember some of those new articles I promised last month?We'll be finally getting into them soon, so hang tight for that!

See you next week!

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Biweekly Music Wednesday! No.2: ~Magnus's Theme~ (Kid Icarus: Uprising)

Magnus's Theme


Origin: Kid Icarus Uprising (3DS, 2012)
Composer: Yuzo Koshiro
Plays in: Chapters 2 and 18 of Kid Icarus: Uprising.
Status: Original Composition/Orchestrated

Analysis: Kid Icarus: Uprising becomes a year old this Saturday! My, how time flies. Seems just like yesterday Masahiro Sakurai was sharing info on the game through Twitter...

What's Kid Icarus: Uprising, you ask? Why, it's only the best game of 2012! Hyperbole? Perhaps, but it's not every day you encounter a game where you can gleefully pull the menu buttons with a stylus or get acquainted with a protagonist with a penchant for floor ice cream. That it's not only a revival of the 1987 NES game Kid Icarus but also helmed by Kirby/Smash Bros. Masahiro Sakurai only sweetens the deal, particularly in the case of the latter since he has the amazing tradition of cramming as much shit as possible in his works (of which occasionally includes pictures of his cat).

Ah, but if I love it so much, why was there no review? Well, there was the whole absence thing, and uh...yeah. But no time like the present! Rest assured, my love of the game knows no bounds. While unfortunately I haven't been able to invest into its absurdly deep weapon/multiplayer system as much as I'd like, lord knows how many times I've replayed the story mode chapters and still laughed at the (wonderfully absurd!) dialogue. That, or the amount of idols I've collected. Or the powers I earned. Or how many achievements I still have to crack. Or just...lord, just about everything

Especially the music.

Good god, the music.

Scream your criticisms at the game all you want, whether it be about the controls or how the dialogue wasn't your cup of tea, but the quality of the soundtrack stood far and above just about everything else released last year. While Sakurai opted out of an overly serious storyline to properly channel the original game's tongue-in-cheek tone, the score complimented the chaotic on-screen action with a sweeping epic orchestra that, like Kirby, is flexible enough to transition from Fantasy/Renaissance influences to pervasive touches of Celtic and Sci-Fi. Why, I loved it so much I even bought the official soundtrack with all it's lovely insert artwork.

So which one is my favorite of the bunch? Obviously, the one I picked! Our first character theme for the column, Magnus's Theme plays only twice in the game, first appearing when main hero/angel Pit storms Dark Lord Gaol's castle and finds that a sole human has breached through the castle's defenses: Magnus, the strongest human warrior in the world. A side character who lends an occasional helping hand to Pit, he opposes the Underworld Army as a way both to make end's meet and seek vengeance for the loss of a loved one. The theme trumpets its way back much later in the game, when Magnus reappears in a time where the balance of gods and goddesses have gone awry, and he assists a stupefied Pit in making his first steps to setting things right.

The description above makes it clear what the theme represents: A celebration of triumph and heroics, with adventure and tragedy laced throughout. Magnus is not the most elaborated character within the game, but his theme fills in the blanks. We can grasp that the character has amassed a collection of legendary achievements under his belt, forging friendships with unforgettable companions.Underneath his fame and rugged exterior, however, lies the tragic past that serves as his reason to fight.

I firmly believe that, without a doubt, some of the best examples of game music are the kind that grant you empowerment. It's not just the songs that promfoe that feeling; rather, it's their accompaniment of moments of actual triumph or when in control of an overwhelming power. It's there when you're taking down the larger-than-life colossi in Shadow of the Colossus. It's there when you don the Wing Cap in Super Mario 64. It's there throughout the entirety of Gusty Garden Galaxy in Super Mario Galaxy. It's there with Magnus's Theme as well, though it has more to do with the song's second appearance (the exact context of which I shall not spoil). It's no coincidence that times like these are synonymous with the most memorable moments in gaming, and only through the masterful combination of music and gameplay can it be executed.

And it works outside of the game, too! Try putting this song on your iPod, go for a jog in the woods when you have some alone time, and watch the magic happen. Typically, empowerment game music focuses on one subject, but Magnus's Theme is unique in that it segues through the defining characteristics of what constitutes the character it represents: Achievement, fame, companionship, tragedy, and rising up in the midst of all these factors to overcome what impedes our way.

When applied to the journeys and hardships of the listener, it provides for an inspiring parallel.

Honestly, I'm surprised I love it so much given that, unlike everyone else, I'm not that crazy about Yuzo Koshiro's compositions. While the tracks I've previewed from Actraiser and Streets of Rage (games I have, unfortunately, yet to play) sound rather lovely, I've deduced that the eardrum-raking torture that is Beyond Oasis's score is the primary reason why I refuse to go back and play it. That, and it took me quite some time to appreciate what he was trying to accomplish with the Norfair arrangement in Super Smash Bros. Brawl

All that aside, Koshiro contributed some astounding tracks for Kid Icarus: Uprising (the game's soundtrack was a collaboration of several composers, of which included the likes of Motoi Sakuraba and Yasunori Mitsuda). Putting Magnus's Theme away for the moment, the other songs he provide more depictions of Greek fantasy and Sci-Fi bombast, and it's hard to pick a second favorite. Be sure to check out the Viridi Menu, pretty much everything from the Wrath of the Reset Bomb chapter, and the themes for The Aurum and Pyhhron.



Kid Icarus: Uprising's soundtrack is an extraordinary accomplishment in orchestration and arrangement, and it's sad that the negative stigma regarding the game's controls have downplayed interest in both the game's music and Uprising itself (as is the sad case following pretty much every Sakurai game post-Smash Bros. Melee). The game isn't perfect: The story, while remaining wholly entertaining for what it is, has a habit of getting distracted in world-building instead of building up to its main directives and leaves certain factors to languish (namely regarding the actions of the game's true villain and, unfortunately, Magnus himself), and I guess there must some problems with the controls if people's hands are getting cramped. Strip away all, however, and you have a wonderful game bursting with character and a delicious soundtrack.

I mean, really. The second time Magnus's Theme appears is just about one of the best things ever.

Friday, March 15, 2013

Ten Years of Kirby ~Reverie 1~ Introduction, Dreams of a Young Child, and Honoring Memory


Once, ten years ago, maybe eleven, I was a dreamer.


I dreamed of the sunbaked Japanese countryside, unmarred by the absence of mankind. What was alien to a diminutive explorer revealed a natural beauty of wildlife and the unknown. Despite the imposing time limit placed upon me, the bliss I felt rendered it a minor triviality. Frivolous, adorable creatures of unfamiliar origin accompanied me into gorgeous forests and lakes, the dangers and horrors of survival peppered with languid pleasures (that is, drinking nectar) and the satisfaction of hard work. It was abnormality and love combined in a dreamy package.


I dreamed of the Amazon rainforest, resting majestically below the inter-dimensional battleground. I'd abandon the melee and dive into euphoria. Upon landfall, I'd sprint. Faster and faster, I'd keep going, feeling the adrenaline invading my senses and coursing through my veins. Everything I'd ever done was meant for this moment, this solitary marathon within the mysterious jungle. The faster I went, the more I witnessed and absorbed what was around me. Beautiful rivers and streams were scattered across the landscape, the twisting limbs of gigantic trees paved the roads, and there I was perched on the cliff, overlooking it all.


I dreamed of a world that wasn't quite mine, but was made just for me. I was instantly crafted into a young hero, chosen to save the world from an alien threat. I also had psychic powers. And fought evil hippies. The police force thought that kicked ass so they challenged me to a fight. Can you also believe Mr. T was in there? I also bought the world's greatest ruler. There's an evil, sentient piece of barf that grants life to zombies. That fat bully living next door suddenly became an antagonist. My traveling party consisted of my girlfriend, some nerd who used bazookas, and The Karate Kid. It was simultaneously hysterical and awesome at the same time. It was so natural to me, and that's why I was the boy in the red cap.


It was beautiful too, though. The musty scent of yesteryear fills every corner. People on online message boards chuckle and shake their heads at the numerous Beatles references and wistfully sigh about how wonderful it is to wear that red cap. You're in forth grade and everyone else your age is totally absorbed into Xbox and sports and trashy live-action TV, yet here you are engaging in something well beyond your years. You're comprehending nostalgia at such a young age. It's there when you're visiting the preschool talking to your girlfriend's mother, and the music's trumpeting as she's joyfully discussing how wonderful her daughter is. It's there when the nerd wakes up in the middle of the night as his boarding school, walking past a clique of fellow students discussing the fabled lake monster much like those guys online. It's there when you're riding the bicycle, it's there when you come across the tiny house south of the second town. It's there when you visit home and your mom feeds you cookies, the slightest of choirs playing as you scoot up to bed. I was still the boy in the red cap, but I was an observer, too.

What about you? What did you dream of? What were you doing ten years ago, maybe eleven? Were you young, or were you getting up in your years? What was happening in your life? Was life hardened by the realities of the adult world, or was it easy and carefree? Whatever the circumstances, did you dream? What did you dream of?

What was your definition of dreaming? What do you define it as now?

One can be quick to point out that such a question has absolutely nothing to do with video games, and they'd probably be right. But for me, it meant everything. Unbeknownst to everyone who knew me, I became a romantic at the age of ten. This secret had been fostered under my curious watch into something that resembled obsession, and it rapidly began to engulf my heart with a warm, intoxicating bliss.

Fun is something that you experience, something that pervades your brain with giddiness and swells up in your cheekbones. You're screaming and you're laughing, having a wild time. This feeling was different.  I still remember the way it feels. You're quiet and composed, absorbing the impossible transpiring in front of you. Your eyes glaze over as the feeling courses through your veins, relaxing your muscles. Your grip on the controller fades away as you're spirited away into your new favorite playground. It is always warm, yet always awes through the repeated surges of rapture assaulting your heart. It can take seconds. It can take minutes. It's never too long. Then you're there. The release of a blissful sigh signals your arrival. Where you end up, be it a lovely forest or endless oceans or the bluest of skies, doesn't matter. You're at paradise. Suddenly, gaming was tangible.

Maybe it didn't seem that way to those who watched me play games. It probably didn't. Maybe those who know me don't believe me. They're probably shouting at their monitors, "Anthony, what the hell? You're spouting bullshit and you know it! I remember you being a hyper, crazy-ass kid who raved about zombie men and there's no way this mystical mumbo jumbo happened to you" They're half-right; I was that kid too, after all. Maybe they didn't look close enough. They'd would've needed to look at my eyes. Half-lidded, cavernous in depth. Filled with adoration, induced into a hypnosis only applicable to small children.

Funny I mention "small children", since these reveries kept me captive. When you mature, things change. The reveries grow more rusty, refuse to be conjured up as easily. You feel something slipping, sense something's crumbling around you, but you can't grasp it. Then you slip.You're suddenly thrusted from an idyllic world into one where all the world's horrors make themselves known to you, having been previously been masked by the joys of childhood. As these repeatedly batter your heart, you're gradually hardened into the mold of an adult, the core essence of childhood pleasures gone forever as you're expected to conform to the never-ending work chain of the adult world.

Maybe this didn't happen to you. Some people don't go through this process at all,  transitioning into their teenage years as they shrug off their past self without a hitch. Not me. I perceived nearly every form of "joining the crowd", so to speak, as a violation of what I had once held sacred. I didn't want to grow up and conform; I wanted to be me. I wanted to satisfy my own goals, what actually interested me. I saw no point in chasing after girls who babbled on endlessly in the hallways, and I did not see the appeal of abusing substances that the D.A.R.E officers warned me a hundred times over not to use. I did not want to be the thick-headed jock, not concerned with his grades and only focused on what I perceived to be a mindless sport. I did not want to be the tattooed bearded chain-smoker out with his girlfriend, parked god knows where in his trashy car while whispering cheap sweet nothings into her ear.

Maybe I'm just stereotyping. Yet whenever I attempted to mingle, my ten-year old consciousness would  yank me back, saying "This isn't your place." Maybe he was right. By the time high school rolled around, I'd completely lost any sense of proper social interaction and pretty much did/said whatever I wanted. Acting upon my insecurities, I took the only fraction of my personality accepted by my peers--that is, my buffoonish sense of humor--and watched as it bled into my psyche. With my reputation ruined by everyone dismissing me as an autistic goofball, I slinked back in my bubble and tried, in vain, to put the pieces back together.

Being a teenager was hell, but I'm not completely fucking stupid anymore and I'm no longer under the impression that I'm some hotshot who's too good for anyone either. If anything, I'm still that little kid. I'm twenty-one years old now, and I'm still that same person. I'm an incredibly picky eater. I'm not interested in politics. Religion is hard for me to grasp. Dating both confuses and scares me. Talking to people is difficult. I value being alone. I'm as far removed from reality as you can get. Well, maybe not, but by social standards, I'm kinda a failure. And yet here's the kicker: despite all that, people still love me. People think I'm funny, that I'm a terrific writer and I possess insight well beyond my years. People like me.

Does that mean it's okay to be like this? I dunno, clearly there's more important things for a young adult to do then play Nintendo and read Japanese comic books, but what can I do? I'm solitary, but I'm still bubbly and full of life. I don't have too many friends, but they're all people I trust and people who respect me. I can't achieve the full level of reverie as I did when I was a boy, but I can still grasp some of it. And for a world-weary college student who feels like he's lived forever, I'm okay with that.

I was taught by a jubilant, slightly overweight plumber to endure the hardships of life with laughter and joy in every step. I followed the example of pre-teen boys setting out on adventures to collect monsters to cherish what I have around me. I learned from young boys and men garbed in green to face my fears. And I was reminded from children wielding psychic powers that it's okay to be different. Maybe in the grand scheme of things video games don't accomplish anything, but they've taught me how to live. A slightly warped sense of living, mind you, but one where I can properly distinguish from good and bad, make responsible choices on my own, and how to properly appreciate life.



It should be no surprise, then, that a pink puffball with a hungry appetite taught me how to dream.

-----


In the snowy euphoria of December 2001, I came across Kirby's Adventure during an age of Nickelodeon, Super Smash Bros. Melee and online sprite comics. It was love at first sight. The NES title crafted a perfect balance for young children; levels were quick and breezy, but imposing bosses stood in the way with erratic attack patterns. The presence of Kirby's Copy Ability, in which he swallows enemies whole and steals their powers, introduced a huge variety of abilities to fool around with and were immensely fun to pull off. Whole levels were constructed entirely around his arsenal of powers. The flexible soundtrack was often presented in that jolly, bouncy tone Kirby would never be caught dead without, yet occasionally dipped into the dreamy hypnosis I had grown to adore.


What was truly amazing about my then-newfound love for the series was that I never once struggled with the possibility that maybe I was too old for it. The Gamecube launch was where the condescending "Nintendo is kiddie" label was at its most venomous, and it was a concept I struggled comprehending as I scanned various online message boards. Upon retrospect, I never saw Kirby cited as a reason for Nintendo's downfall into the preschool crowd, which is amazing considering that the series' cast, which includes gumballs and hamsters and penguins, spend their time prancing around in what's essentially the video game version of the Candy Land board game.

Some feel Kirby games are too shallow, too skewed towards the younger audience. There's no heart-stopping precision of jumps as found in Mario, or the gradual absorption of the fictional world that snares Zelda fans. The games are not about you becoming a badass, as is the objective in Metroid. No meticulous raising of monsters or troops like Pokemon or Fire Emblem.

What is the appeal, then? It can all be answered with a simple question: Do you like sweets?


Of course you do, don't try to hide it. The greatest strength of Kirby lies in its unabashed identity as a full-blown sugar rush. Upon being assaulted with rainbows of colors and cheery music, the player is immediately forced, often with the barest of introductions, into bare-bone levels with one sole objective: To eat everything in sight. You see, Kirby doles out his method of justice through his voracious appetite, and all agents of evil must be swallowed to quell his hunger. The first game, Kirby's Dream Land for the Game Boy, presents this odd mechanic in its most basic form. The majority of the game is spent simply swallowing bad guys and spitting projectiles, occasionally with random helpings of superspicy curry and ear-splitting microphones.


 It wasn't until Kirby's Adventure's release a year later on the NES where the series discovered its staple formula: Instead of simply devouring his foes, Kirby "copies" their powers and can wreak havoc with them at will. He can blow fire, wield a sword, conjure up beams and lasers, protrude spikes, and even turn into a UFO. This unique ability gradually evolves throughout the series' progress, ranging from the producers simply producing new powers (German Suplexes) to the puffball wearing appropriate 'costumes" for each ability (An Indiana Jones styled hat for the Whip) to even combining powers (Kirby 64's idea for Spark and Ice? Turn into a fridge).


It goes without saying the games know how addictive this is, and rightfully structure their levels as to appeal to his hunger, serving as testing grounds for his new toys. It's a far cry from the fast-paced adventures of Super Mario and Donkey Kong Country, which both forcefully grab the player's full attention through well-timed jumps, time limits, and devious enemy placements. Kirby wants to get to know the player. He wants to introduce himself to the young child who's never once picked up the controller, the hardened teenage gaming veteran who desires a challenge, and the father who's willing to humor his son by playing his silly video games. He wants you to take your time. Or maybe, I dunno, blaze through the whole thing. Whatever's good for you is good enough for him.

 Creator Masahiro Sakurai's decision to implement Kirby's transformation ability into Kirby's Adventure granted the series an identity, what with the character's round shape and transformative prowess rendering him instantly malleable; this way, he's able to fit into practically any genre of gaming without trouble. However, what ultimately saved the series is the way it appeals to everyone. Super Mario and Donkey Kong can't afford much room for such a design outside of a cheat button, yet Kirby is different. The games are deceptively simple, with the main campaigns offering little resistance thanks to a collection of abusable superpowers. Strip away Kirby's candy coating, though, and there's a host of challenges to be found. Hidden switches and rewards tucked away in hidden corners, rage-inducing extra challenges and time trials not meant for the weak of heart, and a more difficult version of the main adventure. With the addictive nature of his transformations in tow, Kirby games naturally pave the way for replayability. Critics appreciate the wealth of content and innovation, long-time fans get their annual sugar rush, and kids eat it all up.


Kirby games are fun to play. This much is obvious, but what's wonderful about the games is that they recall us to a much simpler time. In an industry full of ambitious graphical engines, fabricated worlds of sprawling size, and interactive motion control, we still have room for something that just wants to be our friend. I'll never forget that moment when I was playing through 2011's Return to Dream Land and realized that, holy shit, I'm essentially playing a game made in 1996. And it still kicks ass! I'm a grown man about to reach his 20s and I'm still being charmed by an adorable pink puff and some fat penguin and a stubby masked guy who is a badass despite being nearly all head. To me, a Kirby game is that one time of the year where I can just kick any responsibilities to the curb and just be a kid again.

Then there was the euphoria.



I still remember. 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. I remember watching the credits from Kirby Super Star, envisioning myself as a young boy who completed the game upon it's release back in 1996. The powerful music was embracing him in a dreamy reverie as he observed the blue sky outside his window, becoming lost in those roaming clouds. I remember the soundtrack to Kirby: Nightmare in Dream Land, sighing in bliss as I drowned out the outside world and stepped into the dream world made just for me. I remember being in amazement at the crayon-drawn realm of Kirby's Dream Land 3. The Tolkein-inspired fantasies of Kirby Air Ride. The rainbow constellations in the night skies of Kirby Super Star. All of it made me sigh.


I remember.

Kirby was something special for me as a child. I always point to Smash Bros. Melee and Earthbound as being the ultimate gaming cornerstones of my youth, but this was different. I wasn't playing Kirby games just have to have fun with them: I was playing them to feel. Actually, on second thought, Earthbound was kinda the same thing, but Kirby represented the heart of my newfound reveries. What exactly was it, though? I could point to many ideas such as a premature awakening, but I don't want to come off as pretentious; in fact, it was constructed of a rather innocent fabric. Often I imagined adventures within the reveries that featured the source's characters, of whom typically spent their time engaging in Spongebob/Dragon Ball-esque antics. Nonetheless, they were rendered beautiful by that tinge of wistful airiness that I had dubbed "nostalgia."


This nostalgia took on many forms, but always remain centered on that feeling. Yet how does a child induce it? Play a video game that focuses on the fantastic, the impossible. It doesn't matter whether the landscape is presented with 8-bit graphics or 3D technology; as long as it produces a dreamy, abstract sense of place, or illustrates a silent, isolated quality, and even if it produces the slightest scent of yesteryear, you're there.I f the music is of an orchestral celebration or a reflective lullaby, you'll have icing on the cake. It can be maintained for as long as you want, though it's incredibly easy to be absorbed for hours. And depending on how far you're willing to take your imagination, those are all only the tip of the iceberg.

Kirby had this in spades. Whether it was Dream Land 3's mysterious island home in Ripple Fields, the trumpeting of the Fountain of Dreams theme, or the soothing save huts in Kirby Super Star surrounded by field of sparkling crystals, I was there. I treasured all of it more than the rain forest, the Japanese countryside, and the cozy American towns I may have once traversed. Kirby games have the advantage of immediately grabbing the player in a sugar-happy state of mind, and I was always instantly transported into their embrace. I was always in awe, always doozy, always enraptured. For a fictional world by the name of Dream Land, it was aptly suitable. You can be there. Kirby can be there. His friends will be there. And he will always smile.


Within a month after discovering his NES title, I was his biggest fan. Right then, all the pieces fell into place. An upcoming Kirby for the Game Boy Advance title slated for release that year ended up being a remake of Kirby's Adventure, an unannounced factor that I caught on to before most. The anime cartoon that had begun airing the year before was making its way to American shores, which was to be accompanied by an intense marketing blitz for the character that never came to fruition. Melee's representation of the franchise continued to serve as dream-come-true outlet thanks to its status as a Nintendo all-star crossover (AND DAT MUSIC). It was an age of Gamecube and Super Fudge and webcomics and games in the basement and everything else I took for granted. It was an age where even if I felt oppressed I could always count on the smile of a pink puffball to take me anywhere.


More than ten years after all that, he's still smiling for me. Last fall came with the arrival of Kirby's Dream Collection, a special Wii package meant to celebrate twenty years of Kirby. Six beloved classic Kirby games are included. A dreamy arrangement of the Bubbly Clouds stage theme plays in the main menu. There is an in-game timeline of his history. Challenge stages based on the ones in Return to Dream Land. A booklet full of development sketches and information for every Kirby game released.

Ten years later. It's too much of a coincidence to be true.


I don't really sigh so much anymore. As I grew older, it's faded with the loss of childhood. But I can still feel the nostalgia trumpeting ever so slightly within. Sometimes it's strong, other times it's weak. It never quite reaches the level it did back then, what with the loss of innocence and all. But I still enjoy things, and I can still laugh, and I appreciate what I have around me. So long as I have all that, I'm okay.

I still play Kirby games. No matter how much the meaning of his smile changes with time, I never feel too old. Throughout the fall and well into winter, I played through just about every main Kirby game. The reveries came and went, literal ghosts of their former selves that stopped by and said hi. They never stayed for too long, but that was alright, too. The fact that they came is proof enough for me that I went through wasn't a dream. It really happened.

I'd like to do something to commemorate all that.


Beginning this month, I'll be kicking off the Ten Years of Kirby column, where I will be discussing every mainline Kirby game at length, as well as the Kirby Air Ride racing Gamecube title and the Kirby of the Stars/Right Back at Ya! cartoon. Whether it be the enticing reveries now long gone, nostalgic qualities that still resonate, or how the games still hold up in sheer fun, it will all boil down to a comprehensive collection that will include the following:

-Youtube videos featuring the series' best music abound!
-A healthy mixture of embarrassing and touching memories abound.
-A 50/50 perspective on both the Japanese/American versions of the cartoon show.
-How much I fucking love that Nightmare in Dream Land commercial. 
-How Kirby Air Ride, despite it's low marks by critics, is actually pretty much the greatest thing ever.
-Actually, on second thought, maybe Kirby Super Star is a little better. NEVER TO BE TOPPED.
-The one Kirby game that, until recently, I never actually liked much.
-...and the one that, upon replaying recently, was sorta a failure.
-And, of course, Angry Kirby.

For reference, this entirety of the column will include:

Kirby's Dream Land (Game Boy, 1992)
Kirby's Adventure (NES, 1993)
Kirby's Dream Land 2 (Game Boy, 1995)
Kirby Super Star (Super Nintendo, 1996. May or may not be delayed for dramatic effect)
Kirby's Dream Land 3 (Super Nintendo, 1997)
Kirby 64: The Crystal Shards (Nintendo 64, 2000)
Kirby: Nightmare in Dream Land (Game Boy Advance, 2002)
Kirby of the Stars/Right Back at Ya! (TV, 2001/2002)
Kirby Air Ride (Gamecube, 2003)
Kirby and the Amazing Mirror (Game Boy Advance, 2004)
Kirby: Canvas Curse (DS, 2005)
Kirby: Squeak Squad (DS, 2006)
Kirby Super Star Ultra (DS, 2008. May or may not also be delayed for dramatic effect)
Kirby's Epic Yarn (Wii, 2011)
Kirby Mass Attack (DS, 2011)
Kirby's Return to Dream Land (Wii, 2011)


My goodness, I'll be quite busy this year.

In any case: to any ten year olds out there that happen to be reading this: If I anything I said in this post identified with you, this whole thing dedicated to you. Yeah, you. I know who you are. Don't worry, you're not alone.
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Yikes! Late again. Well, hey, five days is better than seven. I'm slowly getting there. Remember: baby steps.

See you soon!