A Rant Concerning the Horrifying Implications of the Mario Party Series

I am certainly not a stranger to being the odd-one-out in a debate. Though not by choice, I often end up as the black sheep when discussing the many facets of popular culture. In a conversation with me, exclamations of, “How can you not like X?” or “What’s wrong with Y?” are fairly commonplace. By no means is this intentional, but I’ll defend my opinions to the death anyway, with a fervor that one might not expect from such conceptually unimportant topics.

And never was this more apparent than when I declared my hatred of Mario Party.


A thousand curses upon thee, foul box art!

Upon the release of this crucial information, a feverish frenzy of words soon followed. And since I always explain myself much better in written form than in the hot seat of such an active conversation, I figured I’d take the time to fully exposit what Mario Party, and Nintendo as a whole, has come to represent.

Now, unless you were born at any time before the collapse of the Soviet Union, you know these games well. A string of eight titles (currently, and not including handheld titles) ranging all the way back to the humble Nintendo 64, Mario Party was just one of many new spinoff genres through which Mario could snake out of actually being in a platformer again. At heart, it was an electronic manifestation of the classic Milton-Bradley board game setup; players rolled the die, moved their bulbous-headed, big-eyed mascot of choice an according number of spaces, and watched the consequences play out. At the end of each round, a minigame would occur that players could win for an added bonus. The goal was to gather as many stars as possible (because, as an influential critical hero of mine has stated, it is always stars); whoever has the most when the last round has finished wins. This simple concept has remained popular and lucrative to this very day.

But let not the simplicity of the concept nor the colorful cuteness of the graphics blind you from the fact that, at heart, the Mario Party franchise is a dark, unfeeling entity. After all, there’s much to be said about such a basic idea having spawned seven rather unnecessary sequels over the course of three console generations, serving little more purpose than to add minor revisions to the already well-rounded formula at the expense of a $50-$60 tax per victim to throw onto the Official Nintendo Money Pile™. But that’s not even the true source of my distaste. No, the Mario Party games, in my mind, represent something far grander and more sinister than that.


Although I'd also like to point out that these games are also partially responsible for creating this abomination.

To understand why, you have to mentally wind the dial of time back into the late 80s and early 90s. Nintendo was a very different entity back then, as was the home console market. The former, having finally secured a safe future for the latter with the good ol’ NES, was thriving profitably in the limelight. Of course, the market was also young, and it largely maintained the sensibilities of its arcade predecessor, i.e. the desire to siphon every quarter from every pocket of every dumbstruck grade school reject. And of course, the best way to ensure that kids would keep on pouring coins into the slots of arcade machines worldwide was to make the games damn near impossible to beat in one try. Unfortunately, even with the dawn of gaming machines that had no need for such a thing, this tradition lived on. These days, my friends, were the days of “Nintendo Hard”.


Also known as the "Ninja Gaiden Effect".

One-hit deaths. Limited respawns. Bosses that took up half the screen and had a health bar eight times the size of yours. Such were the hidden trademarks of this time in history, casually hidden behind the inviting 8-bit graphics and memorable MIDI sound effects. But while these types of games could be frustrating, they were, paradoxically, entertaining at the same time. Every time you heard that ominous “game over” tune in Super Mario Bros., you weren’t sad that you died; you were excited to see how much further you could get next time. It was all about mastery through repetition, gradually taking hold of the game’s inner mechanics and bending them to your whim, just so you could have the satisfying reward of eventually overcoming the challenge, or at least finding out if the princess really was another castle. “Nintendo Hard”, in many ways, was a blessing for the culture and art of video games as much as it was a curse for the average, weak-thumbed consumer.

And nothing is a further testament to the long, strange history of Nintendo than just how ironic this phrase has become. Because while the age of “Nintendo Hard” has long since passed, the demand for the gradually mastery of games lives on in many (if far-less unfairly difficult) modern titles…except most Nintendo games. And while this current situation has had a number of factors behind it, if there’s any one scapegoat I can blame for this transition, it would be Mario Party.

In essence, Mario Party is the exact opposite of “Nintendo Hard”. There is little to no room for improvement; ultimately, your fate is controlled not by you, but by the almighty die. In general, the minigames are the one area of game in which actual skill comes into play, and surely enough there is a fairly noticeable advantage to anyone who can actually play these games the best (however simple-minded they may usually be). But in the end, all of your well-earned coins and stars (the currency by which you are intended to win the game) can be stripped away from you in an instant, most times not by a mistake on your own part but by a simple twist of fate.

Worse yet, the game delivers rewards to those who don’t deserve them. Simply landing on the most of certain colored spaces – a factor, once again, controlled by that big ol’ die in the sky – can earn you a precious star in the end, which in itself may be enough to secure victory. You can even win a star for having the most coins at the end of the game…when you stole almost all of them in the last round by playing a battle game and winning by sure luck. What are you trying to say Nintendo? Are we rewarding last-second burglary now? And let’s not forget the infamous Fortune Spaces, which randomly (I can’t help but use this word as much as possible for emphasis) assigns one player to cough up their goods to another. It may just be a game, but when I see all of my hard-earned stars handed over to some schmuck who couldn’t even figure out how to make a single combo in the Mario’s Puzzle Party minigame, well…


Yeah, pretty much this.

All of this, in my mind, vehemently assaults a key tenet of good gaming: when you fail, you should feel like it is your own fault. Random factors come into play in almost every game, that much is certain; however, a well-designed game will not make you feel as though you were doomed to your ultimate end for any other reason other than your own ineptitude. This is the very same drive that invites players to try again with a new approach, actually improve their capabilities and, when done properly, render random chance a non-factor. Mario Party, on the other hand, revels in its chaos. It considers the arbitrary nature of the game as a vital element of its fun. Ultimately though, part of the fun in competitive games is a sense of order and understanding of the rules, and to be a given a chance to utilize whatever skills they may have that pertain to the game. In so many different ways, Mario Party desecrates this ideal.

You may claim that game remains fun regardless of its chaos, but just think about the philosophy in-and-of-itself. Who would play football if the success of every play rested on a dice roll? Or if the pins of bowling randomly re-aligned themselves before every round? Or if in baseball, occasionally, just occasionally, a bomb would fall on first base and kill the runner if he happened to be there? Do these games remain fun? Or does the soul-siphoning realization that every action can be thwarted by dumb luck drain every bit of dignity from them?

And it’s not just Mario Party, not by a long shot. As a whole, Nintendo has chosen to move all of gaming in this direction in order to appeal to the “casual gaming” crowd. Super Smash Bros. Brawl and Mario Kart Wii have both received lukewarm or even downright hostile reactions from many fans of the original games, and from my experience this rests solely on the house that Mario Party built. Hell, the Wii itself thrives on the concept of accessibility over depth and mastery. I can’t help but emphasis once more the irony of the whole situation.

They have certainly proved, of course, that this is a lucrative path. And, hey, despite my twisted ramblings, most people will still claim that they love these games. And power to them! I can understand why; the emphasis on multiplayer shenanigans and sheer wackiness of it all makes a direct callback to that aforementioned era of board game dominance, just without all the choking hazards. But at the same time I can’t help but feel like they serve as a detrimental antithesis to many of the aspects that make video games interesting and more evolved than their tabletop cousins: constant discovery, evolving gameplay, and the satisfaction of overcoming obstacles. These are elements that connect the art of gaming to that of the film medium, allowing us to personally reach highs and lows in the same way a character might in a movie.

I guess if Mario Party were a film, it would be kinda like Meet the Spartans.

EDIT: It just occurred that this comic strip essentially sums up everything I just wrote in about three panels.

2nd Annual Stavers Awards Presents: Best of Everything 2009

Stating the obvious here, I should note that I'm sometimes a little resentful of the reputation I've earned amongst acquaintances as being "that guy who hates everything". My rejection of many pop-culture facets has absolutely nothing to do with some kind of internalized drive to spew bile over all that I see. In fact, I'd go so far as to blame the high bar I've set for culture as being due to loving too much. Certainly, nothing would improve without some disgruntled voice in the background pointing out the flaws in any human development. That's what critics are here for: to promote that which drives us forward, and by virtue cast out that which drags us down. Without attempting to sound too self-centered, we're doing you guys a favor in some ways. You wouldn't want to see every film be as bad as Battlefield Earth, right?

That's why I've decided to do things a little differently with this round-up of last year's greats. Consider this as the indication that I do, in fact, enjoy art a great deal, and that these are some examples of what exemplify that love. And in addition to music, I've decided to throw in movies and video games as well, which I'm planning to expand on in the blog's future. I know some people seem to like my album reviews specifically for some odd reason, as if I'm not qualified to dig into other media...but hey, if that's the case, just read the music stuff while I pave the way for my own personal self-indulgence. Err, I mean...the future.

Each category is ordered alphabetically; ever since the regrets circling my last awards session, I've inhibited the listing system altogether. Note that I may edit this list later should I encounter something from 2009 that I missed earlier that I feel deserves a mention.

Music

Behemoth – Evangelion
You can always count on Behemoth to unload some refined, passionate blackened death metal to the public, and so it is once more with Evangelion. Though their sound hasn’t changed very dramatically since at least three albums ago, you’ll be too busy trying – and failing – to keep up with their punishing riffs to notice. Though constant thrashing can occasionally get tedious, Behemoth is a little better at keeping things interesting on this album; not to mention, it always helps when your drummer is one of the best drummers in metal today. If you’ve enjoyed Behemoth before, or simply want a reprieve from all of the sloppy Suffocation clones out there, this one’s a keeper.

Between the Buried and Me – The Great Misdirect
2007’s Colors was a critically acclaimed tour de force that shattered expectations and secured a place for BtBaM as one of the forerunners of experimentation in metal. In fact, it was predicted that whatever followed Colors would be lost inside the shadow of its predecessor and be seen as nothing but a disappointment; unfortunately, a lot of critics have labeled The Great Misdirect as such. Personally, though, even if it’s not a career best, The Great Misdirect is an epic, dynamic, and impressive release that expands upon BtBaM’s more esoteric influences. The metalcore and prog-rock foundation that sustains the album is intermixed with musical styles from all over the spectrum, including jazz, classical, death metal, folk, and even Western (trust me, you’ll know when that moment pops up). Great lyrics, immensely talented and technical musicians, some truly touching moments…what more do you need? Forgo the haters and pick up this excellent, excellent album.

Devin Townsend Project – Ki and Addicted
The Canadian wonder has been pulling all the stops as of late; between an upcoming sequel to Ziltoid the Omniscient as well as two more releases from the Project in 2010, he’ll have created five albums over the course of two years. Fortunately, if you aren’t already aware of this master musician’s works of wonder, there are no better two works to start with than these. Ki is an intentionally hushed and restrained work than doesn’t burst with the intense energy Townsend is known for, instead working with careful subtlety and pulling back whenever it’s about to explode. Addicted, by contrast, is a (gasp) outright poppy album with crunchy guitar, extravagant keyboards, and the beautiful guest vocals of Anneke van Giersbergen. Both are welcoming without sacrificing the zaniness and experimental feel that Devin Townsend strives for, and are excellent additions to his already enviable release library.

Giant Squid – The Ichthyologist
The Ichthyologist was originally self-released by the band and limited to a mere 1,000 printed copies, making the actual disc a rare find. Now that it’s been re-released on a record label, I implore you to listen to it in any way you can. This conceptual masterpiece, following the story of a man who deprives himself of his humanity as he travels out onto the far reaches of the ocean, is incredibly original, startlingly coherent, and a massive leap forward from Giant Squid’s preceding debut. Though featuring chilling cello shrills; grungy guitar riffs; folky, banjo-ridden interludes; and a wide array of bizarre vocals (both of the male and female variety), the many clever tricks pulled by the band in no way inhibit its mighty storytelling abilities, making the music entertaining, new, and emotional simultaneously. If you missed this one the first time around (and you probably did, statistically speaking), do not miss it again!

Gorod – Process of a New Decline
You may have gathered that I am a huge fan of technical death metal, enjoying the excellent combo of metal’s glamour and power with jazz’s precision and technicality. So understandably, it takes a lot to impress a guy whose favorite genre exhibits daily miracles of virtuoso playing. Well, Gorod has done it. Their flawless playing is enough to make my jaw drop…and this is coming from a guy who listens to Necrophagist. That being said, Gorod’s true claim-to-fame, with this album in particular, is their ability to add a heaping dose of melody and pseudo-philosophical musings to these proceedings, making the album as catchy and engaging as it is ridiculously over-the-top. Watershed, in particular, was one of my favorite songs this year.

Karl Sanders – Saurian Exorcisms
From the same genius who brought us the songwriting and guitar mastery from the band Nile (see below) comes an excellent solo project that takes us around the ancient world through song. Drawing influence from the music of ancient Egyptian, Tibetan, and Indian cultures, and featuring an arsenal of instruments originating from those times and places, Saurian Exorcisms is an ambient, instrumental window into history. Everything apart from the clean and polished production job is intended to make you feel as though you are living in the past, and the fact that it succeeds so readily in this modern age is truly a success to be applauded. This was probably soundly rejected by a fair chunk of the fevered metal maniacs that form a part of Nile’s interests, but if your own interest in world music glows strong, then this album is an essential.

Nile – Those Whom the Gods Detest
I’ve already detailed the majority of my love for Nile in last year’s review, but it’s worth remembering the sheer mindbreaking awesomeness that they deliver with their latest opus. As always, combining brutal death metal madness at break-neck speed with worldly Middle Eastern influences has resulted in another powerful, addictive masterpiece. Again, it doesn’t divert from the Nile formula too much (aside from finally delivering an exceptional sound production), but all you really need to know is this: if any self-proclaimed “metalhead” isn’t headbanging within seconds of the first riff on Kafir!, then they may have to reconsider their goal in life.

Oranssi Pazuzu – Muukalainen Puhuu
For an album whose name is such a mouthful, its goal is fairly simple and straightforward: launch black metal into space. The result is a dark odyssey into the spacey realm of Oranssi Pazuzu. However, though a good percentage of the album is devoted to tremolo picking and sharp screeches reminiscent of traditional black metal, this is still a fairly accessible album in comparison to, say, Wolves in the Throne Room. Largely keyboard-driven, the album often zones out into open emptiness that very much reminds the listener of deep space. It’s strange and often incomprehensible to be sure…much like the universe itself.

Propagandhi – Supporting Caste
Proving that punk rock need not always dwell in the same swamp of irrelevance wherein Green Day and Rise Against seem intent on camping in, Propagandhi demonstrates that the true spirit of punk is miraculously still alive, and even evolving. Intense, energetic, and surprisingly technical, Supporting Caste makes a series of grand social statements without sacrificing catchiness and head-crushing machismo. Though clearly drawing from hardcore influences that exist far beyond the realm of the initial punk movement, Propagandhi is perhaps the best living “echo” of this age, and deserves a great deal more respect, in both musicianship and penmanship, than its more famous contemporaries.

Sunn O))) – Monoliths & Dimensions
The album art of Monoliths & Dimensions features an enormous, gaping black hole; truly, few things are more reminiscent of the sound Sunn O))) creates. This is not the kind of music you dig into with active intent; listen to it in the wrong environment, and all is lost, reducing the music to seeming like little more than noise. But it you set aside the proper time and place to really sink your teeth into the album, the grand majesty and impeccable atmosphere of M&D begins to unfold and devour you. The humming bass and droning sounds that make up the bulk of the experience, usually without any percussion backing them, create a massive wall of sound that is both calming and disturbing at the same time. Frankly, describing the encounter any more than that is nearly impossible, so I suggest you, yourself, attempt the bold experiment that Sunn O))) has produced for us to tinker with in our own special way.

Movies

Avatar
Just kidding! OK, I haven't even seen Avatar, so it's not like I can complain about it either...but for a movie that's on track to be the highest grossing of all time, my interest is exceptionally low for a movie that looks to me to be "Ferngully in Space: Revenge of the Elven Colonialist Smurfs"

District 9
Let me get this out of the way: in no way did I think that District 9 was nearly as inventive or flawless as many other critics across the world did. It’s a little ham-handed in its anti-discrimination theme, it juggles the documentary-style bits with the character-driven action somewhat awkwardly, there are some massive plot holes scattered across the story, the “villains” are fairly stock, and most of the third act revolves around mindless violence and some pretty illogical character motivations. So, why do I even like it all? Because you have no idea how refreshing it is to see a sci-fi action film with a brain in its head. For all its faults, District 9 is packed with enough wall-to-wall, nail-biting action to match all of its summer competitors rolled into one, not to mention that it’s absolutely relentless with its gore (you don’t grab a profitable PG-13 rating with guns that liquefy the human torso with lightning); at the same time, it has a heart, a message with good intent, and – most shocking of all – sympathetic characters. In comparison to the glut of lobotomized, pointless dull-fests that infected the cinema in 2009 (X-Men Origins: Wolverine, Terminator Salvation, that godforsaken Transformers sequel, etc.), District 9 is a shining beacon, and as a debut for newcomer director Neill Blomkamp, it’s pretty impressive.

The Fantastic Mr. Fox
In a world where CGI can conjure up any perfectly crafted image the heart desires with a few simple mouse clicks – and one in which the species that has mastered this technology uses it most prominently to tell dumb stories about talking penguins – it’s nice to see a film that dares to be ugly…and, by virtue, beautiful in a different sense. The stop-motion visuals of The Fantastic Mr. Fox seem so delightfully homemade that the film has you hooked aesthetically from the outset, meshing greatly with the fairly retro musical presentation. Surprisingly, it also makes for an excellent story, morphing the fairly brief Roald Dahl story into a feature-length crime-drama presentation that’s equal parts Ocean’s 11 and Chicken Run. Though the tale is simple enough for children to follow, I’m willing to bet that the film is even more enjoyable for adults, thanks in part to the interesting characters but mostly thanks to a very surreal and mature sense of humor. This one may have been very easy to overlook before, (fearing the butchering of another Dahl classic, I had to be dragged into this one, myself) but don’t let it slip you by forever.

Inglorious Basterds
Taratino likes to make things difficult for his critics, doesn’t he? I spent a few hours after my first screening of this film debating with myself constantly over whether or not I even enjoyed the damn thing. And while there’s a lot of it I detest, the details of which I will spare you for the sake of brevity – some new, others inherent to Tarantino’s directorial style – there’s no denying in the end that it’s a finely crafted movie. My main problems arose from reviewing the overarching story as a whole, where I feel some issues are present in the ending and the character development, but in retrospect Inglorious Basterds is really about “moments”. Like any respectable Tarantino flick, it features some incredibly sharp dialogue, which is really what makes the movie; in some scenes there’s so much tension built up in a room by the characters’ expressions and words that you could practically cut through it with a knife. It’s also an aesthetically appealing film that recreates a specific time in history while simultaneously rewriting the timeline itself. I suppose that the overall statement that the movie is trying to make is fairly empty to me, or even non-existent entirely, but the dialogue alone is worth the price of admission.

Up
You may have noticed my attempts to distance myself from a ranking system in both my traditional reviews and these itemized lists. I do this primarily to avoid controversy and to adjust for potential changes of personal opinion after the fact. That being said, Up is probably the only kind of film that could make me declare it, without hesitation, “Movie of the Year”. It’s just phenomenal; between this and WALL-E, I’m fairly certain there’s no better and more passionate group of filmmakers out there today than Pixar. I mean, this is a movie about a crotchety old man (whose initial cynicism reminds me a great deal of myself, mind you) and an annoying tag-along youngster…and it’s far wittier, more action-packed, and more emotionally powerful than anything else released in years. It’s also one of Pixar’s riskiest moves, juggling fast-paced action and pop culture references with some pretty deep themes and feelings lying underneath…but it pays off, big time. There’s really nothing I can say to deride this film; it’s funny, engaging, and, most significantly, even sad. I have absolutely no shame in telling you all that I spent the first ten minutes of this movie bawling like an infant (for reasons I wish to keep secret from anyone who hasn’t seen the movie yet), and if you don’t as well, I think something may be seriously be wrong with you. I simply cannot understate the greatness of Up. Watch it. NOW.

A Bunch of Things That Probably Would’ve Been Good If I Ever Did See Them, But Never Actually Did
Man, I need to get to the theater more often.

Games

Assassin’s Creed II
The first Assassin’s Creed had one of the most mixed and varied reactions I had ever seen from a game; with unique gameplay and presentation buried under an abnormally repetitive story campaign, it was a game you either loved or hated. But assuming you enjoyed the first game’s few moments of clarity, it’s nearly impossible not to walk away impressed by Assassin’s Creed II. This is the perfect textbook example of a good sequel: it fixes nearly all of the original’s major flaws and adds a massive amount of new features to boot. The result is an enormous sandbox game with nearly endless things to do and, more importantly, a game that really puts you in the shoes of a badass master assassin. Yeah, the combat is still pretty mundane, usually alternating between hammering on the attack button or waiting to counter your enemies, but the game is usually very good at letting you choose your own approach to a mission, and a wide array of new tools and moves at your disposal will make either careful stealth or bull-headed aggression a viable option. The game lets you put these skills to the test in a long, winding campaign with a huge variety of different scenarios – solving the biggest problem about the first Creed – while keeping the tight controls and excellent storytelling that’s equal parts Italian Renaissance simulation and sci-fi-flavored conspiracy-theorist’s dream. I could go on about the awesome moments this game let me par-take in – like when I kicked a guard off the rooftops whilst soaring through the air on a flying machine invented by Leonardo da Vinci, or when I ran halfway up a wall, jumped sideways over the heads of the guards blocking my pursuit, and stabbed both of my targets in the throat simultaneously as I dropped down – but really, there’s only one thing I need to say to purvey the greatness of Assassin’s Creed II: you get to fight the fucking Pope.

Batman: Arkham Asylum
It’s frightening how much the quality of Batman’s gaming career has mirrored that of his film legacy. For decades at a time attempts at a critically successful game based on everyone’s favorite Dark Knight have come and gone with only disappointment in their wake, and the reason is one that we’ve seemingly only recently identified: none of them really made you feel like Batman! But just as Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster reboots have brought the darkness and inner demons of true, comic-style Batman back to the cinema, so has Arkham Asylum finally captured the essence of controlling the Caped Crusader. Using a combination of ingenious gadgets and impeccable stealth – probably the best stealth gameplay I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing, actually – the game allows you to strike fear into your opponents without them even spotting you; even if they do, an excellent freeflow combat system makes taking on waves of goons and thugs a snap without diminishing the challenge. Fuse this glorious gameplay to a top-notch atmosphere and presentation (particularly during Scarecrow’s Eternal-Darkness-esque nightmare sequences), a worthy plot with a line-up of classic Batman villains (with Mark Hamill reprising his role as The Joker…awesome), and a motherlode of hidden secrets and memorabilia, and you can fully understand why Arkham Asylum made a huge splash last summer. My only complaints lie within the lackluster boss fights and some occasionally shoddy writing (say what you want about Bale’s growls in The Dark Knight, but at least he never uttered lines like, “I eat punks like this for breakfast”)

Blazblue: Calamity Trigger (yes, I know the arcade release was in 2008, but since when did anyone relevant care about arcades?)
Arc System Works became renowned as gods by the fighting game community thanks to the excellent Guilty Gear series, and that legacy clearly lives on through BlazBlue (pronounced “BLAZE-blue”…yes, I’m sure). Like Guilty Gear, it thrives on overtly Japanese anime kookiness – I cite such examples as the vampire whose cat morphs into an umbrella during combat, the ridiculously loud and brazen ninja whose super-ultra-special attack has its own theme music, and the shy police lieutenant who has an inferiority complex about her breasts – but thanks to the fantastic American localization, it actually translates out to a plot that’s both interesting and even hilarious, though figuring out the complex intricacies of it might require rigorous study, complimented by flowcharts. Just as fine-tuned are the graphics, in the form of pixel-perfect 2D-sprites against fully-rendered 3D backgrounds, and the soundtrack, featuring riff-tastic compositional masterpieces courtesy of Daisuke Ishiwatari. Of course, the core of the action is the hyper-quick, hyper-polished fighting system, endowed with a berth of options and excellently balanced and unique characters. As is the Arc Sys tradition, this is a heavily skill-based fighter with a tremendously steep learning curve, but in a land ruled by more sluggish, dull, and convoluted 3D-fighters like Tekken and Soul Calibur, Blazblue’s gorgeous 2D presentation and near-perfect combat are an absolute godsend.

Borderlands
Borderlands sometimes feels like the twisted Frankenstein fantasy of the modern gamer; it takes the open worlds and abhorrent looting of Diablo II, the post-apocalyptic wasteland setting of Fallout, and the mindless shooter action and co-op play of Halo…and furthermore, somehow makes it work. It doesn’t exactly provide much in the way of new ideas, but in addition to all the mechanics of the game working in tune, Borderlands is just downright devilishly addictive, especially when you’ve got two or more players to help cut down on your questing time. Why exactly these “loot-tastic” games, wherein you have to spend five minutes after each treasure chest comparing damage values, manage to stay so engaging is really beyond me, but it’s at least slightly more apparent with Borderlands, wherein those weapons have some pretty creative and equally awesome powers (like poisoned sniper rifles, or shotguns that shoot rockets). Its paper-thin plot and occasional feeling of repetition detract from it being this year’s epic, groundbreaking shooter, but it will likely remain in our memories for a long time as a co-op multiplayer standby.

Brütal Legend
Games have already conveyed a number of key emotions and feelings – happiness, anger, sadness, vengeance, regret, etc. – but until 2009 none of them legitimately made me think or say, “damn, that’s fucking metal”. Fortunately, apparent headbanger Tim Schafer – the man behind Grim Fandango and Psychonauts, which makes him awesome enough by default – was willing to make this fervent dream of metalheads everywhere into a reality. Granted, the gameplay itself isn’t perfect; the free-roaming world it presents runs out of new tasks to do fairly quickly, the story itself is startlingly short, and the core of the game is composed of a fairly watered-down real-time-strategy game. But at the same time, I’m willing to forgive these normally grievous faults because…well, because it’s so metal. The world and graphical style look plucked right out of power metal album covers, the voice acting and storytelling is superb and features a great deal of neat cameos (Ozzy Osbourne is the guy who upgrades your car and weapons…no, really, that’s how metal this game is), and the soundtrack is probably the best ever to be put to disc (every game should have Black Sabbath and Megadeth playing in the background). As for the controversial business of the actual game portion, I actually found it pretty enjoyable for a console RTS, as it sidesteps the needless micromanagement and allows you to fight alongside your troops (plus, you can’t really complain about a bladed wagon that impales your enemies’ hearts with a subterranean spike…again, totally metal). It’s not perfect by any means, but any game that makes me want to headbang and throw the horns has already earned my respect. \m/

So long, 2009. May 2010 bring us even greater innovations in the art form...and fewer Transformers sequels.

... : "I’m Not a Fan, But the Kids Like It!" Review

Experiment #: 2304
Subject #: 4305
Artifact #: 001 (Codename Omega)
Purpose: To test the environment in which we hope to scientifically interact with the artifact without risk, and to observe the artifact's effects on an intelligent human being
Medium: Recording
Status: FAILED



[The following recordings were obtained from a device operated by Subject #4305, tasked with performing experiments and research operations on Artifact 001. He was allowed access only to broad data on the artifact in question, knowing not of its more…potent capabilities. These recordings will be studied in turn to observe whether or not the artifact can be studied in a controlled environment with expressed variables.]

[static]

Hello? Is this on? Test…test, one, two…OK…

This recording device will serve as a diary of my progress during my mission. I’ve been advised not to identify my name or who I work for, only recording data that pertains exclusively to my research. My employers are confident that my work could possibly prevent a great deal of pain and suffering from the world, and while I do not yet understand the degree of peril that this mission represents, I’m going into it with an air of caution and scientific sensibility, as I have been trained to.

The mission parameters are simple: to listen and record my findings on an audio CD entitled I’m Not a Fan, But the Kids Like It!, released by a band called BrokeNCYDE. I have never heard of these individuals up until this point, and I fail to see how a single CD could compromise a danger, as I believe my employers described it. Yet if I can somehow identify why this is, and perhaps find a way to avert it, then mankind may perhaps be saved.

To whoever may listen to this tape, wish me luck!

[static]

The cover art of this album depicts a set of four suburban males, attempting emulate both the tropes of "emo" culture as well as befitting the stereotypes of "urban" African-Americans. In addition, the first track of the CD seems to be a composite of creative-commons WAV files shamelessly compiled into an irrelevant, sci-fi-flavored mess, followed by a cliché explosion. Understandably, my hopes for something intelligible and cultured have already been dashed.

The first track began, and suddenly the keyboard meandering was pierced by a pre-pubescent scream. Good Lord…I had no idea that human vocal cords could produce something so abhorrently irritating. Was this, perhaps, why I was tasked to overview this album? Could the leading man of this band possibly be afflicted by a new disease that rots and decays the voicebox?

Whatever the case, the screams continued, overlaid upon singing so auto-tuned that it may as well not be human, but machine. Perhaps…it is. I will be sure to research into the identities of these talentless vocalists ASAP.

This combination of lame keyboards, lamer vocals, and random shrieking continued with nearly no variation for the next three minutes and thirty-six seconds. My hand quickly reached to pause the music at that point, apparently not just so that I could record my notes but out of subconscious drive that had developed in my brain over that time. Intriguing…

Despite my clear dislike of this music, I am devoted to finishing my research. Perhaps something hidden in this mess will provide something of remote use…or, at the very least, will make the music listenable.

[static]

Nothing has changed. The same behavior described in my previous record has continued unopposed for quite some time now. What had at first been mildly amusing as a hilariously terrible novelty has now grown into a worsening repugnance, and I fear I may not have the will necessary to continue. I still do not yet know what danger this record could pose to the world, however, and so must not yet regress my sacrifice.

In my spare time between tracks, in an effort to wash out this befouled recordings from my mind, I have researched the individuals response behind this terrible artifact. They have christened themselves with confusing nicknames, such as Se7en, Antz, and Phat J. The role of Antz, in particular, has become something of a mystery to me, for the liner notes list him as being responsible for “Rockstar beats”. As I fail to understand what they means, I have theorized that it is a cover for the fact that this man has had no true impact in this creation. I propose instead that he was the guy who served appetizers and beverages to the other members in the recording studio lounge.

I have also begun to investigate the lyrical content of this release, expecting that they may form some kind of code that exposes the aforementioned malice described by my employers. So far, I have found nothing but an abject rejection of the laws of English grammar and spelling, as well as repeated mentionings of the word “fuck”.

One particular line has me baffled. It states, and I quote, “Oh yeah i got my hurrr did nicely high top nike's always in my white tee”. I felt outright…defiled upon hearing this the first time. Besides making no sense, it seems to project an aura of outright evil and stupidity upon being said. I...can't quite describe it. Perhaps this is what I was warned of.

I can only pray that the worst is over, and that tomorrow brings me ever closer to salvation from this…this…thing.

[static]

(vomiting sounds)

Oh God…oh God oh God oh God…

(vomiting sounds)

(long pause)

What I have heard…cannot be unheard. This thing – I now refuse to refer to it as music – has damaged my mind beyond repair. I am…sickened by it.

The particular offense in question came after hearing a skit found earlier in the alb-…thing. For research purposes, I will now transcribe the script of this…abomination for the record. I quote:

Male Subject #1: Hey girl, why don't you, uh, come over and suck this daddy dick.
Male Subject #2: What the fuck (unintelligible sounds) what the fuck did you just say? (unintelligible sounds) You want me to suck that daddy dick (unintelligible sounds) You think I'm a fucking faggot dawg, I'll beat the shit outta you homey! (unintelligible sounds)
Male Subject #1: Oh shit. Fuck. Fuck dawg, let me try this shit again. (dialing sounds)
Female Subject #1: Hello?
Male Subject #1: Hey wassup girl, (unintelligible sounds) you wanna roll over?
Female Subject #1: (unintelligible sounds) you know I want that daddy dick.

(vomiting sounds)

…I was overcome with sickness the first time I heard it. My throat is raw from the vomiting…

Good God…what is this? I feel…I feel…

…raped!

[static]

That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. This BrokeNCYDE phenomenon is clearly nothing more than an outlet by which reasoned men such as myself can be driven INSANE.

Those awful screams haunt my nightmares, whispering lyrics so profoundly lacking in logic or rational human thought that I am beginning to suspect that they are nothing less than the product of demons. In one track, they repeat the words “booty call” so much that I was almost granted an aneurism to relieve of this wretched duty. In another, they describe the process of partying in a fashion as juvenile as that of a twelve-year who has just learned to swear. I had initially entered this project with the feeling that this atrocious monstrosity posing as music was just the product of an overtly-elaborate parody, or perhaps as punishment for the wicked, but now I don’t feel that way. These are human beings who truly believe that their craft, as inane and sadistic as it is, is truly a work of art. My brain aches from this thought, but I cannot deny the truth.

I have not been aided by the newly acquired knowledge that these terrors have referred to the genre in which they perform as “crunkcore”. To break my professional demeanor for a moment, I must ask: what kind of joke is that? What in the world is “crunk”? And doesn’t the “-core” suffix imply the presence of hardcore music influences…which clearly do not exist here? Is this genre an illusion?! Am I losing my mind?!

Worse yet is the knowledge that people are already being exposed to this dark relic. 6,000 copies were sold in the first week of release. People are actually buying this! Some may actually…like it! Gah!!

I get it now. The music itself is the danger. I’m only halfway through the album and have already begun to slip into potentially irreversible mental decay. This thing is siphoning my braincells, destroying my mind! And it’s happening to others all across the globe!

I’m leaving as we speak. People have to be warned. It is clear to me now that my life’s purpose will be to eradicate the plague known as I’m Not a Fan, But the Kids Like It! from the world.

[static]

It won’t let me leave. It won’t let me leave.

(sobbing noises)

This void of intelligence traps me here. I may be doomed to listen to this album forever, like some kind of purgatory of endless stupidity.

It is the worst! The worst thing ever crafted by human hands! What have we done…WHAT HAVE WE DONE!

(sobbing noises)

[static]

The singer just spent precious seconds of my remaining life listing, I quote, “bitches I fucked”. I am certain that these are the exact verses that were prophesized to call upon the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

[static]

I don’t know how much longer my sanity is going to last. I may very well die here. But I will spend my last moments analyzing the HELL out of this foul opposition to nature, so that when this recording is found, I will have done my part to prevent total disaster.

[static]

“I got these bitches on my jock dog”

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?!

Are they mentally deficient, or just exploitative and demeaning beyond comprehension? And why, in either case, are they so intent upon spreading the knowledge that they possess a male penis?!

[static]

I believe I have stumbled upon the utter epitome of human idiocy. Somewhere amidst the tortured screams, I managed to decipher the words, “You make my pee-pee hard!”, which are then chanted endlessly.

I mean, what in the fuck…WHAT COULD POSSIB…

No…I have to control myself. I won’t let this thing beat me…I won’t…

(sobbing sounds)

[static]

(sobbing sounds, broken up occasionally by unintelligible mutterings)

[static]

“Crunk”…all I hear is “crunk”…and the screams…and the FIRE…

It burns…the sound BURNS.

Maybe…this isn’t real. Am I already dead? Is this Hell?

Yes, YES! It must be! Nothing could be a greater pain than this!

It’s all in my head, yes!

It’s all in my head, It’s all in my head, It’s all in my head, It’s all in my head…
(repeats for several minutes)

[static]

Please…kill…now.

Doom…everyone…no escape.

(long pause)

Party…sex…crunnnnnnk…

Is the…end? Feeling…angry sad. Mind gone. Mind all gone!

(very long pause)

I’m not a fan…hehe…heheHAheHAHA…

But…haha…the kid’s...heheha…LIKE IT!

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!

[static]

It’s over.

Everything. The noises. Gone. Erased.

My life is gone too.

Everything I’ve lived for. Destroyed. In the wake of that…thing…

I…

(pause)

I…I…I can still hear.

It’s in my head.

(pause)

IT’S IN MY HEAD!

NOOOOOO!!

HAHAHAHEEHAHAHEEEHAAHAHAAAAA!

NO! GET OUT! GET OUT!

KEKEKEKEOUTKEKEKEKEOFKEKEKEMYKEKEKEKEKEHEADKEKEKE!!!
NOOOOOOOO!! GRAAAAAH!!

OUUUUUUUTTTT!!!!!!

[static]

[The recording ends here. The subject was never recovered, though the recorder itself was found in a pool of blood that matched his own in subsequent DNA tests. We can only assume the kind of self-flagellation and mutilation that could have been derived from Artifact 001.

The artifact has been returned to storage. It is clearly unable to be researched in a controlled environment. We must turn our heads to the public, observe the damage being inflicted by the copies of the artifact…and pray for mercy from an unjust God.]

Aptly Named: "Angel Dust" Review

Album: Angel Dust
Artist: Faith No More
Genre: Avant-Garde / Experimental Rock
Length: 1:01:54
Release Date: June 8th, 1992
Label: Slash
Producer: Matt Wallace, Faith No More



Despite having just recovered from the rousing financial success of their 1989 release, The Real Thing, the wildly experimental rock group Faith No More denied the push for greater mainstream appeal, pulling a 180-degree turn and taking an entirely different approach to their sound. The result, Angel Dust, has proven to be one of greatest examples of success through experimentation and avant-garde mentality over stagnation and repetition.

It has also proven to be nuttier than peanut brittle.

Now, I’ve received some flak in the past for languishing on albums which hammer about on gimmicks and genre-benders rather than create a unique, self-proclaimed niche…not like I’m pointing fingers or anything [insert evil glare at Beck here]. At first glance, Angel Dust is nothing if not a “gimmick album”, sometimes completely hiding its hard rock foundations behind layers of bizarre genre insertions. Moments of thrashing metal or ballad-rock-esque riffage are certainly present, and indeed form the core of the Faith No More experience, but they tend to be masked by the outright twisted diversions the album often takes. Whether it’s cheerleaders chanting in the background of Be Aggressive, or the presence of sudden choir organs at the end of Jizzlobber (yes, Jizzlobber), there’s almost always something in each track meant to distract the listener from the band’s true roots. It’s often in these situations that I’m reminded of a magician performing a trick; it’s all about the spectacle and flair, meant to draw the eye (or, in the case of music, ear) from what’s really going on, never giving the audience a moment to wonder whether or not there’s any substance that lies behind the façade.

But in Faith No More’s case there is, and there are two simple reasons why: the risks they take are A.) justified, and B.) performed with elegance and class. You could certainly pick apart the album’s moments of mind-splitting, acid-tripping freak-outs and argue whether all of them are really necessary, but overall they tend to delightfully serve as means to an end, rather than the end itself. Take, for instance, one of the oddest of the bunch RV; here, multi-talented vocalist Mike Patton adopts the low-pitched, grumbling persona of a low-income, trailer-trash father, and describes – amidst the backdrop of a country-tinged guitar and fiddling piano – the utter amounts of sloth, stubbornness, and regret that define his pathetic life. You’re right to think that it sounds silly, and indeed the song will probably have you in stitches by the time Patton starts his lower-class rant about how his “pants fall down every time I bend over”, but there’s no denying it works. In addition to holding interest, this approach adds infinitely more credibility to the statement that the song is attempting to make about middle-America. Call it a gimmick, if you must, but while most gimmicks repel, this one sucked me in like a black hole.

Angel Dust is full of these brilliantly executed left-field moments, even in the times when the band is getting their rock on. Album opener Land of Sunshine is one of the more straightforward thrashers occasionally exhibited by the record, but when a series of descending keyboard notes give a dark, carnival-esque flavor to the proceedings, it makes even the straightforward seem intriguing and engaging. It even possesses some of the earliest proto-typical instances of rap meeting metal, lending to a nu-metal vibe that’s almost strong enough to promote mental images of Jonathan Davis and Fred Durst sitting outside the recording studio with a pen and notepad in hand, giggling wildly in hysteria. Other moments are simply, as the saying goes, “full of win”, such the track Crack Hitler (yes, Crack Hitler), which opens with guitar-scratching and funky bass so reminiscent of 80’s streetwise cop thrillers that it feels like it could be a suitable intro theme to Magnum P.I., or Midnight Cowboy, which is actually a cover of the theme of the 1969 drama film of the same name. And believe me, anything that could get to say words like this in a non-ironic manner is truly a few screws loose, if you catch my drift.

Of course – or at least as is my understanding – experimentation means nothing if the fundamentals aren’t in place, and Faith No More is at least competent in this area as well…unlike some people [insert evil glare yaddayaddayadda]. Patton’s aforementioned vocal talents are the strongest asset on display, capable of adapting to any needed role, from creepy whispers to fevered shouts to…yes, the rapping. The guitar tone and playstyle does not drift far from contemporary rock styles of the time, but it is executed with class, complexity, and even a few proggy outbursts. Interesting to note is that the bass and keyboards are practically just as prominent in the mix, if not more so, which lends a funky twist to the music. Surely, nothing about the music remains as interesting when the band’s experimenting gears aren’t spinning, but as far poppy, metal-tinged rock goes, it’s actually quite good in small doses, at least until the weirder stuff kicks in and things become deliciously haywire.

While this is certainly the magnum opus of Faith No More, and a prime example of how to properly create avant-garde music without complete failure, it is by no means perfect. In an album so rife with experimentation, it’s inevitable that some of them miss their mark with certain audiences; I, for one, did not gel with the rapping sections, though that may be because rap and metal usually mix about as well as pickled relish and raspberry jam. It’s also a tad on the long side, which may mean your interest may run dry over the course of a sustained listen. And indeed, as hinted before, one cannot shake the feeling that the underlying foundations aren’t nearly as stable without the extraneous layers to support it. And yet, for all its eccentricity, Angel Dust is still a work of art. With a bounty of clever ideas, thought-provoking lyrical themes, and even some catchy riffs here and there, it stands atop a pantheon of musical oddities to remain treasured as an influential classic. If nothing else, it’s good for at least one listen to absorb the kookiness that dwells within, as well as to affirm the idea that one does not need to be bland to be successful.

There is No God But God: "Those Whom the Gods Detest" Review

Album: Those Whom the Gods Detest
Artist: Nile
Genre: “Egyptian” Brutal/Technical Death Metal
Length: 56:39
Release Date: November 3rd, 2009
Label: Nuclear Blast
Producer: Neil Kernon, Erik Rutan



…and so I entered that tomb of blackened pitch, a hollow artifact of a lost age buried deep beneath the sands of time. My hands grip the sarcophagus that hath contain the powers of which I seek. Trembling, gripped by a nameless fear, I slowly lift the obsidian stone, my eyes both disturbed by and beckoned to the unseen horrors within. Slowly, shadow gives way to the light of Ra, and in so doing ushers forth sounds and images beyond this world, horrors once immersed only within the burning pits of the Duat. I draw nearer, draped in terror yet unable to escape my own temptations. The sounds grow louder, and more feverish, until at last the barriers that withheld this ancient power shatter and unleash a sonic scream unlike anything imaginable to mortals, man or beast.

Within this brewing wrath hath reside the might of a thousand sandstorms, the militaristic might of a million pharaohs, the infinite flames of a million demons spawned of Apep himself. Both gods and men, past and future, cower before it as it destroys all who dare stand before it. Louder it grows, more frenzied, and from within I hear a single isolated howl, a demon’s voice that exclaims, “KAFIR!”. I look upon the hands that unearthed this ravenous pestilence and, amidst the chaos, ask myself, “What hast thou done?”

I already knew the answer. I hath unleashed Nile upon the world.

* * *

If you’re a regular to the world of extreme, you’re probably more than familiar with the sublime death metal innovator that is Nile. For those unaware, Nile is a brutal death metal band led by songwriter/vocalist/guitarist/musical genius Karl Sanders, revolving almost entirely around Egyptian and other Mediterranean cultures. To this end, the riffs are written in a number of various Middle Eastern scales, modes and instruments, and feature lyrics inspired by Egyptian mythology and history, or even excerpted directly from ancient texts (or those of famous horror-writer H.P. Lovecraft). It’s a formula that has shaken the death metal world time and time again, establishing Nile as leaders in metal songwriting and atmosphere. Unfortunately, many fans (of which I am one, in case you hadn’t quick picked up on the subtle hints yet) were disappointed in their 2007 release Ithyphallic. Here, much of atmosphere and interesting instrumentation were gone in favor of straightforward thrashing, capped off by terrible production values and an album title that gave way to more than a few penis jokes. I remained convinced, in spite of doubts dwelling deep in the back of my head, that Ithyphallic was the one-time product of a lack of inspiration, and that the inevitable successor would restore the band to their former glory. I was right.

I just didn’t know how right I was.

Those Whom the Gods Detest is an absolutely astounding piece of death metal gold. It’s the product of a trio renewed in their convictions and driven by their passion to create music that is as overwhelming as it is enthralling. And that seems odd, because in a manner of speaking, TWTGD doesn’t strongly alter the classic Nile formula in any way. So what exactly has improved enough for me to name this the best Nile album in years? Well…pretty much everything.

For starters, the production values are the best Nile has ever had. Much hyperbole was made on the toiling of the producers to craft the best Nile sound yet for this album, and there is no doubt that they delivered. Sure, their previous works achieved a dark, muddy sound that matched the music note for note, but something, be it the guitars on Black Seeds of Vengeance or the vocals on In Their Darkened Shrines, always seemed to get buried. TWTGD performs a miracle by retaining that same grittiness as the previous albums while simultaneously making every performer come in clear, crisp, and above all, powerful.

It’s also notable that this is probably the most technically demanding Nile album yet…which is saying an awful lot. Sanders and Dallas Toler-Wade are, as always, demons behind the six-strings; the rapid-fire guitar pickings and haunting harmonics in “Permitting the Noble Dead to Descend to the Underworld” have to be heard to be believed. The duality between their vocals works better than it did on Ithyphallic as well, even if Toler-Wades straightforward bellows receive more of the spotlight than Snader’s otherworldly growls on this venture. If any one member of the trio deserves props for his instrumental performance on this album, however, it’s George Kollias, the drummer. He’s quickly making a name for himself as one of the best drummers in the modern metal world today, and TWTGD is the best proof of that. His spastic drum fills are always entertaining and expertly precise, but he won’t truly blow your mind until you hear him pounding away at the double-bass at up to 300 BPMs (!!!).

Of course, Nile has always been less about the technical aspects of their music (at least compared to other similar bands) and more about that classic atmosphere, the ability of their music to sweep you away thousands of years into the past and transport you into the world of ancient Egypt. Where the previous album managed to fail in that regard for the first time, TWTGD brings it roaring back. It’s not exactly dripping with the shadowy atmosphere and unpredictability of ITDS, but it always incorporates enough unique ideas into each song to make them all distinctive and memorable in that old, “Sanders” way. The indescribable riffs that open “Utterances of the Crawling Dead”, for example, seem to be perfectly emblematic of the howls of spirits from beyond the grave. The title track opens with whispered ritualistic chanting alongside the playing of a sitar-like instrument, luring the listener into a false sense of security…before leaping for the throat in what quickly becomes one of Nile most vicious, most evil “epic” tracks (clocking at around eight-minutes, yet remaining gripping to the very end). Instead of opting for a couple of slower, doom-based riff monsters, the band cleverly inserts some doom sections into several of the faster tracks, with the only “4th Arra of Dagon” serving as the slow, plodding giant of the album. There’s even a non-metal instrumental very much akin to Karl Sander’s solo projects, and it’s probably one of the better ones to appear on a Nile album, featuring a number of unique instruments and creepy, chanting vocals to sell the ambiance.

If there’s any one track that serves as a representative for Nile as a whole, let alone the album, it is the opener, "Kafir!" (the subject of my little Lovecraftian-esque fiction at the start of this review). Over the course of roughly six minutes, it incorporates both the fast-flying fury and the slow, crushing madness that Nile is known for. Most notably, before the amazing solo and as the song closes, "Kafir!" incorporates beautifully sung Islamic prayer; the theme of song being the nature of Islam itself. Nile’s lyrics have always been deep and insightful, not to mention a learning experience worthy of the Discovery Channel (you know you’re good at song writing when you make a song about a Hittite ritual performed with dog crap seem interesting…no, really), but it’s songs like "Kafir!" that provide a social relevance quite isolated to this album in particular. The title would suggest a clear stand against religion and deities as a whole, and that context is certainly implied, but in a subtle way; rather than outright state their disdain for established faiths, as many more bone-headed death metal bands may attempt, they use the examples of the ancient past to make their case. It’s clever stuff, to be sure, and the inclusion of liner notes explaining the history behind the music will help the people who, unlike Sanders, don’t have encyclopedic knowledge of Egyptian religious reforms...or don't know who the hell Ra or Osiris are.

As far as flaws go, they are fairly self-explanatory to anyone familiar with Nile. As I stated, the overall formula for the music has not changed much, but has only improved from that basis; if you didn’t like the band’s bizarre fusions to begin with, there’s little hope for you here. And of course, brutal death has always proven to be a tough sell outside of the underground, so the tone and subtleties I’ve outlined here may be completely lost on the people who can’t stand the sound of a good growl or double-bass section. That being said, if you have even the remotest interest in death metal and/or Egyptian culture, you should be listening to this album right now. It has far exceeded my expectations, and may one day be listed alongside Amongst the Tombs of Nephran-Ka and ITDS as one of their greatest works, not to mention one of the best death metal albums of 2009. Consider this an unflinching recommendation from somebody who rarely ever gives them.

...Full of Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing: "Embryonic" Review

Album: Embryonic

Artist: The Flaming Lips

Genre: Alternative / Indie Rock

Length: 70:17

Release Date: October 13^th, 2009

Label: Warner Bros.

Producer: The Flaming Lips, Dave Fridmann, Scott Booker

Double albums are a rare sight in the musical landscape, and with good reason. A certain set of associations and expectations are usually attached to works that get the double album “label”; we expect the long road to the album’s completion to be riddled with variety, spontaneity, and epic might, as to compensate for the many hours they extract from our lives. As far as my knowledge extends, no double album has ever reached these proverbial stars, and in fact they tend to almost always come crashing back into the ground; the band’s attempts to fit this mold are almost always the hurdles that make the album tedious or even unlistenable. To this day I still don’t know the ingredients necessary to craft a truly compelling double album, but at least I know that The Flaming Lips are just as clueless as I am.

…which isn’t to say that they don’t try, of course. Notable attempts have been clearly been made to alter the signature sound of this psychedelic indie rock band into something different for their latest opus, Embryonic. It is perhaps the “busiest” work they’ve performed, not in terms of technicality but in the stacked layers of various samples, keyboard drones, and other sci-fi miscellany compiled within each track. This, compacted together with unorthodox drum and guitar production values, does indeed craft something different; the problem is that it also comes across as over-produced and over-done. Explaining the cacophonous sounds portrayed by such songs as “See the Leaves” and “Watching the Planets” is difficult, and may need to be experienced first-hand. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all, but in my eyes there is really no beauty here. Rather, when all of the various elements in each song collide, they most often react negatively and combust, destroying any chance at attaining the simplicity that might have been.

The complex, multi-layered style of the album almost seems to be compensating for the lack of actual dynamics within; strip away the random beep-boops, bells, and whistles, and you’ll find rather basic indie rock songwriting, with endlessly looped melodies and lyrics. This isn’t inherently a problem, mind you; many bands of this irk do not strive for detailed song-writing, but instead succeed in luring listeners into a sense of tranquility before enveloping them into a haunting, black void of calm. Unfortunately, The Flaming Lips spoil their chances at this form of success, too; even the most stripped-down, beautifully simple songs like “Evil” are poisoned by unnecessary sound bites haphazardly scattered into the mix, and by the end the listener is left with the distressing feeling that nothing was ultimately accomplished. With no chance to get lost in the music, nor much reward for paying close attention, there is little to reap from listening to Embryonic.

This missteps may have been forgivable if the album were a decent length, properly paced so that one could soak in the most memorable moments and have them still pulsing through the brain by the time the album accelerated to its climactic end. Here, my friends, is where the hideous double album demons rear their ugly heads, because the “epic” length utterly destroys this album. Without much in the way of variety or story progression to spice up the album or give it a theatrical punch, it devolves into what is essentially a marathon of tedium…and keep in mind that 70 minutes is actually pretty short for a double album! It begs the question, “Why didn’t they just cut out half the tracks and market it as a standard release?”

Well according to the band itself, the record was created in an attempt to solve their “dilemma” of what to include on each preceding album. They furthermore assert that the album’s creation was in debt older classics like The Beatles whose albums were decidedly “un-focused” and attempted a wide variety of styles.

This, handily, explains most of the issues I’ve pointed out up to now. Essentially, then, there is no over-arching theme or story to the songs at hand, but rather just a jumbled compilation of ideas, smashed together then split into two discs. Such is not the proper way to create an epic; such creations demand structure and coherence, something Embryonic clearly lacks. Even as a “variety sampler” I feel that it fails upright in the face of the band’s ambition. Not only do I not feel a sense of variety and open-endedness running through the album, but I also feel that its inability to strive for and achieve a certain goal dooms it from the beginning. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing wrong with being “focused”; it’s what has allowed many a band to become associated with certain emotions or themes. Embryonic, to me, leaves no lasting emotional impression of this sort; it’s as bland as un-buttered bread, and not nearly as delicious.