10 posts from January 2008

So, Rez HD is out. And I have no 360. And lots of people are starting to talk and blog and Twitter about it and IT'S ABSOLUTELY KILLING ME.

Partly that's because I want to see what it's like and blow an entire night of sleep unlocking the last level but partly it's because I'm wondering - WHERE THE FUCK WERE ALL OF YOU 6 YEARS AGO?

I get a feeling that Rez is like the infamous Sex Pistols gig at the Lesser Free Trade Hall in Manchester in 1976 - if everyone who claims now to have loved Rez the first time round had actually bought it then it would have been one of the best selling games of all time.

Eurogamer have given it a 10/10 but gave the original 8/10. Likewise C&VG gave it 9.0 and gave the original 7.0 (actually they gave the PS2 version 7.0 - they didn't even bother reviewing the Dreamcast version).

Part of me wonders why I like Rez so much - when you strip it down it's Space Harrier (or Panza Dragoon Orta) with wireframe graphics and an Ken Ishi/Adam Freeland trance soundtrack. Then another part says that ignoring the totality of aesthetics is stupid - like saying that Metamorphosis of Narcissus is just a painting of some rocks and some ants or an iPod is just an MP3 player with a wheel. Hell, if we're heading down that route then isn't Halo just a game with story elements from Ender's Game and Ringworld and level design that boils down to "Take this map you just done and do it backwards"? Of course there's a third part of me that says "Mmm, bacon" but that part of me is just kind of omnipresent.

But saying Rez is Space Harrier is like saying Space Giraffe is like Tempest. Sure, superficially it is. But you either get it or you don't and if you don't then, cool, ok. I won't mock you. Openly.

So I remain conflicted and console-less and inconsolable and if this teaches some people some video game taste or persuades Mizuguchi to do more games on non handheld consoles then I'm all for it.

But next time I tell you a game is good then listen to me and save yourself 6 years.

 

So as promised last week - another cover version that I not only think is better than the original.

For me that's a group that includes, amongst others, "All along the Watchtower" by Jimi Hendrix and slightly more obscurely, Faith No More's version of "Easy". I have no formal criteria as to which covers I'll like or not but, if forced, I'd say that in general (and in no way is this a definitive and final cut) I'd have to say that it has to provide an alternative take on, for want of a different word, the narrative.  That said, although I like Joss Stone's deliciously sleazy sounding version of "Fell in love with a Girl" I still prefer the freneticism of the original. And, whilst I love Johnny Cash's "Hurt" (and the astounding Mark Romanek video that goes with it) I'd have to go with Nine Inch Nails every time.

Slightly more controversially is the version of "Hallelujah" by John Cale.

Personally I'd argue with anyone, sober or drunk, that Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" is  very possibly the best song ever written. Period. It's not for nothing that it's one of the most covered songs ever or that it seems to be endlessly used in film and tv soundtracks - it's almost as if it's become a acoustic semiotic trigger for melancholy gravitas, joining that library of other audio standards like the Wilhelm Scream, the Red-tailed Hawk and that nouveau cliché the  "Requiem for a Tower" theme (itself a cover of Clint Mansell's original score for "Requiem for a Dream").

And why is it so good? Well, with 15 possible verses to choose from it becomes a musical Rorschach test - pick the ones you want and craft the meaning. It can be sad, happy, repentant, angry. It can be spiritual and it can definitely be sexy (what precisely did you think "I remember when I moved in you and the Holy Ghost was moving too and every breath we drew was Hallelujah" actually meant?) or it can be any or all of them at the same time.

And it's one of those songs, like "Where did you sleep last Night", that's almost always good but which, when performed by some people becomes something else entirely, that transcends merely good and becomes downright extraordinary - life changing even. 

Now some people will already be up in arms that I've said the cover is better than  Leonard Cohen's original. Other's will be throwing a hissy fit that I haven't chosen that Rufus Wainwright's version is the best (even if it's clearly inspired by the Cale version) or, more likely, that I should have chosen Jeff Buckley's ethereal take on the song which is far more fragile than Cale's altogether more muscular treatment. Other's will champion Alison Crowe's or Imogen Heap's or the Dresden Doll's and that's their right but, for more, John Cale's version strikes exactly that right balance of hope, and anger and bitterness for me - mainly because I'm the kind of person who hopes to be angry and bitter in their old age.

Either way, I strongly urge you to read Brian Appleyard's article from the Sunday Times which describes it all far better than I could and which ends with the beautifully apropos description - Erotic failure never felt so good.

Since the rest of the motley crew were off having the traditional late January Company Christmas Party (don't ask) and since I'm stuck in Albion awaiting explanation as to why I'm apparently persona non grata to the West Pondian government, it was felt necessary to organise a Burn's Supper.

Much has been written about this august tradition but, in a nutshell, it comes down to four main ingredients - Haggis, neeps, tatties, whisky.

We decided to make a bit more of a fancy affair of it so we did

• Hand made smoked salmon pate with a slice of seared smoked salmon and  twice whisky'd  prawns baked in cream, both served in individual ramekins (the sole vegan got braised shaved fennel with lemon vinaigrette)
• Finnan Haddie (bugger all for the lettuce muncher)
  
• 4kgs of MacSween's finest (and a vegan haggis for the unfortunate at the end of the table), served with Rumbledethumps, neeps and parmesan baked parsnips
  
• And for dessert Caledonian Cream made with whisky marmalade and whisky soaked blood oranges (or whisky macerated strawberrys for the gentleman who was, by this time, sorely regretting the resolution made in haste over New Year's).

And whisky. Lots of whisky.

To be honest I was mildly surprised to wake up this morning having gone to bed around 3 fully prepared for a massive cream and whisky induced cardiac infarction sometime before dawn.

So now I'm just waiting for the photographic evidence of the high jinks, low morals, tall glasses, long pours, whisky shorts and bourbon backs at the SixAparty.

 

There are very few songs where the cover is better than the original - I have a list in my head, as I'm sure do you, and in all probability they don't match up. And, you know what? I'm ok with that. I really am.

I'm not even sure that this

counts as a cover version, at least in the strictest sense of the word since it's really a traditional folk song which dates back to at least the late 1800s when it was also known as "In the Pines" or "Black Girl". The first popular commercial version was done by the legendary Lead Belly in 1944 but it was Nirvana's astonishing performance in 1993, 5 months before Kurt Cobain's death, that really opened it up.

Some songs transcend brilliance. I like songs - I like songs that move me and that get stuck in my head and make me feel, but I won't pretend that all the songs I like are to everyone's taste. But if you don't like this song, or, indeed, next week's 90s Music Monday (which is incidentally also a cover version that I happen to think is better than the original) then you're just plain wrong.

Unless you subscribe to the conspiracy theories  then something was clearly wrong with Kurt Cobain around this time. It'd be impossible to speculate how he felt at the time. Without getting too melodramatic he was depressed, back on heroin and crushed by the weight the celebrity he despised and the pressures of being a role model and a brand and an icon for a generation.

So I wonder (and I realise this makes me utterly morbid)  how he felt having done this final song at the MTV Unplugged set. If you have the bootleg of the performance doing the rounds you hear Cobain tell the crowd "I take requests" to which various people shout out Rape Me (which I admit I would have loved to have heard), Scentless Apprentice, Bloom. Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl even start to play the opening bars of Sliver before they change their mind.

Instead they play this and it's pretty much perfect - even the muffed start to the second verse somehow highlights the fact that it's a very human song about frailty.  The last verse, screamed in the style of Mark Lanegan (who introduced Cobain to the song and even got him to play guitar on his version), is raw pathos and perfectly blends anger and frustration and sadness. If I sound like I frothing here it's because I am - it's 3am and I'm tired and thoughtful and I'm pounding my tiny fists on my keyboard trying to express quite how much I love this song and how it sends shivers down my spine every single time I've heard it in the last 15 years.

So you've just stood up having played this set and you're wandering into the backstage area. Do you realise that you've just sung one of the most incredible songs ever recorded (never let it be said I don't like hyperbole)? And if you do how does it make you feel? Does self-criticality prevent you from appreciating it? Or are you just so jaded  from, well, everything, that you're just numb to the fact?

If you think I'm over hyping the song - if you think that it's just a good song that nigh impossible to do badly - if you want evidence to how much they killed it in that set then go listen to the Lanegan version again. Go listen to this version by Nicole Atkins at SXSW. They're good, sure, but they're not sublime. They're not life alteringly good. They are not listen to this on repeat continuously for 4 hours good.

When you're done listening to them go sit in a darkened room and listen to the Nirvana version again. Hell listen to the whole album. For maximum effect sit on the floor, preferably wooden, with no one around. Swig from a bottle of whisky eschewing the sordidly bourgeois notion of using a glass. Repeat until you get it. Then do it some more just to be sure. 

Apparently, in January 1978, Wings' mawkish sentimentfest "Mull of Kintyre"  was the Christmas number 1, to be replaced on the 4th of February by one-hit-wonder "Up Town top Ranking" by Althia and Donna. Over in the US the Sex Pistols played their final show (until the Filthy Lucre reunion tour in 96) rather appropriately at San Francisco's Winterland Ballroom, ELO were kicking off their "Out of the Blue" world tour and the album charts were dominated by the Bee Gees and "Saturday Night Fever".

Personally I'm entering my fourth (fourth!) decade homeless and jetlagged and lightly hungover but suckling on a 24Mbs ADSL connection - which, let's face it, pretty much sums it all up. So, since January 1978 seems to have been a historical bust music-wise, from June

And as a special "tenuous connection" bonus -

which whilst not even from 1978 is an awesome choon.

It's about time for the Transatlantic Mambo again

When most people say "Born Slippy" they actually mean "Born Slipp .NUXX"  which, although it's a remix (appearing as a b-side on the original "Born Slippy" single) sounds, well, completely different. And has vocals. Shouty, anthemic vocals just begging to be yelled by pissed up students in Union bars the country over.

I imagine it's looked down upon by Underworld purists but my inner lager lout loves it.

Made famous by the film Trainspotting, whose iconic advertising campaign was designed by the Tomato design collective which included Underworld members Karl Hyde and Rick Smith, it had a era defining quality to it. 1995-96 marked the end of Grunge and Greebo and Rave and all the other good stuff that had sustained me through school and ushered a much harder guitar-lead dance hybrid with a eye on the design aesthetic.

Wipeout with its Designers Republic stylings and who-whos of British nu-dance soundtrack was released in 1995 as was the menacing "Inspection" by Leftfield and the Bristol trip-hoppings of Tricky's "Maxinquaye"  (following Portishead's ethereal "Dummy" and the huge and melancholy Todd Terry remix of Evrything bu the Girl's "Missing" in 94). 1996 saw the release of hyper-aggressive "Firestarter by the Prodigy and a year later Aphex Twin released the frankly-terrifying "Come to Daddy" EP and Armand van Helden remixed "Professional Widow".

Incidentally a friend of mine and I discovered that the 1 minute 15 it took for the bass to kick in was almost exactly the amount of time it took to drive from the school car park and pull off the roundabout onto the A1 going south as long you had a certain flexibility when it came to speed limits and the absoluteness of red lights.

Years later I worked opposite, and spent a vast quantity of time in, The Ship mentioned in the song which gave me an enormous amount of geeky thrills. If you're ever round Wardour Street at lunch time they do really good Fish Finger sandwiches. I'm just saying.

That narrow *cough* overlap between beat-em-up fans and Star Wars fans are going to be squeeing into their bowls of  marshmallow flecked cheeriholes this morning because Saul Calibur is going to contain Yoda (360) and Darth Mouthbreather (PS3) as playable characters.

I liked Soul Calibur. Not least because it was a awesome, well balanced fighter that looked great and didn't penalise those of us  who aren't able to pull off nine Hadoukens and half a dozen Shoryukens before the other player has even realised the bout has started.  Also it was a Dreamcast game described as (on Wikipedia anyway) "the greatest fighting game of all time, and even one of the greatest games across all genres" - a quote I've printed out in 22pt Comic Sans, laminated and placed carefully in my wallet and which I read to myself occasionally before crying myself to sleep at night wrapped in my Sonic jim-jams.

Also, I appeared to have a slightly suspicious affinity with the unnervingly insectoid Voldo - a man dressed in what can only be described as heavy-BDSM combat chic. An affinity that allowed me to regularly beat a friend who otherwise kicked my arse all over the shop at any other game, electronic or otherwise from straight Unreal, Project Gotham and X-Wing vs Tie-Fighter to his own versions of Drinking-Sudoku, Blindfolded-Quake, Strip-Diplomacy and sessions of Starcraft that somehow managed to involve acupuncture needles.

But I digress.

It's not like this doesn't have precedent - the previous 2 versions of SC contain Heihachi, Link, and Spawn after all. Super Smash Brothers had Samus Aran in. Even DoA 4 had a fricking Spartan (Halo not 300) in it .

That said something about this bothers me and I can't quite put my finger on it - maybe it's because I'm one of the few people who didn't feel compelled to repeatedly mouth "Best. Film. Scene. EVAR!" whilst staring bright eyed at the part of Attack of the Clones where Yoda gets his spinny death whirl on. Maybe it's because I'm slightly tired of The Industro-Entertainment complex doing mashups with the popular culture icons of my childhood (how long before Virtua Fighter gets Snoopy, Neo and one of the Ninja Turtles as unlockable characters? ... Actually that might be pretty cool.) in a transparent effort to extract every last bit of disposable income from my sobbing wallet. Maybe it's the fact that - even in a world where some people wield 6ft long sword and other people actually survive being hit by them - this is pushing credibility a bit too far. Lightsabres are beams of pure energy - capable of dismembering bar dwelling xenoassholes with effects friendly ease. Surely, no matter how strong Ivy's combat-lingerie is, it's going to be a one-hit one-kill kind of deal.

Maybe I'm just a grumpy misanthrope.

If you're going to go the mashup route then why bother topping Monty Oum's surprisingly well realised ultimate fan boy fantasy:

Halo! Metroid! A hint of girl-on-girl action! Predator references! Lightsabre noises! A Zatoichi-style ending dance number! Ooooh, I'm in Otaku heaven!

 

Today feels almost exactly like this for some reason

"Who is driving?"
"OmiGod, Bear is driving!"
"How can that be?"
"Car full of midgets!"

etc, etc

[ Exeunt SIMON, chased by BEAR ]

Described by Bill "KLF" Drummond as "the first true stadium house band" you've got to love the sheer ninetiesness of the Utah Saints. Look at this video - it's pure greebo. The undercuts, the ratty dreads, the long sleeve tshirts, the dancing, the Akai samplers, the Korg M1 and the Roland JD-800 synthesizers. Hark at me, I've come over all nostalgic.

The song's actually pretty interesting - it samples (with her permission) a lyric and video clips from Kate Bush's "Cloudbusting"

which is in turn about the arrest of respected psychiatrist turned orgasmic cosmic ray (yes, you read that right) proponent Wilhelm Reich as told through the eyes of his son with a video conceived by Bush and Terry Gilliam and starring Donald Sutherland and a cross dressing Bush.