Sunday, 5 December 2010

Game Rage

It’s inevitable that something designed to test your skill is also going to try your patience. Great gamers remain calm under pressure to ride out the onslaught of challenge and succeed where lesser mortals’ temper has betrayed their ability. But what of those titles that reprimand you regardless of your expertise, where perseverance is endurance, and your soul devoured by the same repetitive spirit-crushing action again and again and again until you’ve exhausted every last known swearword in the universe?

These are those which have done just that to me.


Mirror’s Edge – Multi Format

Ironically, for a game based on “free” running, you are anything but. The levels fascistically funnel the player into one ludicrously rigid path from which you stray by one pixel at your own stupid peril. Bright open rooftop vistas belie your lack of choice as you hurtle through a hailstorm of bullets tearing your skin and hopes to shreds, desperately searching for an escape route.

All of which would be just about bearable were it not for the schizophrenically unreliable physics. Faith’s 1st person control is like performing gymkhana on the back of a pissed uncle at Christmas; at one moment the leaden feet of an ox, the next a twitching hypersensitive ragdoll with electrodes to the gonads.

Tiptoeing precariously across pipes requires the most dexterity – to successfully traverse them you’ll need the navigational skills of a micro surgeon. One imprecise movement, no matter how miniscule, and you’ll come crashing down faster than a concrete-clad Anne Widdecombe on a bungee rope. And the worst part of this? It’s completely arbitrary.

Following my sixtieth attempt or so I was ready to punch out my own eyeballs and set fire to my controller. As such, I finally concluded that I could nimble across scaffolding no more and consigned the game not only to the bin, but future therapy sessions.


GoldenEye 007 – N64

I’ve never enjoyed chaperone levels; guiding a semi-autonomous cretin through hazardous scenery whilst shielding them from harm feels less like a game and more like responsibility. And inevitably, your infuriatingly nonchalant ward will somehow have a knack for forgetting why they're there, and wander into danger like an insect towards light. This otherwise superfluous title contains said bothersome babysitting; cardigan-donning computer programmer and Bond bedpost notch Natalya became a walking bullet-sponge to hordes of poorly-accented heavies with artillery. Exasperatingly, if one of your shells accidentally flew her way, she’d sulk off and refuse to help. This would leave you amidst a shower of gunfire with no hope of advancing whilst constantly yelling the word, “bitch!”.


Harry Potter & the Philosopher’s Stone – PS1

“Eh? It’s a bloody kid’s game!” I hear you bellow through lungfuls of incredulous hot air.

Well, yes it is, which is why it’s all the more hateful. Don’t pity me. No, in fact do, because a soothing dose of sympathy would go down better than a pint of Butter Beer from the Three Broomsticks to accompany this title’s punishing peacock feathers collection stage. It’s a mistake made by many a developer who don’t think to impart some basic informative instruction to the player. I wasted hours firing magic sparks at the plucky fowl before finally working out that I was supposed to be treading on its tail. At that point however, I felt like going all Bernard Matthews on its ass. Angrier than Voldemort that time everyone forgot it was his birthday.


GTA: San Andreas – PS2 / Xbox

In many ways, this is a standard GTA mission; drive alongside a vehicle (in this case, a train) and maintain a sufficient distance so that your comrade can fire volleys of ammo’ into your enemies’ vitals. A standard mission which was inexplicably impossible. I reached a pad-smashing plateau of frustration to the point where I vowed never to go near this game again. Even now, I can recreate perfectly the sentence, “All we had to do was follow the damn train, CJ”.


Hard Drivin’ – Spectrum

How about “Fuckin’ Impossible Drivin’”? Set in the atmosphere vacuum of Planet Sinclair, this was spooky enough without the additional feeling that your car was possessed by the spirit of James Dean after a few sherries. Like steering a supermarket trolley through a river of effluence and only half as enjoyable as that sounds, the gruelling manoeuvres required to get the car through its fabled loop-the-loop section could have a monk snapping the joystick in two and calling the track a cunt.


Worms – PS1

They say that politics and religion are that which divides us as a race.

They lie.

It’s bloody Worms.


Call of Duty: Black Ops

In the otherwise condescendingly simple world of Call of Duty (“shoot everything – you win”) the Vietnam level in Activision’s latest blockbuster stuck out like a cumshot in a Disney movie. Untypically, the game chose not to guide the player by the AK47 and explain in simplistic detail how to advance. By contrast they ramped up the firepower, set the enemies to infinite respawn and let you sweat it out for a baffling ball-ache of ballistic proportions.


Right, enough fury. I’m going to have to de-stress with a quick go on breeze-‘em-up Flower.

Fucking petals, I’ll show them who’s the boss.

Sunday, 24 October 2010

Music Review - Spectres: The Beast

For an outfit that produces ethereal and haunting music, Spectres’ Ronseal-style method of say-what-you-hear band naming is entirely laudable. If only Gary Glitter had been called PaedoGlam, he might have staked a greater claim to accurate trade description. As it is, the band’s moniker encapsulates perfectly their darkly celestial chime. And so with track The Beast from forthcoming EP Limbs, Spectres deliver four minutes of cochlea-fellating wonder, itself broadly representative of their greater output.
So, if they’re evocative of the spirit world, it’s shoegazing’s reverb-soaked phantom that they’re summoning. As if straight from the plectrum of Thurston Moore, The Beast’s opening bars lend an apparent carefree casualty of melodic abandonment; a sonic devotion to the dirty hallowed feedback of a six string. Craftily, this method belies the meticulously structured framework of a richly-focussed rock song, a driven paean to love lost and subsequent obsession. Frontman Joe Hatt’s voice blends wistfully into the mix, gleefully conspiring towards the song’s lush orchestration.
And whilst it’s nice that he’s reaching into his inner poet to express his pain over an ex-girlfriend, it’s even more refreshing to hear him reference her tits. Brooding erudite troubadours may be better at elucidating their thoughts, but their base desires remain the same as thickies such as me.
Let’s face it, you’re never going to slip on Spectres to celebrate your team’s victory at the cup or as a method of seduction (unless Sylvia Plath’s popped up from the dead and gagging for it), but that’s to miss the point entirely the purpose of learning to love alt-rock’s off-kilter sensibilities. The Beast is a sharp thunder crack of cerebral gloom that deserves a listen, especially as an aural accompaniment to tearing up pictures of former loved ones.

Spectres on MySpace
The Beast video
Spectres