Wednesday, November 24, 2010

The things we carry with us

Picture, if you will, some times in the future, far enough into the future that World of Warcraft's last server has been shut down long ago, the epics and the mounts now nothing more than a memory. Other games have taken hold of our collective conscious, and all we have left are whatever screenshots we took; whatever merchandise we purchased, merchandise we probably keep just for nostalgia's sake; and the various archives of websites and blogs dedicated to the game. The Wikipedia page about WoW, the tvtropes page about WoW, all of them have stopped being updated as frequently as they once were. Our collective awareness of WoW has moved firmly into the domain of memory.

Now imagine a time even farther into the future. Not much farther, for it probably won't take as long as you may think to reach this point, but at this time in the future, our memories of WoW have started to become fuzzy. We may remember certain instances that made a big impression on us, or certain raid nights that were particularly unique for some reason or other, but the finer details of the game elude us. If someone asked, you couldn't tell them what stat was best for your class or what the best strategy for beating raid boss X was. You couldn't tell them what piece of gear you were most proud of, or what boss was your favorite to fight.

Or could you? I ask that question because of my own experiences with nostalgia related to a favorite game; specifically, Metal Gear Solid 3. I was lucky enough to procure the soundtrack to this amazing game, and though all of the music was enjoyable, I was particularly taken back by one song. It's the song that plays during the ending cinematic of the game, during which the big reveal that makes the game the tear-jerker that it is comes out. I wouldn't dare spoil it for you, but suffice it to say that the Metal Gear Solid series as a whole is one of the few series that has ever made me cry, and the third installment was no exception, thanks to the ending. Listening to the music that plays during the ending, I got chills like I hadn't felt in a long time. I was reminded of just how powerful that ending was, and I even got a bit teary-eyed as I listened. Naturally, this made me want to look up the ending on YouTube and watch it again, which I did. But a funny thing happened: I wasn't nearly as affected by seeing the ending itself as I had been by the music. Thinking that listening to the music had just ruined me for whatever nostalgic experiences I might have otherwise had, I tried listening to the song again, and I had more of those nostalgic chills than I did while watching the ending cinematic. It was this that made me realize that the music had stayed with me more than the actual plot itself, that the music was what I had carried with me.

Now, great as it was, the music was hardly the best part of Metal Gear Solid 3. The story, the gameplay, the boss fights, the sheer depth of the game--everything about it was impressive and worth remembering. So why, of all things, is it the music that takes me back the most? Your guess is as good as mine, but it was a lesson for me. I learned that we can never be sure what will what will make us fondly remember the things we are nostalgic about. What does this have to do with WoW? If nothing else, it made me realize that the things that make me nostalgic for WoW once I stop playing might be the things I least expect. It might, of course, be the music; after all, music from WoW has made me nostalgic before. But music isn't the only thing that has made me unexpectedly nostalgic for something; in conversing with a friend of mine, I once became nostalgic for the original Spyro the Dragon trilogy by remembering this one glitch in the second game that allowed you to swim in the air in one of the levels. It was my first video game glitch that I exploited knowingly, and remembering it brought back fond memories of that time.

I suppose the only useful conclusion I can come to from these ramblings is that developers should do their best to make sure that every aspect of their game (the visuals, the sound effects, the music, the writing, etc.) is superb, because different things make different people nostalgic. Sure, they should also focus on making the game fun to play, but we're going to be living with our memories long after we stop playing this game, and those memories will be the true payoff for our experiences. They will be the lasting trophies of our triumphs, but what good are they if we don't actually remember them? That's where these nostalgic triggers come in, for they are what help us remember those good times, and those triggers will work best if they are well done. Would the music that played during Metal Gear Solid 3's finale have brought me back if it weren't as well done as it is? Probably not. That's why game designers owe it to players to make sure every part of the game is very well designed, so that players can be better served by their memories.

3 comments:

  1. For me, that game is Morrowind - the soundtrack is totally transporting, and consequently, my best remembered part of the game. I wound up downloading the soundtrack at some point, and I wind up listening to it a lot more than I like to admit - it's great stuff to write by.

    But why the music? Probably because we can't smell the video game experience. After olfactory, auditory is the biggest trigger factory we have. Kinda cool how we're wired, huh?

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  2. I've collected game music for years now because of this. My favorites are the sound tracks from Chrono Trigger and Chrono Cross. Beautiful, wonderful music. (Chrono Symphonic is an incredible adaptation of the original.)

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  3. While I agree that it isn't *always* music that generates these bouts of nostalgia, whether for video games or otherwise, I can say for myself that music is the most frequent cause of such memories. More often than not, music can elicit more vivid memories and scenes than seeing an item, place, or person. Some say seeing is believing, but for me a sound is often the only spark I need.

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