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How Super Metroid’s Ominous Soundtrack Creates Immersion

When Nintendo released the original Metroid for the Nintendo Entertainment System back in 1987, it introduced a new level of non-linearity to gaming. Players were thrown into an open world, not unlike the Legend of Zelda did prior, and left to figure out where to go to progress. Along with an eerie, minimalist soundtrack, Metroid truly made players feel alone in an alien world. With the limitations of the NES sound capabilities, tracks were often simple, yet had rather creepy melodies. From the ominous tone of Kraid’s Lair, to the mesmerizing, yet haunting notes of Tourian, Metroid’s soundtrack knew how to create a sense of loneliness in its world.

Though Samus would see another adventure on the Game Boy with Metroid II, the series really hit its stride in the 16-bit era. With the launch of the Super Nintendo in 1991, Metroid fans would have to wait an extra three years before the release of the third installment in the series, Super Metroid. Luckily, the wait was well worth it; Super Metroid is considered one of the finest Super Nintendo games of all time.

With enhanced 16bit visuals, improved controls, and new abilities (not to mention a map!), Super Metroid was a huge step up from its predecessors. Perhaps one of the most iconic aspects of the game is its soundtrack; not only were there far more tracks than the NES original, Super Metroid utilized the Super Nintendo’s sound capabilities in incredible ways. The result is an immersive, atmospheric masterpiece that leaves the player isolated on an alien planet.

Though Super Metroid is far from a horror game in terms of gameplay, its atmosphere is perhaps one of the darkest and loneliest on the Super Nintendo. From the moment the player begins their adventure, the opening segment doesn’t use any musical melodies prior to the encounter with Samus’s enemy, Ridley. An ominous beeping noise and single droning note are the only sounds accompanying Samus. Even when exploring Crateria, the first main area of the game, the music consists only of droning vocal samples, and a low backing drumbeat. It’s as if the vocals are coming from the alien life that lives on the planet, warning Samus to pack up her spare missiles and get out of their home.

One comparison that can be drawn to the Super Metroid soundtrack and atmosphere is the 1979 sci-fi horror film, Alien. With its droning notes and eerie sound effects, the music of Alien often builds tension with minimalism. Some tracks begin quiet with little instrumentation, before introducing brief, loud melodies that last only a few seconds. Sure, the same can be said about most horror movies, but Alien is already a big inspiration for the Metroid franchise. One of the film’s tracks, “The Lab,” in particular sounds like it could fit right at home in a Metroid game.

While Alien’s soundtrack does create tension, the film has its fair share of jump scares as well. The scariest scenes are often more frightening from the unexpected nature of the moment, rather than the Xenomorph itself. Similarly, Super Metroid is all about setting the right tone for horror; the music itself is often more frightening than the actual environment or situation. That’s not to say there aren’t some creepy enemies in the game, but the stress from the slow, lingering vocal samples and noises are what really drives the atmosphere. This lonesome, chilling tone continues for the duration of Samus’s journey.

The final level of Super Metroid, Tourian, brings the soundtrack full circle, and uses noise samples in place of an actual musical track. It consists of bubbling lava and a grumbling sound, not unlike a hungry stomach (what has Samus had to eat all this time anyway?) Much like the beginning of the game, the final segment relies heavily on in-game sound effects, including the occasional shrieks of the Metroids themselves. The result is a familiar atmosphere that reminds the player of the beginning of their adventure.

Even during the first phase of the battle with Mother Brain, there is still no music present until the last segment. It’s not until the true final encounter that a loud, dramatic track begins to play. The notes are shrill and piercing, with Mother Brain screeching at the player with every chance she gets. This is the perfect way to give the player a final send off; it begins with an ominous lack of music, drawing Samus further into the lair of Mother Brain. Then, just when her adventure seems to be finished, the boss rises up once again (after unexpectedly growing legs) and begins one final attack.

Hmm, this ending seems a bit familiar…remember the finale of Alien? Just when it seemed like Ripley was going to make an escape without having to worry about the Xenomorph, it appears unexpectedly, hiding in the same escape shuttle. In a similar sense, Mother Brain returns even after it seems like she is no longer a threat. Ok, so this comparison may be a bit of a stretch, but Super Metroid does evoke a similar feeling in its last battle. The adventure isn’t over until Samus makes it off the planet in one piece, and the player won’t feel safe until they are certain they have escaped. One final victory song plays, with a rendition of Samus’s theme. It marks a triumphant conclusion to a game that previously provided pure isolation and terror, and stands as one of gaming’s greatest finales.

 

 

Why we Do What we Do

We spent a lot of time at local conventions this summer. Our big event is AVGC, but we tabled at a good number of mini library cons, too. There are so many preparations for these events: From remembering the date (does it start at 11:00 or noon?), to packing the promo materials, to remembering what instrument I’m even playing in a set list I can’t remember. When your weekends are packed with volunteering and performances, you’re inclined to forget the bigger picture—that is, why we do this at all.

At one of the library conventions, there was a child—probably four years old—who would not stop hovering. We befriended his father, who humored the kid’s fascination with our instruments. We showed him the synthesizer; he received a personal demonstration of guitar chords. He stole my kazoo and shoved it into his mouth, which I didn’t ask to be returned. It was that kid, and moments like those, that remind us of the big picture. We adored it. We play this music because we enjoy it, but it’s not enough to feel it on our own. We share it with our fellow musicians, and we share it even more with those who listen. Including, maybe especially, hyperactive toddlers.

Most of us are not professional musicians. We moan that we’re imperfect. We botched a note on our solo, or missed our entrance after 34 measures of rests. While we work on these things and strive to improve our musicianship, what matters in the end is not that I accidentally played an F# after the key change, again. It’s looking to our audience and seeing them smiling, or dancing, or nodding in acknowledgement that this piece rocks. “Play Undertale!” they plead, for the seventh time. “What’s that?” the kid asks, pointing at the piccolo. And we play it, again. And we show them. And we love it.

Sometimes, social media is like shouting into the ether. Sometimes, no one approaches our table at a convention because they feel intimidated. But we keep on posting dumb things to Instagram, and we keep on jamming at our table. Because if we reach just one person, if one person laughs at our dumb photos or stops to listen to the seventh round of the Undertale theme, it’s worth it to see—or envision—the joy it brings them.

Why do we do this? Because we like it. But more importantly, because you like it. We may gripe about setting up chairs for a concert, and whine backstage because we just can’t play today. But when we get out there and see you, we’re glad the chair arrangement on stage is just right. And maybe we don’t sound so bad after all. You come to the library to seek out our table in a back corner, and you attend our concert in the ice and snow. You jam out with us, and you holler and applaud between songs. And when we’re breaking down a set or swabbing out our instruments afterward, we look at one another and say, “When’s the next one?”

MAGFest 2018: A Nerdy ol’ Time

Ah, the Music and Gaming Festival: Where hoards of nerds descend upon the national’s capital, along the picturesque shores of National Harbor. In the relief of exiting off the highway, one is greeted by the waters of the harbor and the glittering Ferris wheel that’s never open during the winter, anyway, but we like seeing it because it’s shiny. And best of all? The Gaylord Convention Center, where volunteers and panelists and performers eagerly await our arrival.

What other annual event would a gaming orchestra anticipate than one focused solely on music and gaming?

It was a balmy 8 degrees as we walked to the convention center without a jacket, because who wants to carry a jacket around all day? Once you obtain your weekend badge, though, you’re not bothered by silly little things like hypothermia. The schedule of events is intimidating: you huddle together with your con-going friends, checking off every panel and concert that looks cool, knowing there’s not enough time in the weekend to attend them all. (It’s the thought that counts.) But there are some panels you absolutely cannot miss, like the ones where MGSO founder Alyssa is one of the panelists. (Right? This is a priority for everyone, right?)

And these panels did not disappoint. Friday morning began bright and early(ish… at 10am) with “Being a Game Audio Designer,” and we were up again on Saturday to learn how to start a gamer orchestra. There are so many gamer music groups. Greetings to our friends in Seattle and upstate New York! I spent some time later chatting with a member of the Washington Metropolitan GSO, plotting ways for all our groups to get together somehow. Battle of the GSOs? MASSIVE JOINT PERFORMANCE? Look out, MAGFest 2019.


(Our good friends WMGSO)

And the concerts. One could easily spend the entire convention in the concert hall, watching back-to-back performers, for three days straight. Not only the WMGSO (who rocked the stage, in my humble opinion), but we also checked out the Triforce Quartet, the Videri String Quartet (a personal favorite from last year), and the Super Guitar Brothers, a list that I’m now noticing reveals my classical music bias. But if you want more, there’s more. Rock bands! Chiptune! So much chiptune. There’s an entire corner of the con center for chiptune. Mmm, chiptune…

While MGSO wasn’t on the “official” schedule of events, we still found time to jam. MAGFest encourages artists to randomly play in the hallways, and we claimed a tidy corner to show off. Kirby’s Gourmet Race was a local favorite, along with Korobeiniki (which might just be my favorite). And no MGSO performance is complete without a little Final Fantasy and Zelda action. If you saw us perform, hello again! I hope you enjoy this awkward photo of the back of your head.


(It’s us)

Short version: Please attend MAGFest. It’s fun, it’s nerdy, and I didn’t even talk about half of what’s there. (Computer museum! Arcade! Jam clinic!) If you’re whining about attending a convention in the middle of the winter, remember: D.C. is a whole lot worse in the summer. Also, all those other conventions don’t have music and gaming and more gamer orchestras than you ever knew existed. No, really. There are so many of us.

In Defense of Breath of the Wild’s Ambient Soundtrack

The Legend of Zelda series is home to some of the most iconic music in gaming. The franchise even debuted its own orchestral concert tour, Symphony of the Goddesses, back in 2012, just a few months after the release of Skyward Sword. No matter how each entry chooses to portray its world and characters, music is a reoccurring theme that holds many Zelda games together. This includes the use of playable instruments, such as the ocarina, wind waker, harp, and even wolf howling from Twilight Princess (ok, so that one was a bit eccentric). The series has often given players the role of performing specific songs to uncover secrets, satisfy an NPC’s musical needs, or even change the weather or time of day. Link has become quite the musician over the years, but his talents seem to have been lost in translation in his latest adventure, Breath of the Wild.

Unlike past Zelda titles, Breath of the Wild uses an ambient soundtrack composed of minimalistic tracks, often with soft piano or strings. Songs rarely build up to full-blown orchestral pieces, unless necessary for a dramatic cutscene or boss encounter. Likewise, there are no instruments for Link to play, and musical leitmotifs aren’t as common either. Admittedly, it can be a bit jarring to see such a lack of catchy, recognizable songs in the overworld of Breath of the Wild. However, there is an intentional choice to keep the music minimalistic in the game’s world, and it shows a connection to previous titles.

Let’s take a step back to some of the past 3D Zelda games. During the daytime, the overworld always has the same piece of music playing; whether you are exploring Termina Field in Majora’s Mask, or the Great Sea in Wind Waker, there is always a stand-out track accompanying you. When nighttime arrives, the music cuts out in favor of some quiet time (minus Link’s occasional grunts and “hiya’s!”). The use of silence enhances the tone of the night, signaling a sense of urgency for the unknown, especially when enemies are approaching. Wind Waker uses silence when exploring many of its random islands, while Ocarina of Time uses ambience for most of its dungeons. Even Ganon’s castle lacks music for its entire first section, and instead uses an ominous, eerie drone.

So if other titles have used similar musical elements before, what makes Breath of the Wild so divisive? Well, it may come down to expectations, and what some fans hoped to see from a new Zelda game. Putting music aside, remember the negative reception from Skyward Sword’s excessive motion controls and linearity? Or how about when people mocked the cel-shaded visuals from Wind Waker? It’s not out of the ordinary for fans to look at past Zelda games and expect certain aspects they loved make a comeback.

When compared to other Zelda titles, Breath of the Wild is more unconventional in its approach to world building, story telling, and, perhaps most notably, exploration. It shows the player as much as he or she chooses to see; the main quests can even be skipped altogether in favor of rushing to the final battle. There are only four main dungeons and no additional items to uncover after the prologue, which is a drastic difference from what fans are used to. Breath of the Wild is less concerned with guiding the player on an adventure, and instead gives them the ability to create their own journey. Sure, there is a story to tell, but it’s essentially optional.

The emotional value of music tends to be different for each listener, but it’s common for Zelda soundtracks to work toward evoking specific emotions. For example, it’s clear that the “Song of Healing” from Majora’s Mask is meant to be somber; this is notable from its minor chords and general slow tempo. Conversely, the shop theme from Ocarina of Time is a jolly tune that can easily make the player want to dance. In Breath of the Wild, ambient tracks don’t particularly have just one emotion to convey, because that isn’t really its goal. This is a game about nature (or “the wild”), and the ambient music builds a relationship between the player and the game’s environment. Just as the player has the option to explore the world at their own pace and limits, the music is often kept minimal, so as not to drive the player in one particular direction emotionally. Ambience is a universal musical style that helps build atmosphere, which can be interpreted in different ways.

That’s not to say Breath of the Wild can’t have clear emotions to portray in its soundtrack. One of the game’s most memorable songs plays when the player encounters a Guardian; a large, spider-like machine with devastating laser attacks. The result is a tense melody that fills the player with panic and dread. This element has appeared in all previous 3D Zelda games, where a suspenseful piece of music will play when an enemy is nearby. In this case, not much has changed, and if anything Breath of the Wild is even more dramatic with its enemy and boss encounters. Some of the enemies can defeat Link in just one quick attack! Still, it’s far more common for the game to keep its music simple and in the background, rather than a fanfare of upbeat instrumentation.

Nintendo has effectively shattered fan’s expectations for what a new, open-world Zelda game can be. Breath of the Wild doesn’t follow most of the series’ past conventions, and isn’t afraid to embrace new ideas. Yet at its core it holds a significant part of what makes the Zelda franchise so cherished. It creates a world where the player is free to explore and genuinely feel like an adventurer. This time, the music adds even more depth to the world, subtly permeating each region’s locale with mellow piano keys and windy breezes. Breath of the Wild may not have as many iconic, or even hummable music, but its soundtrack still builds one of the strongest immersive experiences in gaming today.