Being Elmo

I've had a sort of big-picture life quandary over the last several months, and then I saw Being Elmo.

Being Elmo is a documentary following Kevin Clash, the puppeteer who's always played Elmo. Even though it's a documentary in format and presentation, the story is heart-warming enough to be as good as the Oscar winners from a few hours ago.

Clash came from very humble origins - a house that could've passed for projects on the outskirts of Baltimore and no means to travel - but his passion for puppetry was spotted at a very early age. He put on puppet shows for local kids and survived constant heckling from classmates. That grew into a spot on local children's TV shows, which grew into a spot on the popular broadcast show Captain Kangaroo. 

In his senior year of high school, he got his big break and met his heroes: Jim Henson and his entire crew. He succeeded before Henson and eventually settled into a steady career on Sesame Street.

Elmo is his creation, his character made from a spare puppet that was rarely used on the set. The real pivotal point in the film - spoiler alert (if such a thing exists for documentaries) - is the revelation that each Muppet character is based on a very focused character. Fozzy Bear is a Vaudeville performer, first and foremost. Elmo's character, on the other hand, is a concentrated and raw form of love. Elmo always gives hugs and kisses. Elmo loves you. 

Everyone who was interviewed for the film, from fellow puppeteers to Henson's contemporaries to Whoopi Goldberg, pointed to that Elmo character as a hidden side of Clash that only gets to come out when he's in character. 

While I'm glossing over a lot of wonderfully heart-warming details, the sum of the parts is that Clash had this passion for puppetry from his youth, and he followed it with such whole-heartedness and dedication that it led him to meet his heroes, become part of that tribe, and win great professional success along with it.

At 27, I've started to fear that I've missed out on my Elmo moment.

When I was 4 and first saw a video game, that automatic, natural connection went off in my head the same way it did for Kevin Clash when he saw the pilot episode of Sesame Street and Bert and Ernie talked to him by looking straight into the camera. 

When I was 9, I tried to learn C++. When I was 10 or 11, I subscribed to Game Developer Magazine. All the while, I played with every level editor for every major PC game that was a part of my childhood: Doom, Descent, StarCraft, Quake, Unreal. I was trying to be creative, the equivalent of sewing my own puppets together. 

Opportunity knocked for me, the same way it did for Clash. I attended Dallas gaming conventions and met heroes like John Carmack and John Romero. I worked in the gaming press - the dream job to end all dream jobs, if you were a young kid. I even worked at an actual game studio and had so much fun I preferred work to home life. I was invited to work - not just attend - E3 2009.

Yet in each case, things fizzled. The Dallas gaming empire collapsed, and my heroes fell from the spotlight. I lost my gaming press job after a couple months. I lost the game development job after mere weeks. The publisher that tentatively hired me for E3 backed out. 

The games industry - my own calling since birth, as I saw it - chewed me up and spat me out multiple times. My desire to work a job that would last, and one where I'd be taken seriously, led me to Rakuten. 

I feel good about Rakuten - it connects a lot of dots from my past including the Internet business, business strategy, working globally, and of course the Japan thing. 

My ultimate, eventual goal is to be part of a creative place. The Pixars, Nintendos, Sesame Workshops and Apples of the world have in common one thing: love. As Al Gore put it at the global tribute to Steve Jobs, Apple has it. Pixar and Nintendo both have it, if you go read the books about those companies. Valve, too, has it, as its legions of fans will attest.

Kevin Clash has it in spades, obviously. And if you watch his documentary, you'll notice that the same Henson Workshop puppeteers from the 1970s are still around and have aged very gracefully in lives filled with happiness and passion.

My only fear about Rakuten - a company which is kindly giving me a job, a paycheck, training and a position with advancement capability in a sector where I have passion and experience in my favorite city in the world - is what happens to creativity in a business (and consequently a career) with success and failure defined by metrics.

"Suck it up," you may say to me. I should be thankful I'm employed at all. I should have to do some real work and pay my dues. Everyone else does "work work" and I'm not deserving of escaping that.

Feel free to say those things to me. Just keep the volume low enough that the four-year-old me can't hear. 

How was the Zelda Concert? Well...

Back in early January, I got to use a birthday gift I was given back in December: two tickets to the Legend of Zelda performance at the Dallas Symphony Orchestra.

I got a couple questions pretty frequently following the show. From Dallas Arts District regulars: "How was Jaap?" That referred to the DSO's celebrated conductor and was an easy question to answer: he wasn't there. An Irish woman conducted the performance as part of the touring company that was putting on the Zelda concerts around the nation. 

The other question - "How was it?!" - is much harder to answer. It depends on what you think about games and what you know about music. 

"It was definitely an experience," I wrote to my brother, who I had unsuccessfully begged to come down from Oklahoma to join me at the concert. A professional musician and a devout Zelda player who even managed to sneak an Ocarina of Time reference into one of his successful compositions? Who should come but him? (On an aside, the excellent writer, world traveler and equally passionate gamer Hudson Lockett was an even better bromance-date for too many reasons to list here.)

The definitive trampling all over classical music tradition was in plain sight from the moment we walked in the place. Dress was all over the spectrum, from dating couples in suits and black dresses to cosplay groups in little green, elf-like Hylian outfits. The giant white board above the stage, visible in one of the pictures with this post, is a washed-out video screen that showed video clips from the games being referenced in the music.

The idea, it seemed obvious, was to educate listeners about what places or moods are being evoked within the music. The piece that we had all been assembled to hear was the "Symphony of the Goddess," a four-movement 'symphony' composed by an American spanning the Zelda franchise and a name derived from the latest game, Skyward Sword. 

The 'symphony' was, Hudson and I agreed, just an elaborate medley. Individual movements were medleys from individual games, so there was very little depth of atmosphere. Smaller details typical to the classical music tradition, such as the conductor's handshake with the first-chair violin, and not applauding between movements, were forgotten entirely.

Worse, the DSO sadly didn't do this music justice. The pianos and fortes were all in the right places on paper, but the group generally had a lack of chemistry that would move the audience. It sounded like the DSO hadn't had much rehearsal time at all with our Irish conductor. Criminally, the Fairy Fountain theme (you know it from every Zelda game's file selection screen)...

...was utterly butchered. No other way to put it. The poor harpists had to play their shortest strings to get those notes out, but by the looks I got on a video screen close-up, one player was older and had arthritic fingers that caused her to miss most of her notes. Stranger still, our composer thought it wise to do some call-and-response thing between the two harpists, but all that did was mess things up further when one player hit her notes and the poor other one didn't. It was cringing, dear-god-look-away awkward and equally painful to listen to.

So the performance itself really straddled the range from awful to (for tiny fractions of seconds) blissfully euphoric. And to cap it all off, our conductor left the stage two or three times, giving the audience the impression that they were being treated to a whole series of encores. That resulted in multiple (unnecessary) standing ovations.

That brings us back to your opinions on games and music. If you think games are art, then to celebrate them in the hallowed ground of a major city performance hall is an honor that they've earned. If you think games are the devil's work, it's sacrilege to let them into that hallowed ground. And if you're educated about classical music, then serviceable orchestration don't make up for blah arrangement, a wildly inconsistent performance, a huge video screen floating in the room shouting "HAY THIS IS THE PART WHERE ___", and all the smaller details of classical performances thrown out the window. But if you're not educated, you probably wouldn't have been bothered by any of those factors.

"You were probably not right not to come; you'd have hated it," I also wrote to my brother. A classically-trained musician, he wouldn't have enjoyed what was academically a lackluster piece of music and a bad performance to boot. Many real musicians probably committed suicide that night just so that they could roll over in their graves in response to the lack of musical convention and tradition. I honestly don't know if Kris would have been in that group.

Regardless of opinions, however, the facts speak for themselves. The Zelda symphony is the DSO's only sellout in its entire season and the fastest sellout in the organization's history. The arts, always more susceptible to patronage than we like to admit, will soon notice that gamers are a powerful, loyal and untapped demographic. In their (our) defense, is it so wrong that we call into question four hundred years' of tradition and appropriate classical music as our own when we pay for the artists? Who says we can't applaud if we hear something cool? Who says video can't augment a performance? Who says we have to be educated before hearing a symphony if we now have the technology to be educated while we listen?

As a birthday present, it combined pomp-and-circumstance and one of the greatest gaming franchises of my life. How could I hate on that?

Three or four standing O's, however many there were, were one final nail after another in the coffin of musical tradition. But from those gamers, those fans, those guys and girls across generations rocking Triforce tattoos and elf cosplay: I have no doubt that all of them were from the heart.

Nintendo + Apple

The connection - or rather, similarity - between Nintendo and Apple is incredible.

Here are a few choice quotes from Osamu Inoue's Nintendo Magic, one of the better Nintendo books from the last few years:

"I think they have a lot in common with us in that we both make unique, interesting products that surprise people. I really respect and think highly of Nintendo. I myself own a Gamecube and a Wii." -Phil Schiller, 2008

Apple takes pride in its software development, bringing new experiences to its customers on the twin pillars of hardware and software. On that count, it's certainly not unlike Nintendo. [Nintendo president Satoru] Iwata himself agrees: "We want people to be surprised, and we want people to call our approach unique. That's what people say about Apple, too.

It's cherry-picking the numbers, but if you stack up quarterly sales numbers from 2005 through 2008 the lines are identical. Apple's are higher by a steady margin of about $3 billion, but the lines are identical in shape:

That's Apple on top, in black, and Nintendo below in grey, and me creepily peering around from behind the book

The quotes are endless about how either company wants to surprise people, or focuses on R&D heavily, or holds employees accountable, or how execs use each other's products, or has been to the brink of death and back, or has millions of people waiting with baited breath before product announcements.

My personal favorite common factor about the two companies is how both reach into their back catalogues of experiences and bring them back in unexpected ways. Roughly 48% of all media coverage of the iPad has referenced the Newton (a prototype PDA from 1993, pretty far ahead of its time). Other recurring themes include the Macintosh and iMac unveils, but you'd have to find a dedicated Apple fan to get you more examples than that. 

I can give you some Nintendo ones, though. The 3DS is, in a sense, a refinement of the Virtual Boy that came about once the technology improved. Nintendo has some product failures, such as Virtual Boy, just like Apple had the entire 1990s and the Motorola ROKR. Products aside, Nintendo brings back some small details in very subtle ways. Check out this little tune, which was bundled with a DSiWare animation app called Flipnote Studio:

Seems innocent enough, until you find that someone snuck a very similar tune into a secret level of Super Mario 3D Land:

And it turns out that these little tricksters have a long history of doing this stuff. If you owned a GameCube, you may not have ever known that the calming ambient system menu music is actually borrowed from a Famicom (NES) accessory that never made it to the US:

Speaking of hardware that never left Japan, learning about Satellaview blew my mind. It was a SNES addon with a satellite modem that let players download small segments of Nintendo games and even play along with live broadcast audio tracks, creating a sort of Legend of Zelda-meets-radio drama kind of feel. 

But the "download small segments of Nintendo games" is the big thing here. New bits of content for games like Link to the Past, F-Zero and Dr. Mario were created exclusively for the service. So, in effect, Nintendo was pushing the boundaries of what we now know as downloadable content and episodic gaming. In 1995. Here's a commercial, and even though it's in Japanese, you can get a basic idea of what's going on:

So in one corner you have Apple, which tried to take the computer mobile nearly 20 years ago with Newton and failed because the technology wasn't ready. And in the other you have Nintendo, which tried to reinvent gaming by way of connectivity over 15 years ago and failed because the technology wasn't ready (at least on the small scale of Japan, which didn't have terrestrial Internet in 1995). The ideas were always there, but the means weren't.

After being an Apple user for some five years, and having read Steve's bio, I'm finally coming around to understanding why someone would be an Apple fan, someone who follows the company out of something more than attachment to the products themselves, someone who sticks by in thick and thin.

I'm understanding it because I'm the same way with Nintendo, a very similar company.

Postscript
In all fairness, Nintendo didn't invent the gaming modem. The Sega Channel beat Nintendo to the punch in 1994, but the precedent for failed gaming modems goes back way further than I ever thought. 

In fact, attempts at connected gaming go all the way back to the Atari 2600. If Wikipedia is to be believed, that failed attempt became the eventual core technology of AOL.

If Nintendo had to be 'first' at something in the field, it was the use of a broadcast satellite, although even the Golden Age-era consoles used cable TV to achieve much the same effect.

(On an aside from my aside, Ed Rotberg, the creator of Battlezone, even told me that gameplay analytics were thought of at Golden Age-era Atari but the machines needed modems to phone home. Does the gaming industry have any ideas that weren't originally thought up in the 1970s?)

And while I'm doing the errors-and-corrections segment, I may as well admit that the 48% statistic about Newton is totally made up.

Playlist: Catching up on all of 2011, pretty much

I haven't told the world what I'm playing, reading and listening to since March of last year!

Ack!

Let's get down to it:

Spotify 
I should mention Spotify first, since the service is a decent music player but it's really an amazing platform for me to shout out my musical opinions and tastes to the people who may want to know about it. I haven't really been able to share music with my high school amigos since high school, thanks to the inevitable demise of our LAN parties, too much laziness to run FTP or other filesharing servers, and the increasing difficulty of using common desktop apps to send files back and forth.

Within a week or two of being converted to Spotify, Aroon, Alex and I basically got to play catch-up on several years' of diverging music collections. It's really good to be coming back together. If you're not using Spotify for its social features, it's because you don't have a taste in music.

All that said, I'm listening to:

Kenichiro Nishihara, Life - Mostly misses, especially compared to Humming Jazz, but don't miss Now I Know.

Funky DL, Blackcurrent Jazz 2 - DL's best since The 4th Quarter. Fantastic from start to finish. Don't miss Le Jazz Courant Noir. This is already the soundtrack to the rest of my time here in the US.

Nujabes, Spiritual State - You already know what I think.

Chris Botti Live in Boston - Sometimes you just need a little jazz.

Gaming

Forza Motorspot 3 (yes, 3) - So good that I switched away from GT5. Can't wait to get my hands on 4.

Yakuza 4 - I loved 3, so no surprise I enjoyed this one. There was less to surprise me in this one, and no new environments, but the enhancements over 3 made it worth the run.

Uncharted 3 - Personally, my Best Game of 2011. I started playing and next thing I knew Aroon was planted on the couch watching the action. Then, next thing I knew, we started over and Nick planted himself on the couch too. This is what a blockbuster - game, movie, whatever - should be.

Battlefield 3 - Actually really enjoyed the singleplayer campaign, if only because it's marginally less ridiculous than Modern Warfare. I really should've paid the $10 for multiplayer access.

Deus Ex: Human Revolution - Hats off to Eidos Montreal. They pulled off what every studio promising a big reboot promises, except they actually delivered. I adore the atmosphere, the world, the attention to detail. Looking at the augmentation, or the hacking mini-game, or the linearity, and it isn't classic DX. But the spirit of the narrative - the poverty, the paranoia, the way that globalization gives way to corporate rule - is completely and satisfyingly present. Can't wait for the inevitable sequel, and I'm just fine if it takes five years to execute again.

Donkey Kong Country Returns - As a trip down memory lane, certainly better done than most Nintendo platformers that aren't Mario. As a platformer, however, waggle controls are annoying and disappointing. And the cartoony, low-poly look that the Wii is known for doesn't do DKC justice. It's worth 2 or 3 hours, but from that you've scratched the itch and you can put it away.

Sonic Generations - I'd been hankering for a good Sonic so badly that I bought Sonic CD and gave it my first whirl ever since I never had a Sega CD growing up. Then along came Generations and - holy moly - it's good! A good 3D Sonic! Hallelujah!

Skip

Tropico 4 - Like a Zynga game but with a bad interface. Shudder.

Kirby's Epic Yarn - A game that showed incredible promise on its art style alone turns out to be a ho-hum platformer. I'd let my kids play it, if I had any. But I don't have kids, so skip it I did.

Final Fantasy XIII - Not worth the 60 hours it'd take to appreciate this game. After 5, I still have no idea what a fal'Cie is and I hate every character except the awesome black dude with the 'fro. Still, my hat goes off to the people who implemented the seriously beautiful motion graphics. Those little details were fantastic.

Reading

Steve Jobs' bio is worth the read.

False Nostalgia

There's a clip just like this one that was always used as B-roll footage when Japan was in the news every day at the end of the 80s. Sunset palette, city traffic, and those really boxy vans are really all I remember of it. It symbolized Japan's rise in the world, although I was still too young to make the connection between my beloved Nintendo and the nation of Japan - the economic juggernaut, the world power, the orderly society and the O.G. peaceful rise.

Still, there's something that that image triggers for me. For a native Japanese, it'd probably trigger nostalgia, if anything, for that brief moment when Japan sat at the top of the world. For me, well, it's almost nostalgic but never could be. How could I look back fondly on a time and place where I never lived?

That sense is probably why I loved Shenmue, an old Dreamcast game with a cult following that was known for its ahead-of-its-time open world more than the story, fighting or controls. Even though it hasn't aged well at all, at the time it felt like an incredibly realistic, explorable re-creation of a 1980s Tokyo suburb. Shenmue allowed me to visit this imagined place from the B-roll and see what it would have been like.

That sensation is also why I count Crazy Ken Band among my guilty pleasures. The song below, like most of Crazy Ken's, is itself an exercise in nostalgia: for summers past, for old Detroit muscle cars, for an older rock-n-roll sound, for youth, and always for an alternate-reality sort of Americana pinpointed to the sailor-filled port city of Yokosuka, where American influence has been heavy since the war. It may not be for the bubble heyday, but Crazy Ken acts the same in remembering an older Japan, mixing details real and imagined for a very specific feel.

The feeling is even why I love Sushiyama, a Dallas sushi restaurant that doesn't try to chase the chic, modern, date-friendly decor that so many American sushi joints go for. While the place is actually a tacky pseudo-Japanese mockup of a cozy izakaya, when I'm there I willingly buy into it and feel a little bit temporarily transported.

Between all the images of the country I've consumed over my lifetime, I think I've sort of created a false memory for myself that looks back fondly on a Japan gone by.

The Japanese have a word for nostalgia: natsukashii. But to put it as simply 'nostalgia' in English is a poor translation. In Japanese the word has a more specific, nuanced meaning that leans toward the emotions stirred up by recalling times past - which can be collectively shared, thanks to Japanese uniformity in experience. 

Let me put it this way: if you say "that's so nostalgic" in English, someone could ask you for more detail. "Nostalgic for what?" you may be asked. But say it in Japanese - natsukashii desu ne - and the response will be more like "I know what you mean."

Oddly enough, this dude took a camcorder (VHS!) to Tokyo at the end of the 80s. For people who know the city, it's easy to recognize East Shinjuku in the video. It's amazing how little the area has changed in 20 or 30 years. So if Tokyo in 1987 was very nearly the same as it was in 2007, maybe my memories of the area at Japan's peak, false though they are, aren't so inaccurate.