1995 Archives - The Greatest Game Music

Descent Soundtrack (Mac)

Descent Soundtrack (Mac), Johann Langlie / Brian Luzietti / Larry Peacock / Jim Torres / Tim Wiles, 1995

Among the titles that ushered in the new era of 3D gaming during the mid-1990s, Descent sometimes gets a bit overlooked. Two years after Doom, Descent took the visualisation of three-dimensional spaces in video games to the next level. Through the framework of a space flight simulator, Parallax Software gave players six degrees of freedom to shoot their way through a series of off-world mines. Another first was the use of (almost) exclusively 3D graphics – instead of bitmaps – to depict the game’s world. It was no wonder that Descent could pull off such technical feats – its co-creators Mike Kulas and Matt Toschlog had previously worked on another revolutionary 3D title: Ultima Underworld. Critical acclaim and strong sales figures rewarded Parallax Software’s daring, leading to several ports and sequels – and enough fan devotion to crowdfund a prequel decades later!

Tracing the Descent soundtrack’s creation is a mildly confusing affair, thanks to the game’s various ports. The original PC release came with a MIDI soundtrack composed by Ken Allen, Brian Luzietti, Larry Peacock, Leslie Spitzer, Jim Torres and Tim Wiles. Some of these artists had previously worked on other titles by publisher Interplay. Others don’t seem to have had much of a career in games outside of the Descent franchise. The score was heavily influenced by industrial music bands like Nine Inch Nails, Skinny Puppy and Front Line Assembly – no surprise, given this particular genre reached its peak of popularity in the mid-1990s. The Mac and PlayStation ports released later on used CD audio, including arranged versions of some of the PC MIDI compositions and licensed tracks by Nivek Ogre and Type-O Negative.

Needless to say, the MIDI tracks pale in comparison to the far more powerful, fully-fledged CD audio cues. Interestingly, the Mac and PlayStation soundtracks aren’t identical. The preference for the Mac score comes courtesy of a curated soundtrack release via GOG. In contrast, the PlayStation soundtrack is a confusing combination of licensed material, reprises of the Mac cues and new compositions. What’s also intriguing is that the credits for the Mac port list Johann Langlie and Larry Peacock as responsible for “CD Music”, “partially based on music by Brian Luzietti, Larry Peacock, Tim Wiles (Q), Jim Torres”. In other words, does this list imply that Ken Allen and Leslie Spitzer’s contributions to the PC score didn’t receive any CD audio treatment?

Be that as it may, there’s no need to ponder these questions for too long. After all, what counts is that the Descent soundtrack is a masterful exercise in maximalist genre-bending, a monumental beast of a game score written during a time when composers discovered the joys of working with live instruments – throwing caution and restraint to the wind in the process. Yes, this is clearly music inspired by contemporary industrial metal and electronic influences (similar to Burke Trieschmann’s best scores). However, Langlie and Peacock’s pieces mash such a staggering amount of ideas and styles together that their score emerges as something entirely original. It’s a constantly intense and innovative work, but equally blessed with such assured pacing that the music’s relentless attitude never becomes overbearing.

“Title” stakes the composers’ claim to fame firstly with a runtime of no less than six minutes – setting a template for the rest of Descent soundtrack, where most tracks enthusiastically cram in so much that they can’t help but break through the five-minute mark. “Title” alone circles through more styles than other game soundtracks in their entirety. There’s trippy 90s electronica, squealing free jazz saxophone leads, hauntingly atmospheric synth leads, noisy guitar episodes driven by textural exploration rather than melodic gratification. It’s all anchored by hand percussion rhythms that imbue the music with a surprisingly organic groove, elegantly countering the cue’s densely arranged electronic elements.

The constant onslaught of complex rhythm layers on “Title” and throughout the entire Descent soundtrack is not just a sign of the composers’ ambitions, but the resulting wall of sound also suitably underscores the game’s futuristic, claustrophobic locations. Thanks to its seamless construction, “Title” is not just gritty and adrenaline-pumping, but also convincingly expansive and spacious in its world-building – if one had to find an industrial game score that genuinely deserves the designation ‘epic’, it’s this one.

And it only gets better from here – Langlie and Peacock keep realigning the musical colours on the Descent soundtrack’s massive palette for each track. “Lunar Outpost” introduces hip-hop beats and a fantastic, almost funky bass line that keeps the centrifugal musical forces from spinning out of control. It’s one of the many occasions on which Langlie and Peacock innovate, eschewing industrial music’s trademark pumping, clanging rhythms for something warmer and more groove-based. That doesn’t stop “Lunar Scilab” from starting with what sounds like pistons mercilessly firing away, before the composers introduce one of the soundtrack’s trademarks. We are talking about almost experimental guitar work that tweaks the instrument’s riffs into their most aggressive, torn shape possible, distorted almost beyond recognition. Such noise metal inclinations will come to dominate the soundtrack more and more, but first, “Lunar Military Base” surprises with a brief, welcome excursion into melodic 1970s hard rock.

For any soundtrack that already starts at 100%, it’s hard to find places to go as the big showdown approaches, but the Descent soundtrack pulls off this rare feat. “Venus Atmospheric Lab” feels like a tidal wave that’s about the crush listeners as it cranks up every single one of its components to 11 – be that the album’s heaviest, most singled-minded beat, an apocalyptic staccato synth figure or blindingly dissonant guitar riffs. That the whole thing comes together organically without collapsing under its own weight is further testament to the composers’ skills. “Venus Nickel-Iron Mine” ’s progressive techno gives way to the almost hypnotic nightmare that is “Mercury Core” ’s combination of downright catchy rhythms assaulted by some of game music’s most abrasive guitar lines.

And thankfully, “Titan Mine” is precisely the kind of jaw-dropping freight train of a closing track that this kind of album demands. The cue moves smoothly from eerie sound collage to a groove-oriented hard rock sound that is soon undermined by a stumbling, disorienting synth line – only to explode in a savagely pounding industrial metal outburst. Such frightening whiplash isn’t all that “Titan Mine” has to offer. Listen to how the composers layer their competing musical ideas as the piece keeps building into the sort of majestic, magnificently controlled chaos only very, very few scores ever achieve. Matching Descent’s elevated standing in game history, its soundtrack is a momentous achievement – industrial music at its most excessive and yet tightly controlled.

01 - Title Langlie / Luzietti / Peacock / Torres / Wiles 6:07
02 - Lunar Outpost Langlie / Luzietti / Peacock / Torres / Wiles 6:37
03 - Lunar Scilab Langlie / Luzietti / Peacock / Torres / Wiles 4:32
04 - Lunar Military Base Langlie / Luzietti / Peacock / Torres / Wiles 2:52
05 - Venus Atmospheric Lab Langlie / Luzietti / Peacock / Torres / Wiles 6:59
06 - Venus Nickel-Iron Mine Langlie / Luzietti / Peacock / Torres / Wiles 7:32
07 - Mercury Solar Lab Langlie / Luzietti / Peacock / Torres / Wiles 6:04
08 - Mercury Core Langlie / Luzietti / Peacock / Torres / Wiles 4:28
09 - Titan Mine Langlie / Luzietti / Peacock / Torres / Wiles 7:02

Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest Soundtrack (SNES)

Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest Soundtrack (SNES), David Wise, 1995

While Donkey Kong Country remains the most historically important (and best-selling) entry in the franchise, it is Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest that is usually most fondly remembered among gamers. Polished and bursting at the seams with ideas, Diddy’s Kong Quest remains one of the best 2d platformers ever created.

The one component of Donkey Kong Country that has arguably aged best is its soundtrack. Collaborating with Eveline Fischer, David Wise created a haunting, minimalist opus that underscored the lavish graphics with understated grace. For the Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest soundtrack, Wise returned and wrote the entire score on his own. In short, this might well be his career-defining masterpiece. It’s a stunning example of musical world building that pushes the ageing SNES sound hardware to its very limits.

The biggest stylistic addition to the palette of the Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest soundtrack is the much larger presence of orchestral pieces. Wise isn’t often thought of as an orchestral composer, but his work here shows his undeniable talent in this area. Determined and driven, map theme “Welcome to Crocodile Isle” could hardly be more different from DKC’s “Simian Segue”’s sunny demeanour. Clearly, the stakes have been raised and it’s not just the game’s sombre colour palette that is telling us so. Most impressive of all is “Krook’s March”, as multi-faceted and sophisticated as any top shelf SNES JRPG composition. Its opening references “K. Rool Returns”’ theatrical mood, but soon enough Wise lets the orchestral drama disintegrate into a surprisingly lean passage for solo bassoon against string pizzicati and glockenspiel. Despite the fluidity of its orchestrations, the composition’s structure remains admirably coherent.

These confidently expressed dramatic gestures particularly benefit the boss tracks. On Donkey Kong Country, they were the soundtrack’s weakest link, repetitive and heavy-handed. On the Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest soundtrack, these tracks largely maintain the score’s level of excellence. “Boss Bossanova” mixes K. Rool’s theme from “K. Rool Returns” with a sea chantey mood that feels entirely appropriate. “Crocodile Cacophony” equally relies on the antagonist’s theme, which ends up being the soundtrack’s most prominent thematic construct. Here and elsewhere on this score, Wise pushes the SNES sound chip as hard as one could possibly imagine. The metallic percussion on “Crocodile Cacophony” couldn’t sound anymore heavy and forceful on this platform.

Ultimately though, what has made the Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest soundtrack a fan favourite is its continuation and expansion of Donkey Kong Country’s soundscaping. On that earlier game, many of the level themes had a beguilingly stark mood. The stage tracks on Diddy’s Kong Quest are less hypnotic, but arguably more immediately accessible – and just as memorable.

Take “Stickerbush Symphony”, inspiration to many electronic music artists and the reason why a decades-old SNES soundtrack still receives coverage in mainstream music publications, including the Rolling Stone (even if that coverage isn’t always very well-researched). Originally written to accompany an underwater level, “Stickerbush Symphony” arguably doesn’t deviate much stylistically from DKC’s “Aquatic Ambience”. Both compositions are portals to a soothing world of gently morphing synthscapes and wistful melodies gliding on top of ebbing and swelling electronic pulses. But “Stickerbush Symphony” puts greater emphasis on its melody, a call-and-response pattern that ranks among the SNES’ best melodic ideas.

And so it goes on the entire Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest soundtrack. While maintaining aspects of DKC’s ambient nature, the level themes are now more strongly guided by melody progressions rather than hushed explorations of moods. “In a Snow-Bound Land” manages to rival “Stickerbush Symphony”’s emotional impact. Its light pop feel only makes the yearning character of its ethereal melody lead more immediate and touching. The track’s treble-heavy orchestration offers few surprises, but as always, Wise shapes the instrument sounds magnificently. Indeed, this is easily one of the best sounding soundtracks in the entire SNES library, such is Wise’s mastery of the single-cycle wave samples he has created for this project.

Diddy’s Kong Quest is also considerably more colourful than its predecessor. Just sample “Hot-Head Bop”, which moves the soundtrack’s melodic content surprisingly close to 90s rock. Indeed bopping along with a distinct pop ballad feel, the track doesn’t forget to underscore its sweltering location. “Bayou Boogie” has great fun translating the oppressive atmosphere of its setting into music. And when Wise convincingly emulates the sound of “In the Air Tonight”’s Roland CR78 drum machine, it is not merely an exercise in pastiche, but only increases the humidity-drenched, claustrophobic mood.

The biggest surprise here is “Disco Train”, which takes the Donkey Kong Country franchise into new territory. Far from an exuberant dance out though, the track feels more like an eerie take on mid-90s techno. An amazingly well-synthesised bass drives a disconcertingly siren-like lead on a track one would expect to find on a 32-bit futuristic racing game from the same year. Add to all this “Flight of the Zinger”’s jittery tension that subtly undermines the generally calm mood of the game’s stage themes, and the Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest soundtrack emerges as one of the most atmospherically and emotionally rich game soundtracks ever written.

Conversion notes

As with its predecessor, porting this sort of envelope-pushing soundtrack to a technologically less capable platform is a formidable challenge. Thankfully, Grant Kirkhope was more than up to the task when he created the music for Donkey Kong Land 2 on the Game Boy.

On the other hand, the music on the inevitable Game Boy Advance port is entirely skippable. While the Game Boy soundtrack has its own identity that makes it a worthwhile listen, the Game Boy Advance version only registers as a watered-down version of the original.

01 - K. Rool Returns (Title) David Wise 0:38
02 - Welcome to Crocodile Isle (Map) David Wise 1:09
03 - Klomp's Romp (Ship Deck (Ocean)) David Wise 2:26
04 - Lockjaw's Saga (Ship Hold) David Wise 1:52
05 - Jib Jig (Rigging) David Wise 2:11
06 - Snakey Chantey (Ship Deck (Swamp)) David Wise 1:35
07 - Bayou Boogie (Swamp) David Wise 2:59
08 - Forest Interlude (Forest) David Wise 4:33
09 - Flight of the Zinger (Zinger Hive) David Wise 2:59
10 - Cranky's Conga (Cranky's Monkey Museum) David Wise 1:22
11 - Hot-Head Bop (Lava Caves) David Wise 3:40
12 - Stickerbush Symphony (Bramble Maze) David Wise 4:23
13 - Mining Melancholy (Mine Shaft) David Wise 3:35
14 - Disco Train (Amusement Park Roller Coaster) David Wise 3:23
15 - Boss Bossanova (Boss Battle) David Wise 1:10
16 - Steel Drum Rhumba (Save/Load Menu) David Wise 1:21
17 - Krook's March (Castle) David Wise 3:38
18 - Klubba's Reveille (Klubba's Kiosk) David Wise 1:07
19 - Haunted Chase (Haunted Roller Coaster) David Wise 2:14
20 - In a Snow-Bound Land (Ice Cave) David Wise 3:08
21 - Lost World Anthem (Lost World Map) David Wise 1:37
22 - Primal Rave (Jungle) David Wise 3:22
23 - Crocodile Cacophony (Final Battle) David Wise 1:58
24 - Donkey Kong Rescued (Ending & Staff Roll) David Wise 2:27

Heroes of Might and Magic Soundtrack (PC)

Heroes of Might and Magic Soundtrack (PC), Paul Romero, 1995

Few game scores start with a gesture as confident as the Heroes of Might and Magic soundtrack. Opening “Barbarian (Theme for Louis XIV)”, a harpsichord presents an almost rushing motif that already creates a dense soundscape. But clearly, the composer wants to take things further. Soon, a growing number of instruments join the harpsichord figure, playing the motif as a fugue. This continues until a whopping five different voices simultaneously perform in counterpoint. The resulting passage is of a structural complexity not previously encountered in Western game music.

On a purely musical level alone, it makes for a striking start to the album. But this display of compositional bravado is even more important from another point of view. This is a composition that wears its ambitions proudly on its sleeve. The piece doesn’t waste a second to proclaim that this is music of substance, demanding to be taken seriously. In other words, this is a game soundtrack that self-consciously styles itself as “Art”.

Looking at the history of orchestral Western game music, this vision distinguishes the Heroes of Might and Magic soundtrack more than one might think. Certainly, by 1995, there were already many ambitious orchestral Western game scores out there. However, their role models usually came from within film music. This goes back all the way to 1990’s Wing Commander, whose soundtrack emulated the Star Wars and Star Trek franchises’ music. Heroes of Might and Magic looks elsewhere for inspiration, and arguably sets its sights even higher – classical music and its time-honoured, hallowed aura of gravitas and import. In this regard, it bears similarities to Jun Nagao‘s Romance of the Three Kingdoms IV.

Where did this outburst of ambition come from? As it turned out, from a source that was both expected and surprising: Paul Romero. Before he was introduced to Heroes of Might and Magic‘s Sound Director and future serial collaborator Rob King, Romero had never played a video game. A former child prodigy, Romero had already performed around the world as a classical pianist before the age of 15. Graduating from the world-famous Conservatoire de Paris, Romero had dropped out of music performance after finishing his musical training. After working in various random jobs, it was Heroes of Might and Magic that brought him back to music.

Romero’s background easily explains the Heroes of Might and Magic soundtrack’s character. Few artists had previously thought of applying classical music’s conventions to the realm of video game music (although one shouldn’t forget The Dig‘s Wagnerian inspirations, also released in 1995). Romero – deeply knowledgeable about classical music composition and refreshingly unaware of game music conventions – was clearly happy to merge games and classical music. The result set a new benchmark for sophistication, density and maturity of orchestral writing in Western game scores.

But that wasn’t the only reason that the Heroes of Might and Magic soundtrack kicked off one of game music’s most revered franchises. For starters, Romero has a knack for penning drop-dead gorgeous melodies. The score’s melody lines are a constant pleasure, as elegant, refined and graceful as one would hope for, considering Romero’s classical inspirations. His melodies are also catchy. That’s not a characteristic one would usually associate with classical music, where melodies don’t often present themselves as hummable tunes. But it’s Romero’s Baroque inspirations make themselves felt here, if maybe in a slightly unexpected way. Heroes of Might and Magic‘s melodic material usually consists of relatively short figures, as is common in Baroque music, helping the melodies to instantly hook themselves into listeners’ memory banks.

And thankfully, Romero makes the most of his beguiling melodic creations. He structures his longer tracks around variations of a melody particular to each cue. Romero treats these variations with as much meticulousness as all other aspects of the music. They are not just repetitions of a once established motif, but instead they rework and elaborate upon the original material. Once more, it’s a procedure derived from classical music and when implemented as well as on the Heroes of Might and Magic soundtrack, it imbues the music with a sense of continuous development previously not found on Western game music compositions.

The focus on melodic variations also allows Romero to develop his compositions’ textures and moods in masterful fashion, while maintaining their structural coherence. For example, “Knight”’s opening maintains “Barbarian (Theme for Louis XIV)”’s light-hearted Baroque attitude and adds a more regal, stiff attitude. A beautifully long-spun oboe solo develops the track’s melodic material. After that, the melody passes to the uillean pipes, calling from a far-distant hill top above the moors. “Sorceress” almost plays like a miniature harpsichord concerto, mixing the playfulness of earlier pieces with a dash of mystery. “Warlock” is just as elaborately constructed, but its woodwind soli and string harmonies are sharper and harmonically more ambivalent.

Heroes of Might and Magic is a work that doesn’t outright revolutionise the Western fantasy game score genre, but certainly takes it to the next level. That is, before Heroes of Might and Magic II would magnify almost everything that is great about this soundtrack, and land in unprecedented territory.

Conversion notes

Greg Turner’s conversion of the original Heroes of Might and Magic score for the 2000 Game Boy Colour port does manage to maintain some of the melodic beauty that makes Romero’s work such a pleasure to listen to. Unfortunately, Turner also has to greatly shorten Romero’s compositions, to the point where many tracks loop after just 30-45 seconds – not enough time for this kind of classically-inspired to make its full impact.

01 - Barbarian (Theme for Louis XIV) Paul Romero 3:47
02 - Title Paul Romero 1:27
03 - Knight Paul Romero 4:28
04 - Sorceress Paul Romero 3:16
05 - Win Paul Romero 1:05
06 - Busy Paul Romero 1:06
07 - Warlock Paul Romero 4:30
08 - Campaign Paul Romero 1:13

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream Soundtrack

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream Soundtrack, John Ottman, 1995

Point-and-click adventure games arguably reached the peak of their popularity during the mid-1990s. Not surprisingly, this period also saw the genre daring to branch out into previously untapped, darker subject matter – although whether this was always handled with the necessary maturity and taste is up for debate. The best known example of these edgier adventure games might be Sierra’s Phantasmagoria, but arguably more confronting and thought-provoking was I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream.

Based on Harlan Ellison’s short story of the same name, the game presents a bleak sci-fi scenario in which a super-computer eternally tortures humanity’s final five survivors following a nuclear holocaust, simply for its own pleasure and out of infinite hatred for mankind. Having Ellison himself involved in the creation of the game made sure it featured far better writing than most other video games. However, I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream suffered from some design flaws that held it back from becoming a genre classic. Still, even decades after its release, the game stands out for its unflinching look at some immensely depressing subject matter, articulated through the repugnant yet tragic life stories of the five survivors players control during the game.

Musically, the I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream soundtrack would have presented both a formidable challenge and immense opportunities. The task at hand was to underscore a very, very downbeat narrative in the understated style typical of adventure game scores – while working with a narrative and characters that were much richer than what most video games would offer. Thankfully, the developers found a composer who was more than up to the task: John Ottman, who would see his breakthrough the same year scoring and editing Bryan Singer’s neo-noir classic The Usual Suspects.

Arguably, Ottman is best known for his large-scale, near-symphonic soundtracks including some of the X-Men movies, Superman Returns and Jack the Giant Slayer. Seeing him score a gloomy mid-1990s adventure video game is a surprise, but maybe only initially. Known for grandly orchestrated work, Ottman had cut his teeth composing for movies by rescoring his friends’ student films. This likely provided him with the experience writing for the sort of MIDI instruments used on the I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream soundtrack. And it’s worth keeping in mind that several of Ottman’s early film scores were written for movies with horror aspects – particularly Snow White: A Tale of Terror. As such, I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream forms a more organic part of Ottman’s output than one might think.

And while the I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream soundtrack doesn’t have Snow White’s sudden mood changes, it shares the same feeling of morbidity that seeps into every single note. Ottman makes creative use of chamber music-sized orchestrations, relying heavily on woodwinds (including saxophone) and percussion. The resulting instrumental palette produces a claustrophobic and haunting mood – but at the same time is capable of intimate expressions of regret and hope, vital to properly underscoring the protagonists’ conflicted, multi-faceted personalities.

What makes the I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream soundtrack even more intriguing is the fragmented melodic and harmonic material Ottman writes. His compositions may rarely change their languid pacing and oppressive demeanour, but they are anything but predictable. Ottman’s overwhelmingly chromatic harmonies are constantly surprising, while his jazz-influenced melody writing has a complexity and maturity rarely encountered in game scores. This is a soundtrack that demands and rewards multiple close listens under headphones to unearth its myriad subtleties. Like few other game scores, I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream keeps the emotions it conveys fascinatingly ambiguous and unstable. As such, it perfectly mirrors the murky emotional and moral state of its protagonists.

There’s no doubt that the I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream soundtrack feels overwhelming claustrophobic, as if underscoring a doomed search for answers in some subterranean, darkly-lit cavern. But Ottman finds individual tone colours for each protagonist to underscore their individual storyline – which has the added benefit of staving off monotony. The fact that Nimdok used to be a Nazi scientist conducting horrific medical experiments is unobtrusively, but effectively communicated by adding snare drums to the ensemble. The mock-medieval pomp and stateliness of Ted’s compositions brilliantly comments on his former life as a conman bankrolled by various rich lovers. And Garrister’s crushing guilt resulting out of an abusive marriage and institutionalisation of his wife leads to compositions dominated by disorienting percussion. Throughout all the doom and gloom of these compositions, Ottman’s melodic writing – no matter how challenging it might be at times – preserves these characters’ humanity.

The I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream soundtrack isn’t easy to embrace, but it is never cold, always keeping its emotional connection to its protagonists alive. And it’s during each character’s ‘Redemption’ tracks that these glimmers of empathy are allowed to shine bright enough to banish those demons from the past. It’s fascinating to witness how Ottman manages to steer these compositions into hopeful, sometimes even bombastic major key territory, without ever sacrificing the music’s ambiguous nature and elusive progressions. Even when “Win” celebrates the game’s (very hard to achieve) ‘good’ ending, it does so with a sigh of relief rather than jubilation, yet still builds patiently towards a grandiose conclusion that somehow feels in tune with the rest of the soundtrack. A little-known gem, the I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream soundtrack emerges as one of the most intriguing and intricate adventure scores ever written.

01 - Ellen's Exploration John Ottman 4:00
02 - Ellen's Fatal Flaw John Ottman 1:29
03 - Ellen's Redemption I John Ottman 2:30
04 - Ellen's Redemption II John Ottman 1:56
05 - Benny's Exploration John Ottman 3:20
06 - Benny's Fatal Flaw John Ottman 2:15
07 - Benny's Redemption John Ottman 2:50
08 - Nimdock's Exploration John Ottman 2:58
09 - Nimdock's Fatal Flaw John Ottman 2:32
10 - Nimdock's Redemption John Ottman 2:28
11 - Ted's Exploration John Ottman 3:04
12 - Ted's Fatal Flaw John Ottman 2:00
13 - Ted's Redemption John Ottman 2:24
14 - Gorrister's Exploration John Ottman 3:34
15 - Gorrister's Fatal Flaw John Ottman 2:33
16 - Gorrister's Redemption John Ottman 2:42
17 - Blob John Ottman 0:57
18 - Win John Ottman 5:20
19 - Credits John Ottman 5:34

Mystic Ark Soundtrack

Mystic Ark Soundtrack, Akihiko Mori, 1995

Scarcity and nostalgia can have a powerful effect when working hand in hand – just take Mystic Ark. A representative of a particularly popular genre amongst retro game fans – the 16-bit RPG – Mystic Ark’s status was elevated further by the dual facts that it was released towards the end of the SNES’ lifespan and only in Japan. Was this one of the great untranslated SNES gems like Star Ocean and Tales of Phantasia that pushed the hardware and its beloved pixel art to its limits?

As a ROM translation released years later showed, not so much. Mystic Ark’s gameplay turned out to be solid, but not particularly inspired either, settling for second-tier status in the SNES’ busy RPG library. The one thing that set the game apart from the pack was the inspired weirdness of the various worlds its heroes traverse. Pick your favourite: a desert whose only inhabitants are pirate cats and a witch named Matoya; worlds where colour and sound disappear depending on your location or where all adults have disappeared – or maybe cities made of fruit and vegetables?

Well, and then there’s the Mystic Ark soundtrack. No, it’s not as joyfully bizarre as the game’s setting – in fact, its orchestra/rock mix is fairly typical for a JRPG of its era, far more so than say its predecessor The 7^th Saga’s idiosyncratic, stylistically more coherent take on the genre. No, what makes this score so remarkable is its sheer quality, the way it executes genre conventions to absolute perfection – so much so that this might rank as one of the best RPG soundtracks ever composed.

In a way, the outstanding level of artistry on display here is no surprise. Composer Akihiko Mori had established himself as one of the 16-bit era’s most gifted orchestral composers with Shien’s Revenge and Wonder Project J. Mystic Ark finally gave him the opportunity to work on the broad emotional canvas of an RPG, and its manifold settings and moods. Clearly, Mori relished the opportunity, writing over 100 compositions for the score between the winter of 1994 and spring of 1995 (while also working on the game’s sound effects). Ultimately, 51 tracks found their way into the game and it’s remarkable how consistent they are in their excellence.

This is easily Mori’s most ambitious score – a fact that’s reflected on several levels. Take the soundtrack’s thematic components. With the game’s wildly varying locations and bland characters, it’s no surprise Mori focuses on other aspects of the narrative to develop them through musical themes, leading to a unique solution.

Two main themes run through the Mystic Ark soundtrack. The first melody is presented initially as a dramatically rising and falling flute melody on “Mystic Ark”, returning periodically in colourful disguises throughout the soundtrack. More interesting still is the second theme, at first an invincibly majestic melody with an irrepressibly on-the-beat, hymn-like progression on the choir-only “The Mother Goddess”. Here, Mori takes the – within game music – unprecedented step to develop the theme in three-way counterpoint, somehow keeping the choral lines discernible despite the SNES samples’ watery nature. Mori had layered three melodies on top of each other on Wonder Project J, but here he does so to develop one single melody and constantly change it. Game music has produced few examples of contrapuntal mastery like “The Mother Goddess”.

Mori’s true thematic masterstroke takes place on a more granular level though. Throughout the game, he reprises not just the two main themes, but also smaller motifs, for example a cello run that appears on several dungeon tracks. The purpose of these recurrences becomes obvious once the monumental final boss track “Are You the True Form of Darkness?” kicks off, spearheaded by the Mother Goddess theme. An absolute beast of a battle track, “Are You the True Form of Darkness?” combines a dozen motifs and melodies that have been floating through the Mystic Ark soundtrack into one seamless orchestral epic – organically and truly bringing the entire soundtrack to its climax by tying together its many threads.

In all other aspects, the Mystic Ark soundtrack succeeds just as triumphantly. Mori is at the height of his melodic powers here – sample the gorgeous waltz pastiche of “Shall We Dance?”, the way “Alone” tugs at the heartstrings with its delicately intertwining melodies, or the beguilingly idyllic “Composers Are Always Quiet on Their Days Off” and “The Summer of Youth”, with their sunny seaside town feel. While not as hyperactive as Shien’s Revenge, Mystic Ark’s compositions are jam-packed with constantly evolving melodies and orchestral colours – an embarrassment of musical riches and ideas. Mori has always had an ear for lush orchestrations and rarely has his music sound more intoxicating than on “Water is the Mother of all Life”. The composition’s clever use of ostinato figures brilliantly and to poignant effect mimics the constant motion of water. Solemn brass and cello interjections inspire hushed awe as the music takes listeners into the centre of this temple of nature.

Not surprisingly, Mori’s battle themes are equally maximalist, pulling out all the stops in their combination of orchestral forces and driving hard rock and metal. Lock On had given Mori an opportunity to dabble in metal-laced jazz rock, and now he gets an opportunity to indulge in heavier stylings. On turbulent tracks like “So the Fingers of the Dark Have Reached Even Here” and “I Am a Powerful Ally”, orchestra and rock band merge flawlessly, constantly trading places in some of the soundtrack’s most densely scored moments. “Hey! Don’t Attack Me!” features some of the heaviest riffage performed by the SNES’ SPC chip, moving from thrash to power metal, with a downright catchy choral hook topping off the track’s development.

At the same time, Mori knows fully well when to scale things back a bit and provide some breathing space. The results are as convincing as when he goes in all guns blazing. Take “In the Darkness”, which only needs double-tracked, echoing harp arpeggios, interspersed with hammering piano chords, to evoke its vast subterranean location. “The Haunted Mansion” and “Look Behind You” are downright creepy, taking this RPG score unusually far into horror territory, while maintaining a degree of playfulness – witness how “The Haunted Mansion” simulates the sound of a grand piano suddenly slamming shut. The best example of Mori playing outside of genre stereotypes is “Techno House”, a mutant take on jazz with electronic elements, choral vocals and cheerily industrial percussion.

It all leads into closing track “Birth”, one of the best orchestral compositions ever to grace a video game. This truly is concert hall-quality music written for the SNES and the peak of Mori’s career. Taking the score’s first main theme on a roller coaster ride, “Birth” delivers one melodic highlight after the next, relishing the opportunity to develop its material and moods over such an extended period of time. Constantly joyful and surging forward (particularly during a brief fugal section), “Birth” closes with the most triumphant, life-affirming rendition of the main theme imaginable, a colossal, soaring string melody that delivers the truly epic conclusion that this master piece of a soundtrack deserves.

01 - Mystic Ark (Title) Mori, Akihiro 1:45
02 - The Mother Goddess (Shrine) Mori, Akihiro 3:42
03 - Let's Go On An Adventure!! (World 1 & 4) Mori, Akihiro 2:39
04 - In The Darkness (Dungeon 1) Mori, Akihiro 3:11
05 - Your Fighting Eyes Are Always Beautiful (Battle 1) Mori, Akihiro 2:48
06 - The Rogues Who Await Us In The Depths Of The Dungeon Are Strong Indeed! (Boss Battle 1) Mori, Akihiro 2:27
07 - The Shepherd People (World 2) Mori, Akihiro 2:57
08 - Without You, This Village Holds Nothing For Me (Town 2) Mori, Akihiro 2:10
09 - Where Are We... I'm A Forest! (Dungeon 2) Mori, Akihiro 2:34
10 - So The Fingers Of The Dark Have Reached Even Here (Battle 2) Mori, Akihiro 2:44
11 - The Rise And Fall Of The Waves (World 3) Mori, Akihiro 1:52
12 - Composers Are Always Too Quiet On Their Days Off (Town 3) Mori, Akihiro 2:30
13 - On The Holiday, Let's Bask In The Light Of The Sun (Battle 3) Mori, Akihiro 2:40
14 - The Summer Of Youth (Town 4) Mori, Akihiro 2:12
15 - Water Is The Mother Of All Life (Dungeon 4) Mori, Akihiro 3:29
16 - I Am A Powerful Ally (Battle 4) Mori, Akihiro 2:27
17 - Alone (World 5) Mori, Akihiro 3:26
18 - In The Depths Of The Labyrinth (Dungeon 5) Mori, Akihiro 2:14
19 - Hey! Don't Attack Me! (Boss Battle 2) Mori, Akihiro 3:28
20 - The Haunted Mansion (World 6) Mori, Akihiro 2:52
21 - Look Behind You! (Dungeon 6) Mori, Akihiro 2:27
22 - Theme Of Sir Ganbos (Gunboss) Mori, Akihiro 2:33
23 - Threads Of Memories (Secil) Mori, Akihiro 2:13
24 - Shall We Dance? (Rondo) Mori, Akihiro 1:07
25 - Only A Music Box Remains (Music Box) Mori, Akihiro 1:48
26 - Pathetique (Sadness) Mori, Akihiro 2:55
27 - A Tale Of A Faery Land (Castle) Mori, Akihiro
28 - How Are You? Things Are Pretty Much The Same Here (Revival) Mori, Akihiro 3:13
29 - Techno House (Factory) Mori, Akihiro 2:33
30 - A Decisive Time (Boss Battle 3) Mori, Akihiro 5:45
31 - This Will Become Your Grave (Dark) Mori, Akihiro 2:14
32 - The Truth Hidden Within The Temple (Last World) Mori, Akihiro 2:42
33 - Are You The True Form Of Darkness? (Last Battle) Mori, Akihiro 6:11
34 - Birth (End Title) Mori, Akihiro 7:54

Phantom 2040 Soundtrack (Sega Genesis)

Phantom 2040 Soundtrack (Sega Genesis), Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann, 1995

Phantom 2040 probably never stood a chance. Firstly, it was released towards the end of the 16-bit era on SNES and Sega Genesis. Secondly, it was based on the TV series spin-off of a comic book licence that wasn’t hugely popular at that time to begin with. It was no surprise then that Phantom 2040 was largely ignored by gamers – but it did find some traction amongst contemporary reviewers. And over the years, the game’s reputation only seems to have grown. With its ambitiously non-linear, Metroidvania-style level design, Phantom 2040 has now widely come to be regarded as a forgotten gem of the SNES and Genesis game libraries.

Just as outstanding as the game itself is the Phantom 2040 soundtrack – although that only applies to the Genesis version. This is where things get a bit murky as to who was responsible for what. Matt Scott and Burke Trieschmann are credited for the music and sound effects of the SNES and Genesis ports of the game. However, the two soundtracks could hardly be any more different from each other. Where the Genesis score impresses with its white-knuckle intensity, the SNES music is consistently dull, with average sample quality and none of the Genesis version’s energy.

There is some reason to assume that Trieschmann handled the Genesis port, and Scott the SNES game. The raw, powerful industrial metal of Phantom 2040 on the Genesis has plenty of precedents in Trieschmann’s oeuvre (for example Total Eclipse) – but none in Scott’s discography, which before Phantom 2040 mainly focused on handheld platforms. The SNES version is somewhat in line with Scott’s other soundtracks on that console. For the purpose of this review, we will assume that Trieschmann handled the Genesis version of the Phantom 2040 soundtrack.

And what a soundtrack it is – one of the densest, most creative rock scores of the 16-bit era. Trieschmann once more applies what seemed to be his favourite musical template at the time – industrial metal. However, compared to earlier scores like Total Eclipse or Off-World Interceptor, he is happy to experiment more here, moving towards more challenging, less melodic compositions.

That might be the result of the larger canvas Trieschmann gets to paint on here – the story of a sci-fi metropolis on the brink of ecological and societal collapse (a story told in fairly substantial detail during the game’s cutscenes). The harsh wall of grinding machine sounds that Trieschmann unleashes on the Phantom 2040 soundtrack is of course entirely appropriate to underscore the futuristic scenario of a dangerous, nearly overwhelming concrete and steel jungle. The mood of Trieschmann’s music – usually somewhere between sombre and maniacally driven, ready to explode at any time – does its bit to potently evoke a dystopian future.

Trieschmann cleverly eases listeners into the Phantom 2040 soundtrack though before tightening the screws. “Title Screen” references the character’s roots through what sounds like a grittier version of a TV cartoon series theme song. Its lead melody is appropriately catchy and determined, rendered on the Genesis’ sound chip with just the right amount of abrasiveness so that it fits into the soundtrack’s overall style. Here and elsewhere during the score’s early parts, Trieschmann merges New Jack Swing and industrial rhythms with ease – the former tying in Phantom 2040 with many other game scores of the early 1990s. As a result, “Chapter 1” and “Chapter 2 – Maximum Building” are grooving rather than stomping, working at mid-tempo speeds and happy to have this electro/funk hybrid led by clearly identifiable melodies.

But there’s more to the Phantom 2040 soundtrack than smoothly executed 16-bit action scoring conventions – Trieschmann has plans to pull this music into shadowy places few of its contemporaries dared enter. “New Password Get!” announces Trieschmann’s ambitions with syncopated layers of stuttering rhythms and eerie synth glissandi. Its jittery, nervous tension marks “New Password Get!” as a not-so-distant cousin to David Wise’s original Battletoads soundtrack. The main difference between these two scores is that Wise confounded expectations by consciously underplaying the game’s action elements. Trieschmann, on the other hand, defies conventions by taking the opposite approach. He seems willing to go to any length to crank up the tension, pushing the music’s intensity far beyond what the on-screen action demands.

“Chapter 2 – Ship Factory” first heralds Trieschmann’s uncompromising approach, now moving away from the New Jack Swing influences and focusing squarely on electronic beats and industrial metal drum patterns. Melodies start to turn into nervy ostinato that don’t provide much in terms of memorable hooks, but instead add more urgency and drive to the already busy compositions. It’s on “Chapter 4 – Biot Factory” that the Phantom 2040 soundtrack reveals its true intentions. Initially more of a mood setter, the cue is more foreboding and menacing than previous tracks – and then Trieschmann goes for broke. Ultra-fast double bass beats mercilessly hammer the music onwards, while a rising, dissonant melody motif poisons the air with dread and claustrophobia, to the point where the tension becomes almost unbearable.

From here onwards, Trieschmann writes some of the most challenging, aggressive material penned for a 16-bit score – a compilation of punishing, syncopated industrial rhythms and discordant melodies desperately trying to cut through the churning mayhem. The music grows increasingly chaotic, with the rhythmic structure of “Chapter 4 – Lab” initially almost falling apart. What little melodic material is left becomes more and more fragmented, hardly able to stand its ground on “Chapter 6” against the relentless rhythmic onslaught and barely allowed to complete any kind of melodic progression. When melodies form – like on “Second Boss” – they feel panicked and rushed, nearly tripping over while fleeing from some inescapable menace. Yet despite this flurry of borderline abrasive musical activity, Trieschmann’s compositions maintain their powerful momentum – visceral gut punches rather than cerebral exercises.

The fact that Trieschmann uses the GEMS sound driver in ways that produce fuzzy, somewhat lo-fi textures and beats actually works in the score’s favour. The result has a grimey grittiness that perfectly underscores the game’s world and narrative – and it contributes to the soundtrack’s suffocatingly effective wall-of-sound approach. There’s no doubt that the Phantom 2040 soundtrack is one exhausting listen. However, it combines compositional smarts, a willingness to challenge and the ability to pull absolutely no punches like few other game scores.

01 - Title Screen Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 2:02
02 - New Password Get! Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 3:49
03 - Chapter 1 Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 4:32
04 - Chapter 2 (Maximum Building) Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 3:58
05 - Chapter 2 (Ship Factory) Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 3:51
06 - First Boss Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 4:21
07 - Chapter 3 Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 3:01
08 - Chapter 4 (Biot Factory) Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 3:47
09 - Chapter 4 (Lab) Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 3:18
10 - Second Boss Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 3:38
11 - Chapter 5 Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 3:20
12 - Chapter 6 Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 3:40
13 - Third Boss Matt Scott / Burke Trieschmann 2:27

Red Alarm Soundtrack

Red Alarm Soundtrack, Ken Kojima, 1995

Of course, hindsight is everything, so it’s easy to marvel now at how Nintendo thought that a console as clunky and inherently limited as the Virtual Boy could ever succeed. In defence of Nintendo and Virtual Boy creator Gunpei Yokoi, the console ultimately shipped in a downscaled version, as Nintendo shifted its attention and resources to the Nintendo 64 halfway through the Virtual Boy’s development. The story of the Virtual Boy was ultimately a short one, with only 770,000 copies sold worldwide and the platform discontinued after less than a year.

While only 22 Virtual Boy games were released during the console’s life time, there’s still the odd gem to be found amongst the soundtracks that accompanied these titles. Easily the best Virtual Boy soundtrack is Ken Kojima’s work for Red Alarm, one of the console’s launch titles. A wire-frame graphics rail shooter inspired by Star Fox, Red Alarm was developed by T&E Soft, who had already proven their shoot’em up credentials with the jaw-dropping Game Boy title Chikyuu Kaihou Gun ZAS. Like all Virtual Boy games, Red Alarm found little commercial success, but it was at least better received by reviewers than most other VB titles.

It also features what is Ken Kojima’s best score, a work several leagues ahead of his other game soundtracks – including solid contributions like 3-D Tetris and Blaze & Blade: Eternal Quest, and disappointments like The Note. Little is known about Kojima (at least in the English-speaking corners of the internet), so Red Alarm stands as an enticing, solitary proof of his talents.

While the Virtual Boy was technically a 32-bit platform, its six sound channels (five wave + one noise) produce results that are closer to the Game Boy’s gritty timbres. As such, Red Alarm is part of the chiptunes era of game music and an excellent example of how limited technology can still produce music of considerable complexity. Indeed, if there’s one thing that stands out about the Red Alarm soundtrack, it’s Kojima’s all-guns-blazing attitude, as he creates music of relentless intensity.

First track “Opening” quickly shows that Kojima isn’t planning to take any prisoners. Building in nicely cinematic fashion from a tentative, slightly unsettling opening, “Opening” bursts into a dizzying array of densely layered industrial rhythms that will become the soundtrack’s calling card. Indeed, sometimes Red Alarm feels like an extended prog rock version of the NES Mega Man games’ characteristic rhythms. However, despite the music’s rhythmic complications, Kojima manages to keep the track’s forward movement catchy and driving. His talents extend to melody writing as well. “Opening”’s melody lead is a beautifully long-spun creation that’s emotionally complex – with anthemic tendencies but not outright heroic, rather cautiously optimistic, striding forwards against increasing odds. Kojima’s smart use of the stereo field here and throughout the soundtrack increases the music’s scope even further, to the point where “Opening” feels like a space opera score sharpened by industrial rock’s fierce energy.

And initially, the Red Alarm soundtrack maintains this stylistic impression. While unusually intense for a first level track, “Stage 1” has the same ear-catching contrast that powered “Opening”. An uplifting, if somewhat tentative melody – now with a stronger pop bent – contrasts with a web of constantly churning rhythms that somehow never lose their irresistible forward drive. “Stage 2” is an intriguing experiment, introducing an almost unsettlingly playful and bouncy feel to Red Alarm’s rough edge, the latter still present through the cue’s pointed melody leads.

But very soon, the Red Alarm soundtrack more than lives to its title. The first two boss tracks are expectedly more fragmented, structured around classic crisis motifs and quavering, startled melody leads. But it’s really on “Stage 3” that the Red Alarm soundtrack reveals its intention to underscore overwhelming odds and enemy numbers, rather than to herald the hero’s progress. Its melodies thinned out to repetitive, surreal two-note pulses, “Stage 3” feels like a blasted wasteland, with lethal dangers ready to strike at any moment. A curious breakdown just before the loop lets the music’s asphyxiating atmosphere abruptly fade into silence, turning “Stage 3” into Red Alarm’s most enigmatic moment. “Boss 3” dares listeners with a nearly five-minute run time, particularly oppressive rhythms and a minimalist, slow melody whose tortured attitude only turns bleaker and bleaker with each pained repetition.

“Boss 3” is proof that while Kojima writes a constantly electrifying action score, he also knows how to build a specific, brutal mood – as if the entire game took place inside some unrelenting cosmic furnace. Kojima is also clever enough to still sparingly deploy melodic elements. It allows the melodies to stand out all the more once they appear, pulling in listeners even when the music’s jagged motion is less than accessible. And so “Stage 4” returns “Stage 1”’s melodicism, while “Boss 4” spectacularly dismantles it again. Initially scattered across the stereo field, “Boss 4”’s resolute melody manages to reassert itself against particularly single-minded, hammering rhythms – before the tune slowly veers off into less harmonically secure, discordant territory, subtly losing its foothold before it completely disintegrates. “Stage 5” is equally clever in its development, carefully escalating the conflict between the soundtrack’s consonant, aggressive and experimental tendencies.

It’s an appropriate stage setter for “Boss 5”, which brings the Red Alarm soundtrack’s ferocity to a head. Its rhythmic background at time approaches white noise, while melodies veer between stinging staccato notes, panicked cries, breathlessly rushing arpeggios and wailing sirens. After this superbly organised cacophony, it’s a relief to find on “Ending” that Kojima can do “upbeat and hopeful” just as well as conjuring images of apocalyptic space battles. Instrumentations don’t change much, but the mood is entirely different, contently looking back upon the adventure amidst memorable, densely arranged pop melodies. The relaxed yet still sweeping composition once more underlines the soundtrack’s ambitions – as the Virtual Boy’s greatest score, this isn’t just a mere historic curiosity, but one of the greatest chiptunes shoot’em up soundtracks ever written.

01 - Opening Kojima, Ken 4:32
02 - Stage 1 Kojima, Ken 3:23
03 - Boss 1 Kojima, Ken 2:26
04 - Clear Kojima, Ken 1:41
05 - Replay Kojima, Ken 1:32
06 - Stage 2 Kojima, Ken 2:18
07 - Boss 2 Kojima, Ken 2:09
08 - Stage 3 Kojima, Ken 2:58
09 - Boss 3 Kojima, Ken 4:43
10 - Stage 4 Kojima, Ken 2:18
11 - Boss 4 Kojima, Ken 3:17
12 - Stage 5 Kojima, Ken 2:39
13 - Boss 5 Kojima, Ken 2:16
14 - The Final Stage Kojima, Ken 2:03
15 - Ending Kojima, Ken 3:59

Secret of Evermore Soundtrack

Secret of Evermore Soundtrack, Jeremy Soule, 1995

It’s fair to say that a game like Secret of Evermore would meet with less hostility these days. The thought of a Western console RPG is no longer an affront to gamers raised on Japanese genre products. Back in 1995 though, what many Square fans in the Western hemisphere wanted was a localised Secret of Mana 2 / Seiken Densetsu 3. What they didn’t look for was a down-to-earth alternative to JRPGs’ heroic melodramatics. Especially if it was littered with fictional pop culture references and had a metaphysical, light-hearted tongue-in-cheek approach.

And so, Secret of Evermore began its uphill battle. Sadly, its music got caught up in the struggle – entirely undeservedly so. Even decades after its release, perceptions of future star composer Jeremy Soule‘s debut seem highly ambivalent. Grievances raised against the Secret of Evermore soundtrack usually include that there is hardly any music in the first place (the game uses ambient sounds more extensively than any previous console RPG, but there is still close to an hour of melodic material to enjoy); that the score album leaves out too much music from the game and focuses too strongly on one of Evermore‘s time periods (on the contrary, the album does a great job at gathering the majority of worthwhile compositions from the game, which simply happen to mostly feature in the world of Gothica); and that the music itself is unremarkable.

That last point seems to be often made by game music fans expecting Secret of Evermore to sound like a JRPG. But not surprisingly, its music is as much a departure from genre conventions as the game’s overall stylistic direction. What’s often overlooked is that the Secret of Evermore soundtrack bears one crucial similarity to Secret of Mana. Both works take an individualistic, innovative approach to scoring an RPG. They look for alternatives to the usual, late-romantic orchestral sound that the RPG genre seems to attract.

Ironically, Soule’s demo tape, which landed him his first composing gig, seemed to follow down precisely this well-trodden musical path. According to Evermore‘s producer Alan Weiss, Soule’s original compositions were a mix of John Barry and John Williams. Maybe it was due to the SNES’ limitations that Soule’s music for Secret of Evermore turned out so astonishingly different from his film music inspirations. According to Weiss, the young composer was used to working with far more advanced digital sound technology. But in fact, the SNES sound chip’s constraints may have been a blessing in disguise. After all, it’s hard to ignore that Secret of Evermore is still by far Soule’s most creative work.

Somehow, Soule manages to find a fitting musical equivalent for the game’s peculiar low-key mood and pursuit of realism (that still accommodated Gothic castles and rampaging robot butlers, mind you). As you would expect, there’s little of the RPG genre’s usual high fantasy heroism to be found here. No confessional melodramatics in sight – even the soundtrack’s ‘flying’ cue, usually THE opportunity for an RPG composer to cut loose and write a soaring piece of music, is a fairly subdued, but nonetheless fascinating affair.

Throughout the score, Soule prefers to write for small orchestral ensembles, usually led by intimate woodwind and acoustic guitar soli. They alternate between ‘mysterious’ and ‘quietly spellbinding’ through their chromatic melody lines, which cleverly incorporate folk and jazz influences. There’s a subtlety to Soule’s approach that belies his relative inexperience as a game music composer in stunning fashion. These are compositions with an astonishing amount of emotional ambivalence and complexity. They also show a composer in full command of the expressive capabilities of the instruments he deploys. The overall, dominant mood on Secret of Evermore might be one of melancholy and autumnal lyricism. But sombre menace, quirkiness and ethereal allure hide just beneath the surface, and it takes a bit of patience to unearth the music’s melodic beauty.

Yes, contrary to its reputation, the Secret of Evermore soundtrack features a wealth of wonderful melodies. They might be less hummable than their JRPG counterparts. However, they’re just as rich and maybe even more enticing, heading into unexpected harmonic and rhythmic directions. A final crucial piece of the puzzle is the striking quality of the samples Soule uses. This is of particular importance on a soundtrack that uses so few musical elements – and each one needs to make its full impact. It’s impossible not to marvel at the life-like nature of Secret of Evermore‘s acoustic guitar lines. Even better, the various woodwind instruments heard throughout the soundtrack have a welcoming, warm glow that never fails to beguile.

It might sound a bit like heresy, but detach yourself from the many preconceptions that history has burdened Secret of Evermore‘s music with, and it emerges as one of the best RPG scores written for the SNES. Restrained and sophisticated, the Secret of Evermore soundtrack hits the perfect balance between atmosphere and melodies.

01 - Menu Jeremy Soule 1:09
02 - A Boy and His Dog (Opening Part 2 (Podunk, 1995)) Jeremy Soule 1:59
03 - Elephant Graveyard Jeremy Soule 3:12
04 - Pirates of Crustacia Jeremy Soule 2:23
05 - Horace Highwater Jeremy Soule 2:13
06 - Great Pyramid Jeremy Soule 2:40
07 - Hall of Collosia (Collosia, Chamber 1) Jeremy Soule 2:48
08 - Darkness of the Temple (Collosia, Inner Sanctum) Jeremy Soule 2:32
09 - Death of a Minotaur (Collosia, Chapter 2) Jeremy Soule 2:02
10 - City of Ivory (Ivor Keep) Jeremy Soule 3:16
11 - Freak Show!!! Jeremy Soule 2:24
12 - Regal Castle Jeremy Soule 2:50
13 - Lonely Halls (Ivor Tower Castle Side Chambers) Jeremy Soule 2:14
14 - Puppet Show Jeremy Soule 2:15
15 - City of Ebony (Ebon Keep) Jeremy Soule 2:04
16 - Deserted Castle (Ebon Keep Castle) Jeremy Soule 2:31
17 - Queen Bluegarden Jeremy Soule 3:59
18 - Tinker Tinderbox Jeremy Soule 1:33
19 - High in the Sky (Flying) Jeremy Soule 2:53
20 - Final Battle - Carltron Jeremy Soule 2:02
21 - Escape from Evermore Jeremy Soule 2:21
22 - Return to Podunk (Ending) Jeremy Soule 1:24
23 - Staff Roll Jeremy Soule 3:12

Shiren the Wanderer Soundtrack (SNES)

Shiren the Wanderer Soundtrack (SNES), Koichi Sugiyama, 1995

It’s a bit surprising that it took publisher Enix a full seven years to create spin-off games for its monstrously successful Dragon Quest franchise. Enix’ first attempt to widen the Dragon Quest universe was 1993’s Torneko no Daibouken: Fushigi no Dungeon for the SNES. The game was successful enough to kickstart its own franchise: Mystery Dungeon. The next entry in this burgeoning series was Mystery Dungeon: Shiren the Wanderer, again released on the SNES. One of the system’s few roguelikes – replete with randomly generated levels and a punishing difficulty level – Shiren the Wanderer sold sufficient copies to create yet another franchise of its own. Looking to put their own creative stamp on the Mystery Dungeon series, developer Chunsoft differentiated the game from its Dragon Quest brethren by setting it in a fantasy version of feudal Japan.

For the game’s soundtrack, Chunsoft sought the services of a known quantity: Koichi Sugiyama, who had provided the music for all of Chunsoft’s previous Dragon Quest games and by this stage was one of game music’s most famed composers. While the Dragon Quest titles allowed Sugiyama to indulge in his fondness for Western classical music, their pseudo-medieval/fantasy settings didn’t give him much of an opportunity to draw upon Japanese musical influences (apart from Dragon Quest III’s “Jurong”). For Sugiyama, the Shiren the Wanderer soundtrack was a chance to remedy this situation, ensuring that his music matched the game’s visually distinct character.

On album, the Shiren the Wanderer soundtrack ended up taking a somewhat circuitous route. An album containing synth arrangements and one live orchestral medley of the SNES compositions was released on December 20 1995 (one day before Sugiyama’s Dragon Quest VI album with the London Philharmonic Orchestra!) The game’s music was later ported for Game Boy title Mystery Dungeon: Shiren the Wanderer GB and the Nintendo 64’s Shiren the Wanderer 2. Those two scores were included on a 20th-anniversary album release by Chunsoft – but not the SNES version, for some reason.

Interestingly enough, the SNES original remains the strongest representation of this soundtrack across platforms. The N64 port adds a raft of new material that is of variable quality and the samples used are less vibrant than on the SNES; the Game Boy score handles the more lushly arranged SNES pieces well enough but predictably struggles to replicate solo instruments like the shakuhachi convincingly; and the 2008 Nintendo DS remake boasts underwhelming sample quality that is less life-like still than what’s heard in the N64 game.

And this is indeed the kind of score that thrives on the authenticity of its instrument samples. Not surprisingly, given the game’s setting, Sugiyama heavily relies on traditional Japanese solo instruments such as the shakuhachi and the shamisen to carry most of the melodies on the Shiren the Wanderer soundtrack. If a melody is given to a Western instrument, it is often chosen to match the Japanese instruments’ earthy and intimate tones, for example the harmonica on “Summit Town” or the flute on “The Valley Campsite”. In most cases, Sugiyama couches these melody leads in delicate, Western classically-inspired orchestrations. They create colourful and emotionally rich sonorities, courtesy of Sugiyama’s harmonic and instrumental subtleties. It also helps that the score sees Sugiyama at the peak of his melodic capabilities. Many compositions run for more than four minutes (looped), rolling out their instantly captivating melodies with confidence and patience.

What’s particularly striking about the Shiren the Wanderer soundtrack is how it creates a highly original, enthralling sound world that’s entirely in support of the game’s aesthetic. Sugiyama mines the timbres of his solo instruments to evoke a mood that is both down-to-earth and spiritual, using sounds that seem to have travelled across the depths of time. Listen to “Crooked Boulder Valley Kigan”, where Sugiyama retains interest through nothing but an extended shakuhachi solo with its jagged, non-melodic (to Western ears) progression. Like on Stéphane Picq and Pierre Estève’s Atlantis: The Lost Tales, only a single instrument is required to conjure an ancient culture’s wisdom and tradition. This contrast between earthly and otherworldly concerns (which are really just two sides of the same coin) is spelt out more clearly on “Summit Town” and “The Valley Campsite”, where rustic introductions lead into star-gazing, yet still homely B sections with unexpectedly chromatic string harmonies.

What’s even more impressive is how Sugiyama manages to unify not just Eastern and Western styles as well as earth and heaven on the Shiren the Wanderer soundtrack, but yet still more tonal contrasts. His town themes are predictably idyllic but still immensely creative. Take “Bamboo Forest Village Tabigara”, where chromatic, ostinato-like woodwind chords underneath the shamisen lead give the music a subtly haunting and ritualistic, almost religious mood. Still more original are Sugiyama’s dungeon tracks. There’s a wealth of highlights to choose from, be it “Neburi Mine”’s unexpectedly majestic string orchestrations, “Trial Caves”’ unpredictably proceeding shakuhachi solo that leaves the destination of this journey into the dark unclear, or “Mountain Spirit Cave” with its intriguingly agitated disposition and skittish changes of Eastern/Western melody leads. And let’s not forget that Sugiyama somehow manages to make the inclusion of electric guitar on “Monster House” and “Mountain Spirit Cave 2” work!

What helps to make the Shiren the Wanderer soundtrack such a coherent listening experience is Sugiyama’s clever use of a single musical theme. The SNES era saw Sugiyama’s interest in thematic integration within his game scores peaking. Dragon Quest VI is easily his most thematically structured score in that franchise, while Torneko no Daibouken: Fushigi no Dungeon based almost every single composition on the same theme. That was also that earlier score’s downfall, as it presented little worthwhile melodic material outside of that one tune.

Sugiyama doesn’t repeat the same mistake here, writing several secondary motifs and fresh melodies for most tracks. And while he deploys his easily recognisable main theme – ceremonial yet homespun – on most tracks, he repeats it in an impressive array of disguises. Listeners will encounter the theme most commonly in its solo shakuhachi iteration, but also on acoustic guitar (“Pet”), its progression twisted and stretched (“Legend”), on eerie strings (“Thief”) or harmonised glockenspiel (“Labyrinth”) – or even through the stuttering funk syncopations of “Monster House” and on electric guitar (“Mountain Spirit Cave 2”). It’s a masterful display of compositional chops and yet another reason to label the Shiren the Wanderer soundtrack Sugiyama’s best work outside of the Dragon Quest franchise and one of the best SNES RPG scores.

01 - Bamboo Forest Village Tabigara Sugiyama, Koichi 5:10
02 - Crooked Boulder Valley Kigan Sugiyama, Koichi 5:03
03 - Fateful Encounter Sugiyama, Koichi 2:24
04 - Monster House Sugiyama, Koichi 2:32
05 - Mountain Spirit Cave Sugiyama, Koichi 4:51
06 - Mountain Spirit Cave 2 Sugiyama, Koichi 2:34
07 - Neburi Mine Sugiyama, Koichi 3:15
08 - Old Cedar Road Sugiyama, Koichi 4:19
09 - Pottery Master Gaibara Sugiyama, Koichi 1:48
10 - Shop Sugiyama, Koichi 1:28
11 - Summit Forest Sugiyama, Koichi 2:41
12 - Summit Town Sugiyama, Koichi 4:59
13 - Tenma Pass Sugiyama, Koichi 5:25
14 - Trial Caves Sugiyama, Koichi 4:29
15 - Valley Inn Sugiyama, Koichi 3:51
16 - Waterfall Cave Sugiyama, Koichi 2:33
17 - Golden City Sugiyama, Koichi 3:43
18 - Ending Sugiyama, Koichi 5:48

Skeleton Krew Soundtrack (Sega Genesis)

Skeleton Krew Soundtrack (Sega Genesis), Nathan McCree, 1995

Games released at the end of a console’s life cycle often end up somewhat lost to the ravages of time – not entirely forgotten by posterity maybe, but still mostly passed over for the incoming generation of new platforms. Core Design‘s Skeleton Krew (we’re deep in the midst of 1990s edginess) is one such title. An isometric shooter for the Sega Genesis, Amiga and Amiga CD32, Skeleton Krew failed to elicit much interest from gamers and reviewers back in 1995. Its gameplay featured few innovations, while Skeleton Krew’s six levels meant the fun was over fairly quickly. The game’s one standout feature was its presentation (once you looked past Skeleton Krew’s slightly desperate attempt to be all dark, violent and gritty). Creative use of the Amiga and Genesis’ colour palettes, highlighting the surreal H.R. Giger-inspired bio-mechanical artwork, set the game apart from the competition.

And then there were the soundtracks. For the Amiga CD32 version, Martin Iveson composed a jazz/trip-hop score, mirroring what was en vogue in contemporary music when Skeleton Krew was in development. The soundtrack for the Genesis port went for a more esoteric approach. It was written by Nathan McCree, who just came off Star Wars homage Soulstar. Now he would deliver a work that was almost the complete opposite to that earlier game’s busy orchestral sounds. Given the time of Skeleton Krew’s release and its genre, one might have expected an industrial metal or techno score. Instead, McCree goes for something very different: glitchy, dark ambient compositions, a genre that’s immensely difficult to pull off successfully, particularly on a technologically limited platform like the Sega Genesis. As such, McCree’s work is almost unique among 16-bit soundtracks.

What the Skeleton Krew soundtrack seeks to achieve isn’t a rush of adrenaline, but instead a very specific mood: oppressive, crawling with fear and paranoia, yet energised by a sense of forward movement that prevents the music from becoming too static and suffocating. McCree builds most of his compositions around minimalist combinations of synth pulses that can function as ostinati or short melodic motifs. “Opening Theme” sets the template for the entire score, with its lugubrious synth ostinato forming the base for other ostinati building on top of it. Locking into complex rhythmic layers, these pulses create a surprisingly sound collage-like composition that isn’t afraid to venture into thorny, dissonant episodes.

To deliver its full atmospheric impact, this kind of music requires immense attention to detail from the composer, and McCree certainly delivers. Firstly, the Skeleton Krew soundtrack is one of the best-sounding Genesis scores – sample those ground-shaking bass synth pads on several tracks that open up like black holes to swallow the music wholesale, belying the soundtrack’s usually low-key nature. Also, few 16-bit scores make such fastidious use of the stereo field. McCree spreads his instruments across the full width of the stereo soundscape, achieving an immense sense of space and scope – but more importantly, he disorients listeners, with his synth pulses moving unpredictably from speaker to speaker.

There are other ways in which the Skeleton Krew soundtrack keeps listeners on edge. On several tracks, McCree uses two ostinati as the foundation of the composition – one playing on the left stereo channel, one playing on the right. “Stage 1: Monstrocity” beautifully demonstrates the results of this technique. At times, those two synth pulses run alongside each other in different metres, creating the sort of counterpoint that rhythmically destabilises the cue while also being the only thing that holds it together. On other occasions, McCree has the two pulses playing almost, but not entirely, on the same beat – the two layers remain tantalisingly out of sync and perplexing. The result is a subtly nagging feeling that something’s not quite right with the piece’s foundation, but it’s difficult to put the finger on what exactly turns the music disconcerting.

The various ways in which McCree configures the Skeleton Krew soundtrack’s rhythmic layers accounts for much of its appeal. “Stage 5: Venus” maintains interest through its markedly jerkier, more syncopated base rhythm. It then adds two racing pulses on top of a grating synth figure to take the music’s rhythmic complexity and resulting disorientation to a new level. Final level track “Stage 6: Kadaver’s Base” raises the bar further with wandering synth pulses that uncomfortably rise in pitch before they clash in the score’s most aggressively competing rhythms. Even so, the music never breaks into obvious theatrics – instead, it just keeps building its atmosphere of dread, patiently and relentlessly. On other occasions, McCree opts for a more outwardly forceful approach – for example when “Stage 3: Sewer Duct” merges techno elements into the score’s mood-driven template before culminating in almost unbearably shrill dissonances.

The Skeleton Krew soundtrack manages to captivate not just because of its clever use of minimalist rhythms and timbres but also because it creates such a potently dystopian atmosphere. Forlorn, melancholic synth pads ebb and swell through these cues like roving searchlights in the abyss – at times, the score plays like a sombre, twisted step-brother of Vangelis’ Blade Runner. “Stage 4: Mars” may be the soundtrack’s most ambient track, but it’s also intensely poignant, its swooshing sound effects evoking solar winds blowing in the utterly lonesome depths of space. “Stage 2: Elevator Shaft” makes more unsettling use of machine-like sound effects as they gnaw away at the fabric of the cue, which sounds more insecure than ever before.

None of these cues overtly tug at the heartstrings. Still, with the same consummate subtlety that governs the entire score, McCree ensures that the music is a cerebral experience and an emotional one. There’s nothing noisy or shouty about the Skeleton Krew soundtrack, but maybe that’s why it leaves such an indelible mark.

01 - Opening Theme McCree, Nathan 3:33
02 - Stage 1: Monstrocity McCree, Nathan 3:25
03 - Stage 2: Elevator Shift McCree, Nathan 3:21
04 - Stage 3: Sewer Duct McCree, Nathan 3:23
05 - Stage 4: Mars McCree, Nathan 2:54
06 - Stage 5: Venus McCree, Nathan 3:04
07 - Stage 6: Kadaver's Base McCree, Nathan 2:44
08 - Ending Theme McCree, Nathan 3:30