PlayStation Archives - The Greatest Game Music

Bounty Sword First Soundtrack

Bounty Sword First Soundtrack, Kohei Tanaka, 1997

Before Final Fantasy Tactics’ success, releases of turn-based strategy games in the West were far and few between – most of these titles were only ever released in Japan. One such game was 1995’s Bounty Sword for the SNES. Set in the year 4093, the game nonetheless featured a medieval-themed fantasy look beautifully realised through detailed 16-bit visuals. Bounty Sword’s gameplay was a bit of an oddity though. Gamers’ input into battles was minimal – they would set their units’ strategy before the fight began. After that, all they could do was command soldiers to use special moves. Even amidst the general interest for hidden late-era SNES treasures, Bounty Sword has remained obscure – and even less well-known was its PS1 remake Bounty Sword First. Ambitiously envisaged as the beginning of a trilogy, only one sequel (Bounty Sword: Double Edge) was released.

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Cowboy Bebop Soundtrack

Cowboy Bebop Soundtrack, Yoko Kanno, 1998

After a somewhat rocky start (that initially didn’t even see all episodes screened), Cowboy Bebop went on to become one of anime’s cultural milestones – on both sides of the Pacific. Setting itself apart from almost anything else produced for TV animation in either Japan or the USA, Cowboy Bebop merged disparate genres and visual styles in ways that helped the series introduce many new Western viewers to anime. Its cross-cultural appeal was partially based on its use of tropes that were familiar to Western audiences – Western, pulp fiction, film noir and cyberpunk (all within a space opera setting). Shinichirou Watanabe’s creation turned out to be popular enough to spawn a movie sequel and feature on many ‘best of’ lists in the years that followed.

As one would guess by looking at the series’ title, music played a crucial role in its eclectic aesthetic. Not surprisingly, the collaboration between director and composer on Cowboy Bebop was closer than usually – and the result was one of the most distinctive, attention-grabbing anime scores ever written. After her breakthrough with the orchestral fantasy masterpiece that was The Vision of Escaflowne, Yoko Kanno changed gears in spectacular fashion. Using jazz (and its many permutations) as the basis for Cowboy Bebop, Kanno branched out into a dizzying array of genres. She successfully dappled in everything from blues and metal to country music and opera, matching the series’ free-wheeling stylistic approach. Ultimately, Cowboy Bebop cemented Kanno’s status as one of anime’s foremost composers, able to seemingly nail just about any musical genre.

With the series pulled out of development hell by multimedia company Bandai Visual, it was no surprise that a video game adaptation was released even before Cowboy Bebop became such a rousing success. Released for Sony’s PlayStation by developer BEC (Bandai Entertainment Company) just a month after Cowboy Bebop first aired, the game was decidedly less creative than the series. Taking its cue from titles like Starfox, Cowboy Bebop was adapted into a straightforward third-person rail shooter, with gamers controlling protagonist Spike Spiegel’s spaceship Swordfish II. Released only in Japan, the game didn’t seem to leave much of an impression – but thankfully, it did feature an original score by Kanno (rather than just a reworking of her music for the series). Curiously enough, the game soundtrack never received an official release – an absolute rarity in Kanno’s body of work.

Where would Kanno take the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack, after having explored so many musical genres already? As it turns out, her choice isn’t that surprising – to underscore the game’s shooter action, Kanno goes with heavy metal as her main inspiration. While Cowboy Bebop features few stylistic surprises and is nowhere near as creative as the TV series’ music, this game score still takes a special place in Kanno’s discography. Nowhere else in her entire oeuvre has Kanno focused so strongly on metal (Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex featured its fair share of growling guitars, but in a much grungier, industrial vein).

As such, the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack mostly lacks the kind of emotional and tonal subtlety that characterises so much of Kanno’s work. Her aim here is a different one – to write a bunch of melodic, upbeat metal instrumentals and she succeeds with flying colours. While her game music for Cowboy Bebop isn’t particularly profound, Kanno’s arrangements are as dense and carefully crafted as one would have come to expect. This helps her raucous cues to flow seamlessly between song sections and always sustain their fairly substantial running time. Her compositions’ pacing is helped by the fact that due to the game’s linear rail-shooter format, Kanno can (mostly) write songs with a specific length.

“Stage 1/2 (Part One)” and “Stage 1/2 (Part Two)” quickly demonstrate just how accessible and fun the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack is. Launching into a searing attack from the entire band (including rock organ), Kanno herself soon takes centre stage on keyboards, as she audibly enjoys churning out some big, glossy 80s synth hooks that land the music fairly close to hair metal territory. At this early stage, the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack registers as Kanno’s most pop-influenced work, with a steady supply of catchy, anthemic melodies that turn into sky-high declarations of victory once powered by the blazing metal backing.

In fact, most tracks here sound like roaring band jams that keep energy levels high at all times and also give other instruments the chance to improvise and shine. “Stage 1/2 (Part Two)” is particularly indebted to delicious 80s cheese, relying on its pop-infused grooves to straddle the divide between the chrome shine of its synth hooks and the grittiness of its fiery metal instrumentation. Kanno’s keyboard work again mostly focuses on the repetition of memorable, short phrases.

That said, a longer keyboard solo towards the end of “Stage 1/2 (Part Two)” points towards the transformation that the score is about to undergo. There’s no huge stylistic change afoot, but after “Level 3/4 (Part One)” opens with a triumphant synth clarion call that takes after Van Halen’s “Jump”, the cue makes space for more virtuoso keyboard parts that now move the music towards prog metal. It’s not a big surprise, considering Kanno’s trademark dense arrangements and playing skills. Thankfully, “Level 3/4 (Part One)” never loses the soaring quality and hooky rush of adrenaline that makes the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack such a joy to listen to.

The synths change style again on “Level 3/4 (Part Two)”, now aiming for space rock’s laid-back sense of wonder and otherworldliness. Floating, wordless female voices contrast nicely with the still densely jam-packed arrangements and lead into a majestically gliding mid-section – before the band launches into a ferocious finale full of neo-classical soloing that still maintains a good amount of cheery melodicism. Kanno increases this stylistic tilt on “Level 5/6 (Part One)”, again subtly changing the music’s style and tweaking it towards power metal when she layers more operatic female vocals on top of the particularly dramatic metal arrangements. “Level 5/6 (Part Two)” then decides to simply go for the jugular, presenting itself as the album’s most straightforward, chugging rocker that delivers all of the showboating and head-banging intensity you could ask for.

There’s one more aspect to the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack and its quality is a bit more dubious. Each level cue ends with a boss segment – and Kanno is on audibly less secure footing when forced to write music with no clearly defined end point (as the boss fights could take any amount of time). Earlier tracks don’t fair too badly – while the boss segments on “Level 1/2 (Part One)” and “Level 1/2 (Part Two)” don’t develop much, they are appropriately sharp and don’t overstay their outcome. On “Level 1/2 (Part Two)”, Kanno even experiments a bit, crafting an unlikely combination of syncopated big drum beats and another 70s prog rock keyboard solo. Later on, these boss segments turn more humdrum, meandering along with an anonymous martial flair and disappointingly vague cinematic ambitions. Thankfully, it’s only a small stain on what’s otherwise another outstanding entry in Kanno’s body of work – a true hidden gem and yet another feather in her cap.

01 - Level 1/2 (Part One) Kanno, Yoko 5:14
02 - Level 1/2 (Part Two) Kanno, Yoko 5:16
03 - Level 3/4 (Part One) Kanno, Yoko 5:03
04 - Level 3/4 (Part Two) Kanno, Yoko 5:03
05 - Level 5/6 (Part One) Kanno, Yoko 4:04
06 - Level 5/6 (Part Two) Kanno, Yoko 3:39
07 - Bonus Track Kanno, Yoko 3:00

Formula 1 Soundtrack

Formula 1 Soundtrack, Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis, 1996

If you developed a racing video game in the mid-90s, there was apparently little choice other than to score it with electronic beats. And few companies knew this rule as well as Psygnosis. After all, they actually helped write this musical law with their enormously successful Wipeout franchise. Those games helped to take video game soundtracks into the mainstream like few other titles before.

Keeping this in mind, it’s surprising that 1996’s Formula 1 received a straight out, pure-bred hard rock/metal score. The masterminds behind Formula 1‘s revved-up beauty of a soundtrack are Mike Clarke and Stuart Ellis. While Ellis joined the project as a session guitarist, Clarke’s name will be more familiar to game music aficionados. As Psygnosis’ Sound Director, Clarke had mainly worked on Amiga titles before leaping into the CD console era. He would later return to work on the less remarkable Formula One 99. However, more helpful musical references for Formula 1 from Clarke’s career are Lifeforce Tenka and Destruction Derby Raw.

All three scores are guitar-driven howls of instrumental force. But the Formula 1 soundtrack doesn’t go for the grime and grit of the lesser Destruction Derby Raw, or for Lifeforce Tenka‘s processed, haunting feel. Instead, Formula 1‘s pristine instrument sounds and the technical exactitude of its hundreds-of-notes-a-minute guitar soli match the immaculate high-tech precision of the racing cars that this music underscores.

Psygnosis also licensed music from guitar virtuosos Steve Vai and Joe Satriani for the Formula 1 soundtrack. That of course meant that the pressure was on Psygnosis’ in-house musicians to match such instrumental prowess. Thankfully, when necessary, Stuart Ellis certainly lives up to the note-shredding standards set by these guitar gods. At the same time, Formula 1 never turns into a hollow display of instrumental pyrotechnics.

“Track 1” kicks proceedings off with rock-solid, crunchy hard rock riffage and a comfortable groove. Its bluesy feel might be a rarity on the album, but smoothly eases listeners into the album. “Track 7” later revisits the same sort of groove-rock feel. It’s the kind of metal that’s confident enough to rely on a great riff and let it work its magic. Of course, there’s no shortage of guitar showmanship during these tracks’ soli.

“Track 2” and “Track 11” are more pressing and urgent affairs. The music picks up speed and mental images of cars racing at breathtaking speeds are impossible to suppress. Ellis once more proves that his riffs are just as excellent as his soli, and like other cues, “Track 2” slows down to catch its breath at the beginning of its last third, before putting the pedal to the metal for a furious finale.

When you put together fast cars and hard rock, it’s difficult not to think of “Highway Star”. And indeed, “Track 3” does sport shades of Deep Purple. A Hammond organ not only adds splashes of colour and character, but also underlines the influence that Ritchie Blackmore’s work has on Formula 1‘s sound. Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and Van Halen are other valid points of references that identify the Formula 1 soundtrack as a first-rate representative of classic heavy metal.

Things only get better with “Track 4”, whose soli tear into the song with hair-raising intensity. Still more interesting is the cue’s central riff. It’s a rhythmically tricky, yet unexpectedly grooving show stopper that might be the album’s most creative single musical idea. It regularly trades places with monolithic jack hammer riffing, backed by the album’s first pronounced use of double bass drums. True, the drumming and bass lines of Formula 1 don’t attract as much attention as the guitar fireworks. Still, their rhythmic support is never less than flawless and at all times maintains the album’s exuberant energy.

After the heaviness of the preceding cues, “Track 5” is a welcome breather. With its care-free attitude, “Track 5” barrels down the race track with a big grin on its face. Of course, there’s still space for lightning-fast guitar soli that lead to a huge, euphoric finale. That moment of exhilaration is followed by the Formula 1 soundtrack’s most creative concoction, “Track 6”. Clarke and Ellis prove their versatility and mix in funk elements that are as energetic as their rock counterparts, but lighter on their feet. The cue’s stroke of genius is the way it electronically chops up the guitar riffs during its B section. It then tosses shreds of the riff across the stereo field, in a way that cleverly matches the tracks’ opening stuttering funk rhythms, but in entirely unexpected ways.

The score’s other noteworthy genre experiment takes place on “Track 10”. A particularly sludgy riff and growling bass lines make for the Formula 1 soundtrack’s grimiest track yet. Unexpectedly, Clarke and Ellis balance this focus on the bottom end with swelling and tinkling synth pads. Initially (as on “Track 9”), their job is to provide the guitar soli with an amorphous, cinemascope-sized backdrop, so they feel even larger than life than they already did before. But then, “Track 10” even drops guitars entirely during its mid-section. Instead, it throws in an unexpectedly atmospheric section dominated by those whale call-synths – before crashing back into the grinding opening riff with fierce abandon. You couldn’t ask for a more satisfying conclusion of one of game music’s best metal scores.

01 - Track 1 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 2:38
02 - Track 2 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 2:53
03 - Track 3 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 2:54
04 - Track 4 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 2:48
05 - Track 5 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 2:58
06 - Track 6 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 3:05
07 - Track 7 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 3:16
08 - Track 8 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 2:34
09 - Track 9 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 2:52
10 - Track 10 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 2:51
11 - Track 11 Mike Clarke / Stuart Ellis 3:13

I.Q. Final Soundtrack

I.Q. Final Soundtrack, Takayuki Hattori, 1998

Thankfully, the 32-bit era still had a place for games that were visually extremely simple yet featured addictive gameplay. One such title was 1997’s PlayStation puzzler Intelligent Qube. It was designed by Masahiko Sato, a professor and digital artist working at the Tokyo University of Arts. Controlling Intelligent Qube’s protagonist, gamers had to clear wave after wave of approaching cubes by marking spots on the stage – floating in the blackness of space – waiting for the cube to roll on top of it. Like the best puzzlers, Intelligent Qube used such an extremely simple gameplay premise – according to Sato designed within an hour – to build an engrossing experience. The result was critical and commercial acclaim – by the end of 1997, the game had sold an astonishing 750,000 copies and won the Excellence Award for Interactive Art at the 1997 Japan Media Arts Festival.

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Legend of Mana Soundtrack

Legend of Mana Soundtrack, Yoko Shimomura, 1999

While the 32-bit generation saw a seismic shift in gameplay and graphics design from 2d to 3d, that didn’t mean nobody created pixel art masterpieces during those years. And given how much Square’s 16-bit games had pushed the envelope in the early 1990s, it only makes sense that the company would occasionally return to the art style that had endeared its products to countless gamers. Square’s major forays into 2d gaming on the PS1 were SaGa Frontier 2 and Legend of Mana – and it’s probably no coincidence that Square veteran Akitoshi Kawazu produced both games. That probably also explains the non-linear style of RPG gameplay both games tried to pioneer. However, while the lack of a robust central narrative was typical for the SaGa games, it set Legend of Mana apart from its franchise predecessors, reaping strongly divided feedback from gamers and reviewers alike.

However, some aspects of Legend of Mana found unanimous praise – particularly its audiovisual presentation, which included gorgeous visuals and one of Yoko Shimomura’s best scores. For Shimomura, working on the Legend of Mana soundtrack was a thoroughly positive experience. One of Shimomura’s reasons to move from Capcom to Square had been her desire to work on a fantasy title – and of course, Square’s line-up of high-profile RPGs would be the perfect outlet for that ambition. As Shimomura put it in an interview: “I kept saying I wanted to work on a fantasy and this title finally came around. I really had fun with it. I tried hard to make it fit the style of the game and to express myself!!”

Of course, by taking on composing duties for the Mana franchise’s latest instalment, Shimomura had big shoes to fill. Hiroki Kikuta’s Secret of Mana score remains one of the all-time great RPG soundtracks and had created an idiosyncratic, yet accessible signature sound for the franchise that set it apart from the competition. Shimomura’s Legend of Mana soundtrack doesn’t innovate in the same way as Kikuta did. Instead, the immensely colourful style she concocts on this album is squarely rooted in late-romantic orchestral music (with generous helpings of metal and bits of electronica and pop music).

In that regard, Shimomura’s approach lands Legend of Mana closer to JRPG conventions, but that doesn’t mean she deserts the Mana franchise’s established musical character. Instead, she expresses the same characteristics through somewhat more conventional means. Take the album’s opening salvo of “Nostalgic Song”, “Place of Soul”, and “Hometown Domina”. They are all led by idyllic, calm woodwind melodies that couldn’t be more welcoming, animated by gently driving orchestral rhythms and clad in lush instrumentations. Again, those earthy, heart-warming melodies – with their folk-inspired gentle lilt – aren’t as creative as Kikuta’s unexpectedly modulating tunes. However, they are just as lyrical, with a charm that is impossible to resist. Indeed, in Shimomura’s hands, the world of Mana remains a realm of bucolic natural beauty and wonder. Shimomura is aptly supported by some of the best sound synthesis on the PS1, using crisp, life-like samples that convey her compositions’ rich emotions.

The Legend of Mana soundtrack’s charm persists throughout the entire work, but Shimomura manages to express it in various ways. Her knack for sumptuous orchestrations and delightful melodies – established right at the start of the soundtrack – culminates on “City of Flickering Destruction” and “Those Who are Shining”. Both compositions – sequenced near the end of the soundtrack – use chamber music-sized orchestrations and gorgeous solo instrument writing to present their radiant, yearning melodies. Particularly “Those Who are Shining” feels like a natural extension of the soundtrack’s opening mood – reprising its optimism, but also giving it an elusive, profound quality through the use of choir voices and application of echo to the lead instruments. As the final showdown approaches, the game’s world hasn’t changed entirely, but the stakes have no doubt been raised.

Like Kikuta, Shimomura manages to effortlessly combine the whimsical with the ethereal. The latter element leads Shimomura to essay some of her most intriguing and experimental compositions. “Moonlight City Roa” most obviously evokes Secret of Mana’s mysticism, mixing that score’s Gamelan percussion with Legend of Mana’s more orchestral slant through an emotive solo cello accompaniment. “Missing Truth”‘s serene, somewhat ritualistic flute melody is pitted against a background of various gongs and other expertly layered rhythm instruments (and a sitar), turning the cue into a peacefully mesmerising experience. Most intriguing is “The Other Truth” and its fleeting woodwind fragments floating by in the thick, hazy summer atmosphere. Shimomura’s light-handed approach is as apparent here as it is on humorous compositions like “Cliff Town Gato”, “Southern City Polpota”, and “Mystic City Geo”, with their boisterous percussion and tongue-in-cheek transitions from booming, lively bombast to quieter passages.

One of the significant differences between the Legend of Mana soundtrack and Secret of Mana is how the former feels significantly heavier. That’s partially due to Shimomura’s use of more orchestral sounds, but there are other factors at play too. Shimomura deploys percussion far more often than Kikuta did. On “Wanderer’s Path” and “Earth Painting”, she combines yet more rhapsodic woodwind leads with constantly busy snare drums and staccato strings, successfully fusing fantasy and action scoring templates. More spectacular still are a series of marches sequenced towards the end of the soundtrack, again suitably preparing for the grand finale. In Shimomura’s hands, “The Excitement of Both of Us”, “Complicated Destiny” and “The One Who Waits for the Breath of Destiny” balance martial determination with the soundtrack’s trademark sweeping melodies and emotional nuance – witness “The Excitement of Both of Us”‘ struggling, yet valiantly persisting melody lead.

Speaking of heavier tones, Shimomura mentioned in interviews that she was surprised to be asked to write heavy metal compositions for the Legend of Mana soundtrack’s boss battles. It’s a musical style that Shimomura absolutely nails here. “Pain the Universe” and “The Darkness Nova” cleverly arrange their triple-guitar onslaughts to create escalating thunderstorms backing up some borderline cheesy, yet irresistibly catchy and triumphant keyboard melodies. These are easily some of the 32-bit era’s best metal compositions outside of the Guilty Gear franchise.

For final boss track “Silence of Time”, Shimomura reaches again back to heavy guitar sounds but, interestingly enough, eschews obvious theatrics. Instead, she combines churning, slow riffs, pounding timpani, a dispassionately relentless organ motif and an eerie, chromatic percussion line dancing atop the cosmic furnace underneath. Oozing the evil spirit of a dark planet mercilessly charting its course across the blackened sky, “Silence of Time” doesn’t reinvent the wheel – but like the Legend of Mana soundtrack itself, it uses traditional elements to create something memorable and individual. This is a prime example of a traditional JRPG score done right, with tons of creativity and panache.

01 - Nostalgic Song Shimomura, Yoko 3:32
02 - Places of Soul Shimomura, Yoko 1:32
03 - Hometown Domina Shimomura, Yoko 2:43
04 - Wanderer's Path Shimomura, Yoko 4:32
05 - Pain the Universe Shimomura, Yoko 3:20
06 - Cliff Town Gato Shimomura, Yoko 2:51
07 - Earth Painting Shimomura, Yoko 4:26
08 - Moonlight City Roa Shimomura, Yoko 2:10
09 - Everyday Dream - Spirit's Song Shimomura, Yoko 2:30
10 - Southern City Polpota Shimomura, Yoko 2:22
11 - Mystic City Geo Shimomura, Yoko 2:34
12 - Memory of Running Shimomura, Yoko 2:01
13 - The Darkness Nova Shimomura, Yoko 4:19
14 - Pastoral Shimomura, Yoko 1:42
15 - Missing Truth Shimomura, Yoko 3:05
16 - The Excitement of Both of Us Shimomura, Yoko 3:47
17 - The Other Truth Shimomura, Yoko 2:15
18 - Complicated Destiny Shimomura, Yoko 3:50
19 - The One Who Waits for the Breath of Destiny Shimomura, Yoko 3:07
20 - Depression Blues Shimomura, Yoko 2:34
21 - City of Flickering Destruction Shimomura, Yoko 3:22
22 - Foolish Decision Shimomura, Yoko 3:39
23 - Those Who are Shining Shimomura, Yoko 3:06
24 - The Great Virtue of Gathering Mana's Spirit Shimomura, Yoko 2:12
25 - Silence of Time Shimomura, Yoko 4:18
26 - Nostalgic Song - Ending Theme of Mana's Story Shimomura, Yoko 1:33
27 - Song of Mana - Ending Theme Shimomura, Yoko 5:59

Medal of Honor Soundtrack

Medal of Honor Soundtrack, Michael Giacchino, 1999

It’s hard to find a historically more significant, more influential Western game score than Michael Giacchino‘s Medal of Honor. Sure, the Medal of Honor soundtrack wasn’t the first orchestral game score to convincingly emulate movie scoring conventions. But there were a number of powerful factors that turned Medal of Honor into a force that changed the course of game music history – and it wasn’t just the fact that Giacchino’s work was married to an immensely successful game.

First and foremost, there is the soundtrack’s sheer artistic quality. Its strongest predecessors in the genre of Western live orchestral game music – Heart of Darkness, Total Annihilation, Star Trek: Starfleet Academy – had already delivered some outstanding music. However, the Medal of Honor soundtrack surpasses them all in terms of both breadth and consistent quality (early Japanese orchestral game scores by the likes of Yoko Kanno, Jun Nagao and Takayuki Hattori are a different story). What’s more, the score’s thematic sophistication set a new benchmark for live orchestral game music. Giacchino writes no less than three main themes that run through the entire score. He always uses these melodies judiciously and to further the music’s storytelling capabilities. On top of this, Giacchino introduces a new secondary motif on almost every track, builds the respective composition around this motif, and then masterfully weaves in the three major themes.

Of course, it’s hard to ignore just how much the Medal of Honor soundtrack sounds like John Williams’ action scoring from the late 1980s and early 1990s. But in this case, that comparison is actually an enormous compliment. Giacchino manages to write orchestral action music of the same quality as the maestro himself. That applies both to the music’s intelligent thematic constructs and sheer aural pleasure derived from it.

What’s so pivotal to the success of Medal of Honor is how successfully it realises its storytelling ambitions. The score creates gripping narrative arcs both within each composition and throughout the album as a whole. The smart use of various themes is obviously key to this achievement. However, there are two more factors that help Medal of Honor to play just like a first-rate film score.

Firstly, there’s Giacchino’s clever use of dynamics. True, Medal of Honor derives a lot of its reputation as an orchestral powerhouse from adrenaline-charged pieces like “The Radar Train” and “Rjuken Sabotage”. These are irresistibly propulsive creations that still stand as some of the best action music written for any video game. However, what allows the Medal of Honor soundtrack to sustain its running time so well is the fact that Giacchino also knows how to write quieter music that keeps listeners on the edge of their seat. The result is a superb build up and release of tension. A composition like “Securing the Codebook” seamlessly moves from quiet snare drums to a ruthless rendition of the Nazi theme. Similarly, the subdued “The U-Boat” gets enough time to paint a strikingly vivid image of its claustrophobic location.

Secondly, Giacchino develops his compositions exceedingly well, superbly tying together their many changes of moods, dynamics and orchestral textures. Like the best orchestral game music, never do the pieces lose focus or direction. Equally, never do these compositions feel like a more or less well connected tapestry of musical gestures. A work like the Medal of Honor soundtrack is a resounding demonstration of how to write orchestral game music that follows a flawless internal logic. As a result, Giacchino’s cues emerge as fully-fledged compositions that effortlessly function as rousing musical statements outside of the game.

It’s this near perfect emulation of cinematic role models that helped Medal of Honor – and game soundtracks in general – to break through to the wider music mainstream. Many within the music industry and community finally realised that yes, game music could be as good as film music. Of course, that had already been the case for many years, long before Medal of Honor came around. However, it took a conservative revolutionary like Medal of Honor to introduce outsiders to game music. It did so by taking a more familiar genre’s conventions and applying them to game music in flawless fashion. And thus, game music became acceptable to more conservative tastes that had trouble appreciating the electronic sounds of the vast majority of video games thus far.

Of course, the irony is that while film music so obviously inspired the Medal of Honor soundtrack, Giacchino’s work sounds like no Hollywood war film score would have in 1999. That a World War II first-person shooter could be scored in 1999 like a rollicking adventure movie shows that while Medal of Honor‘s music perfectly imitates cinematic conventions, there was still a lot separating the aesthetics and tone of video games and movies.

That doesn’t change the fact that the Medal of Honor soundtrack changed the industry’s perception of live orchestral game music. Previously a rare extravagance, over time it would become a de facto standard. What Medal of Honor did was to bring game music into the musical mainstream like very few other game scores. And what’s more, it has the substance and quality to back up such an elevated position.

01 - Medal of Honor Michael Giacchino 4:10
02 - Locating Enemy Positions Michael Giacchino 4:12
03 - Taking out the Railgun Michael Giacchino 3:52
04 - Attack on Fort Schmerzen Michael Giacchino 3:57
05 - The Radar Train Michael Giacchino 3:35
06 - Rescuing the G3 Officer Michael Giacchino 4:09
07 - Panzer Attack Michael Giacchino 4:17
08 - Rjuken Sabotage Michael Giacchino 4:08
09 - The U-Boat Michael Giacchino 4:43
10 - Merker's Salt Mine Michael Giacchino 4:09
11 - Approaching Colditz Castle Michael Giacchino 3:22
12 - Securing the Codebook Michael Giacchino 3:37
13 - Nordhausen Michael Giacchino 3:18
14 - Stopping the V2 Michael Giacchino 4:14
15 - The Jet Aircraft Facility Michael Giacchino 3:29

Medal of Honor: Underground Soundtrack (PS1)

Medal of Honor: Underground Soundtrack (PS1), Michael Giacchino, 2000

Medal of Honor strove hard to create a first-person shooter experience that left an impression on players beyond the mere satisfaction of shooting bad guys before they could shoot you. However, the fact that the game progressed the FPS genre in terms of subject matter wasn’t its most revolutionary aspect. Instead, that particular achievement would have been the wide-spread critical recognition of game music’s quality outside of the gaming community. Michael Giacchino‘s Medal of Honor score fashioned itself on John Williams’ action scoring of the late 1980s and early 1990s. Astonishingly, it matched the elevated standards that come with such role models. As a result, bloggers, film score collectors and music fans in general – many for the first time – took note of the music produced for a video game.

Even more than Medal of Honor, Underground aims for historical authenticity (and thus reverence). Its main character Manon Baptiste is based on real-life French resistance fighter Hélène Deschamp Adams – who also served as a consultant on Underground. These efforts highlight the game designers’ increasing ambition to enrich action-driven gameplay through the retelling of one individual’s personal story. As a consequence, the Medal of Honor: Underground soundtrack shows greater interest than Medal of Honor in illuminating its protagonist’s psyche.

Giacchino finds a clever way to anchor this exploration of Manon Baptiste’s emotional states in Underground‘s thematic foundations. Giacchino’s simple but ingeniously implemented solution is to develop Manon’s two themes out of the same musical cell, an ascending two-note motif. After these two notes, variation “A” of the main theme leads into the Major key. It conveys a feeling of national purpose, similar to Medal of Honor‘s main theme, albeit less solemn and markedly lusher. Variation “B”, on the other hand, leads into a minor 6th chord, ending on a more thoughtful note. Adding more complexity still to Manon’s musical representation is a swelling two-note ostinato motif. This musical thought represents Manon’s determination to carry on in the chaos of battle.

A track like “Panzer Blockade” beautifully shows how Giacchino uses these musical building blocks. First there’s a yearning quotation of the “B” variation on solo trumpet against a hammering orchestral backdrop. The music then segues into the resolve motif on swelling strings that keep on building. Despite being mercilessly attacked by other instrumental groups, the resolve motif finally erupts into a rendition of the “A” variation. This is music with a simple, yet gripping dramatic arc that provides insight into the emotions of the game’s protagonist.

To this malleable new main theme, Giacchino adds the expected return of Medal of Honor‘s domineering Nazi theme. He also continues his technique to write his action tracks as variations on a newly introduced sub motif. The result is an immensely rich tapestry that turns the Medal of Honor: Underground soundtrack into one of the thematically best developed works in the Western game music canon.

What differentiates Underground more obviously though from its predecessor than these new themes is the music’s new emotional direction. More lyrical and light-footed than Medal of Honor, Underground heralds its intentions straight away with opening track “May 10th, 1940 (Main Theme)”, which features accordion, boys choir, solo cello, and a downright romantic rendition of variation “A”. These softer, more colourful sounds signal Giacchino’s desire to broaden the score’s instrumental and thus emotional palette. This tendency is also an obvious pointer towards the operatic heart-on-your-sleeve outpourings of Medal of Honor: Frontline.

Not only are the compositions on the Medal of Honor: Underground soundtrack richer in orchestral colours than Medal of Honor. They are also more subdued and varied in their mood. Certainly, Medal of Honor knew very well when to tone down the action and integrate stealth elements into the music. On Underground however, these more hushed musings become far more dominant. And that’s only fitting, considering that the music underscores the actions of the French resistance. These men and women couldn’t hope to beat the Nazis through open confrontation, but had to rely on covert operations.

Despite all this introspection, this is of course still the score for a first-person shooter. As was to be expected, Giacchino delivers first-rate action material in spades. To his credit, he injects his battle tracks with the same sensibilities as the quieter compositions to keep things coherent. On these action tracks, Giacchino implements greater changes in dynamics and orchestration than on Medal of Honor. Additionally, a leaner overall sound, carried by strings rather than brass, gives solo instruments more room to breathe and climaxes the chance to stand out even more.

Highlights are numerous, but best of all is “The Motorcycle Chase”. The way the cue’s sub motif seamlessly interacts with quotes of the “A” variation and the Nazi theme impresses. The composition’s development includes a passage for thunderous, unaccompanied percussion, before the cue grows more and more frantic with ever thicker textures. At last, the resolve motif leads into the score’s most triumphant reprise of the “A” variation against turbulent counterpoint.

It’s a moment of boisterous orchestral bliss, and one that beautiful sums up the cerebral and emotional pleasures to be found on the Medal of Honor: Underground soundtrack, which manages to underscore both firefights and character beats masterfully.

Conversion notes

Medal of Honor Underground is arguably an unlikely candidate for a Game Boy Advance conversion – but that’s exactly what happened in 2002. The prospect of a chiptunes-style demake of Giacchino’s orchestral pieces has its appeal. Sadly, that’s not what this port is going for – instead it aims to translate the original compositions as closely as possible for the GBA’s limited sound hardware. Given that many GBA games struggled to produce even SNES-standard sound quality, it’s a doomed undertaking and produces predictably unpleasant results.

01 - May 10th, 1940 Michael Giacchino 4:28
02 - Amongst the Dead Michael Giacchino 3:17
03 - Fleeing the Catacombs Michael Giacchino 3:09
04 - Panzer Blockade Michael Giacchino 3:20
05 - The Road to Tobruk Michael Giacchino 3:24
06 - Escape from Casablanca Michael Giacchino 3:20
07 - Passage to Iraklion Michael Giacchino 3:40
08 - Labyrinth of the Minotaur Michael Giacchino 3:15
09 - Ascent to the Castle Michael Giacchino 3:25
10 - Last Rites Michael Giacchino 3:34
11 - The Battle of Monte Cassino Michael Giacchino 3:16
12 - The Motorcycle Chase Michael Giacchino 4:18
13 - Returning to Paris Michael Giacchino 3:25
14 - Beneath the City Michael Giacchino 3:09

Psybadek Soundtrack

Psybadek Soundtrack, Mike Clarke, 1998

Including Psybadek in a list of “The WORST Playstation Game[s] Ever Made” (as a YouTube reviewer does) is probably taking things a bit far – remember that there were loads of horrendous shovelware for Sony’s console, particularly in its later years. Still, Psybadek remains a bit of a mystery. This is a game by one of the 32-bit era’s most successful and trendiest developers (Psygnosis), released in between heavy-hitters by that company like the WipeOut, Colony Wars, Destruction Derby and Formula 1 titles. Yet, according to both contemporary and more recent reviewers, Psybadek falls flat on its face, with nary any redeeming features. At least Psybadek’s mix of racing and platforming elements showed that the developers were thinking outside of the box, even if that genre combination was ultimately poorly implemented.

As Gamespot noted in their review though, there’s one aspect where Psybadek – unexpectedly – shines: its score. Their claim that “the soundtrack is easily one of the best in video games anywhere” might sound like hyperbole. However, this is indeed one of the era’s best electronic game scores and far better than what you would expect to find in a game with such an otherwise poor presentation. Thanks be to veteran composer Mike Clarke, who had delivered numerous soundtracks for Psygnosis since the early 1990s, including one of the best metal scores ever to grace a video game: Formula 1.

For the Psybadek soundtrack, Clarke takes a very different – and arguably more creative – approach. He works with a big beat framework for each track’s rhythmic base during the first half of the score. He then combines these rhythms with retro-styled melody leads that oscillate between jazzy and psychedelic (maybe the game’s dunderheaded title achieved one good thing – inspiring Clarke to attempt this genre fusion). His approach isn’t unprecedented – Propellerhead’s “History Repeating” had set the template for this combination of contemporary beats and suave James Bond-style brass sounds the year before.

Still, it’s not a style often heard in game soundtracks – kudos to Clarke for pulling off an electronic racing score that dares to differ from the late 1990s norm for the genre. Without the need to emphasise a futuristic setting, the Psybadek soundtrack is a much warmer and melodic creature than, say, the WipeOut and Extreme-G scores. Instead, the music embraces a fuzzy sense of nostalgia to welcome listeners. Just take the vintage sound Clarke often clads his instruments in, as if they were playing through an old transistor radio. It might sound incongruous on paper, but Clarke never pushes the effect too hard. Instead, his clever audio engineering lends the modern rhythms a distinctive, colourful edge. It also prepares the ground for moments like the jazzy trumpet solo on “Track 1”, which perfectly suits the cue’s retro-flavoured undercurrent.

The Psybadek soundtrack ingeniously revisits this mix of old and new from different angles as it proceeds. “Track 2” expands on the previous cue’s strung-out mood with a wild combination of biting vintage keyboard arpeggios, acerbic guitar lines, surf rock episodes, hip-hop rhythms and jittery sound effects that twitch through the multi-coloured haze. It’s a thoroughly heady trip that can feel like a woozy drug-induced dream, but Clarke always remains in control of the track’s flow. During its almost seven-minute run time, the cue’s elements develop organically – witness the percussion- and guitar-led build-up towards the end of its second third – and any sudden shifts consciously underscore the piece’s entertainingly unpredictable nature. “Track 4” is equally fun – this time, the contrast is between urban elements (more pressing rhythms, sounds of cars) and rural inspirations like a harmonica lead. Once more, Clarke makes this unlikely combination work beautifully.

The second half of the Psybadek soundtrack goes off on various tangents – but there is no dip in quality. “Track 5” and “Track 7” hew more closely to racing game music conventions of the era, with their greater reliance on techno rhythms. Still, their spacey synth pads float through the stereo field like translucent gates to the stars, warped by forceful solar winds – enough to recall the trippy atmosphere of earlier compositions. “Track 6” takes an almost diametrically opposed approach. Far more acoustic than electronic, the composition introduces Mariachi trumpets, swiftly strummed guitar melodies, lavish string orchestrations and increasingly busy drums to end up as the score’s most upbeat cue. Ultimately, “Track 6” is simply another clever way for the soundtrack to tap into its obsession with 1960s music, this time recalling the ‘acid rock played by orchestra’ approach of Love’s masterpiece Forever Changes.

“Track 8” goes for a much more dramatic sound, opening with sampled African chants before segueing into the soundtrack’s heaviest bass line and some hand percussion. Clarke once more displays his penchant for experimentation, marrying these locally specific influences with an anthemic staccato synth melody. Its timbre is much colder than the surrounding textures, but the chanting and the dominating staccato lead nicely match each other’s flair for big gestures. The Psybadek soundtrack fittingly closes with its most unclassifiable cue. “Track 9” goes from dry guitar riffs and bouncy 4/4 dance beats to increasingly dense layers of electronica – before it all breaks down into a pounding big beat episode and mutant surf rock. Again, it’s a combination that shouldn’t work, but Clarke pulls it all together into a kaleidoscopic whole that continually surprises – a mirror image for the entire Psybadek soundtrack.

01 - Track 01 Clarke, Mike 4:51
02 - Track 02 Clarke, Mike 6:38
03 - Track 03 Clarke, Mike 5:30
04 - Track 04 Clarke, Mike 7:37
05 - Track 05 Clarke, Mike 3:19
06 - Track 06 Clarke, Mike 3:30
07 - Track 07 Clarke, Mike 3:31
08 - Track 08 Clarke, Mike 3:20
09 - Track 09 Clarke, Mike 5:23

Sentinel Returns Soundtrack

Sentinel Returns Soundtrack, John Carpenter, 1998

Sentinel Returns was the entirely unexpected sequel to 1980s computer cult puzzle game The Sentinel. That 1986 title was one of the first games to feature solid-filled 3D graphics. Its successor wasn’t as revolutionary, but it still had a striking visual appeal all of its own. The world of Sentinel Returns was an entirely surreal one, unsettling and gloomy. It was full of bizarre flesh-meets-metal inhabitants that only had a vague resemblance to real life objects.

Sentinel Returns might have been a puzzle game, but its world was that of a nightmarish horror title. It’s no surprise then that horror maestro John Carpenter’s Sentinel Returns soundtrack is a perfect fit for the game. However, Carpenter’s involvement in Sentinel Returns is still a bit of surprise. Remember, Western movie composers crossing over into video games was still an absolute rarity in 1998.

Then again, Carpenter has repeatedly mentioned his fondness for video games in interviews. Exactly how he got involved with Sentinel Returns isn’t quite clear. According to one interview, Carpenter wrote the Sentinel Returns soundtrack while shooting Vampires in New Mexico. More remarkably, he claimed to have created the entire score within a single day (“Sunday, my day off”). And apparently, that was the end of the story: “They [the developers] seemed happy, so, fine. I never saw the game.” It’s hard to say then how much credit must go to Gary McKill, listed as the soundtrack’s arranger – it’ll probably remain a mystery exactly how fully-formed Carpenter’s contributions were and how much work McKill did on the music.

However its creation occurred though, the Sentinel Returns soundtrack is doubtlessly one of Western game music’s most effective horror scores. It is a direct continuation of Carpenter’s movie soundtracks, down to the synthesised one-note bass pulse that is Carpenter’s go-to gesture and opens “Track 1”. Its merciless pounding gives the music a feeling of single-minded purpose, perfectly underscoring the game’s relentless antagonist.

The tension rises as Carpenter layers more and more rhythms on wood blocks, piano and timpani, backing foreboding synth layers. It all patiently builds towards the track’s big moment – the appearance of an imposing eight-note synth motif that is domineering, even darkly majestic in a twisted way. In its unashamed bombast and simplicity, it’s also a fair bit cheesy. But then again, that’s in keeping with Carpenter’s tendency to go full camp, as long as his ideas achieve their full impact – and that’s definitely the case here.

Carpenter’s decades of experience in crafting minimalist, but effective horror underscoring are obvious throughout the soundtrack. His music might be near-ambient at times, but never fails to ooze with quiet, inescapable dread. There is a fair amount of repetition, but the compositions’ atmospheric potency makes the score hypnotic rather than tiresome. The result is an oppressive, sombre soundtrack that strikes just the right chord of disquieting otherworldliness to aptly underscore the game’s strange, abstract scenario and daunting antagonist. Carpenter leaves his music sparse and abstract enough to not fill in too many of the fascinating gaps opened up by the game’s perplexing visuals.

Indeed, keeping the music at a remove is one of the reasons why the Sentinel Returns soundtrack is satisfyingly creepy. On “Track 2”, samples of ghostly voices give the music a human element, but only in disconcertingly distorted fashion. That sensation combines with a circular, ritualistic drum pattern, quite similar to Matt Uelmen’s signature rhythms on Diablo. Spooky vocals and tribal drums are two sides of the same coin of twisted spirituality that dominates “Track 2”. A nervous, zither-like instrument playing in counter rhythm to the stoic pulsing underneath only increases the paranoia-filled atmosphere.

Intangibility also sums up “Track 3”’s appeal, if in a different way. This time, the rhythmic backdrop consists of a fuzzy sine wave bass, brushed hi-hats and moody bell strikes. A racing piano line backed by anthemic rock drums is the Sentinel Returns soundtrack’s most obvious 80s throwback moment. But just as the music becomes more melodic and consonant, it’s kept askew by spectral synth washes that flood over the rest of the track with no regard for its rhythms and melodies, as if emanating from a different realm.

On “Track 5”, the haunting synths of “Track 3” return, now dominating the composition. Underneath the parade of uncanny shadows, a persistent electronic pulse ticks away like a countdown to disaster. This time, the musical conflict that electrifies the track is between the synth backing and a forlorn, two-note piano figure. It provides the barest signs of warmth and humanity in an otherwise alien world, hoping to survive the constant attack of the gnawing, amorphous synths, often coming dangerously close to falling into dissonance itself. It’s another demonstration of how the Sentinel Returns soundtrack gets the most out of its judicious balancing act between scant, yet surprisingly emotive melodies and expertly crafted horror synth underscore.

01 - Track 1 John Carpenter 5:10
02 - Track 2 John Carpenter 4:49
03 - Track 3 John Carpenter 3:31
04 - Track 4 John Carpenter 4:51
05 - Track 5 John Carpenter 4:56

Swagman Soundtrack

Swagman Soundtrack, Nathan McCree, 1997

Nathan McCree‘s body of work is the textbook example of one particular work overshadowing a game composer’s other accomplishments. Of course, we are talking about Tomb Raider and its many sequels, two of which McCree scored himself. Outside of some highlights, these scores don’t play too well outside of the games they accompany, and there are arguably more rewarding works in McCree’s discography. After all, his output ranges from Star Wars homage Soulstar to the creeping menace of Skeleton Krew‘s synth textures. As with so much other early Western game music, an album release was never on the cards for these titles.

Thankfully, once more a mid-90s French game magazine came to the rescue, with one of those promotional CD releases that accompanied many of these publications (see also: Formula 1, Rapid Racer). The particular album in question holds – among other works – the majority of McCree’s work for Swagman. That game is a mostly forgotten action adventure title from Tomb Raider‘s Core Design. Reviews were middling and so it’s understandable that Swagman wouldn’t be on the radar of many game music fans. As it turns out though, the game contains what might well be the best score of McCree’s career.

The game’s narrative – two children fight the Swagman, Prince of Nightmares, in cutely colourful settings – is alternately whimsical and moody. As such, it suggests a ready-made musical template. And indeed, McCree initially opts for the obvious Elfmanesque Gothic-lite mode (still relatively fresh in 1997) to underscore the game. Spooky atmospherics mix with comedic elements that add cheekiness and puckish humour to the sombre choirs and organs through their jazzy attitude and bouncy rhythms on xylophone and glockenspiel. What’s immediately impressive is just how well McCree pulls off this particular style, comparable to Paul Arnold and Andrew Barnabas’ MediEvil: Resurrection.

Opening track “The Swagman” sets an ominous tone straight away with a mysterious harp motif, before a pulsing, forward-rolling melody – the score’s main theme – sets in. Like all of McCree’s melodic inventions on Swagman, it’s an attractive, memorable creation. It also displays McCree’s creativity through its unexpected progression, with sudden grace notes suggesting the potential for abrupt, forceful movements. Alternately creeping, elegant, boisterous and menacing, the malleable theme cleverly contrasts with a secondary motif that usually plays as an answer to the main theme to provide contrast – it’s a more light-footed creation usually played on high woodwinds.

Closing track “The Nightmare is Over” revisits the same musical style and not surprisingly moves it into major key territory. However, it does so with sufficient restraint and by using the score’s established instrumental palette. “Dance of the Scallywags” is more single-minded. It squarely puts the emphasis on the parodic tendencies of Swagman’s mock-Gothic style. Its basis is a mischievous, almost obnoxiously bouncy organ motif that refuses to go away.

What truly makes the Swagman soundtrack special is how McCree proves that he has more on his mind than a skilful reiteration of the faux Gothic template. Second track “The Children’s Nursery” is a first indication of where the Swagman soundtrack’s emotional centre lies. The cue opens with a lonely duet for piano and xylophone, set in isolating, echoing surroundings. The music begins to ebb and swell beautifully as a solo violin and then the full string section perform the piece’s lead melody.

What comes through strongest on “The Children’s Nursery” is the children’s fragility and the danger they find themselves in. It’s precisely this character-focused approach that gives Swagman its heart. While most of Swagman is more subdued than its opening track, the score is also emotionally more resonant than expected. At the same time, the soundtrack never forgets to find individual musical approaches for each of its locations.

Take “Down in the Basement”, the Swagman soundtrack’s most intriguing composition. Superficially, it doesn’t seem to consist of much more than downcast string layers. However, a closer listen reveals how skilfully McCree suggests melodies rather than actually executing them, effectively intertwining the melodic and the textural (something that Hitoshi Sakimoto does regularly on his string adagios, if to more melodramatic ends). This ambiguous approach to forming fully-fledged melody lines purposefully denies melodic reassurance. Thus, the loneliness and regret hidden underneath the gloomily floating string and choir lines registers subtly, but in potent fashion.

“Twisty Turny Woods” spells things out more clearly, running essentially as a slowed down version of “The Swagman”. Textures turn thinner and shiver in the icy atmosphere blown in by the wind sound effects and organ chords. Despite the barren mood and a more rigid progression, there is still some life left in the score’s main theme. Fighting its way from lonely flute solo to dramatic heights, the theme manages to ultimately reaffirm its presence. Once more appearing on “In the Tunnels”, the main theme establishes itself as the score’s binding force. It helps to make the Swagman soundtrack an outstanding example of Western orchestral game music. Don’t miss this work if you enjoy memorable melodies, potent atmospherics and flawlessly developed compositions, clad in flexible, uncluttered textures.

01 - The Swagman Nathan McCree 3:31
02 - The Children's Nursery Nathan McCree 3:41
03 - Dance of the Scallywags Nathan McCree 2:41
04 - Down in the Basement Nathan McCree 3:17
05 - Twisty Turny Woods Nathan McCree 3:45
06 - In the Tunnels Nathan McCree 3:20
07 - The Nightmare is Over Nathan McCree 2:42
08 - Track 8 Nathan McCree 3:42
09 - Track 9 Nathan McCree 3:38