I woke up this morning with one of the "Observation Lounge" piano pieces from Wing Commander II running through my head. It is different, hearing this now. My better-trained ear recognizes the structure of the piece, with its layered patterns and rhythms, and how these are bent with exquisitely placed skipped half-heartbeats.
Anyone can hold a beat, a rhythm.. but it is in those fractional heartbeats that the master makes a rhythm their own, keeping the listeners just a little off-balance with subtle tugs on their heartstrings.
I first heard this piece many, many years ago, during one of the deeper moments of the game; a pause, a respite, a wondering-what's-next, a moment of mourning, a moment where you have to somehow find the strength and will to keep going desipte insurmountable odds. In a game filled with memorable music, this piece stood out.
I was one of those computer geeks growing up, playing whatever games I could get my hands on. It wasn't for the sake of playing games though; in hindsight I was using it as an escape; immersing myself in a world and system that I could understand and experience. Instead of the general platformer/action/etc tripe, I was drawn to games that exuded atmosphere and story, evoking emotion, emotion I could feel, emotion that was so lacking in my meatspace life.
This was also behind my voracious appetite for books; I'd escape into other worlds woven by masters of the word, consistent worlds populated by People. I capitalize People because not every person is a Person. I knew I certainly wasn't, and I had no idea how I could ever become one of those Persons who could create, change, evoke, emote, and generally be a master of their own world.
But I digress. There were many games (and many more books) but few really stand out in my memory. Some were true masterpieces, but most others boiled down to that intangible property we call Atmosphere. The feeling of another world, the little details in the writing and art, believable dialog, and phyrric victories. That there are sometimes no "right" choices. The price of attachment. Feeling of accomplishment. Especially those feelings; there was nothing that was good or bad, as long as I would feel something. Something that wasn't me, or so I hoped.
Sometimes... that atmosphere, that sense, that feeling, was carried by the game's music. Music is usually overused, especially today, wielded as a crude "This Is How You Should Feel Now" bludgeon, but when done right, it's something you don't notice, blending into the experience as a whole. Until you hear it later, out of context, and your whole being lurches in memory.
My most powerful memories are associated with music; for a long time they were the only emotions I really had. Over the years I've learned something of how this works; how to create atmosphere; how to invoke and evoke; how to weave words, notes, rhythms, and touch; how to show someone that there is something more than ourselves, something deeper, something higher, something greater, something smaller.
I still hear the melancholy notes of Jazz playing the grand piano in the observation lounge of the Concordia as it hides in an asteroid field to make critical repairs. I hear the clean plucked guitar of Erana's Peace as my hero sleeps beneath its tree. I hear Duke's one-liners overlaid on top of Grabbag, followed by the steady 5/4 progression of Stalker as the first level starts. I hear the haunting themes of the Agro Planet and New Constantinople, all alone against a dark, dangerous universe. I hear SHODAN's taunts as I crawl towards the CPU nodes on the Executive deck, carried by a thousand variations on a simple theme. I hear the dropship falling towards Presephone, leaving behind everything for... something that is little more than an unknown hope. I hear Synapse as I truck around Hong Kong after a frantic escape from UNATCO, its peaceful theme morphing into the aptly-named Opponent Within.
I hear the travels, the transitions; I hear the trials, the tribulations; I hear the quiet losses and the not-so-quiet losses; I hear trust and betrayal; I hear the wonder, the incompletions; I hear growth and change; I hear laughter and tears.
I hear memories and experiences, woven into me, sometimes with a deft touch of a pickpocket, and others with the grace and impact of a powersledge.
I hear my heart and soul.
Yet... were any of these real? These worlds I escaped into, these worlds that touched, changed me? Were they ever mine, really? Where is my world, my music? Where is my Loom and my place in the Pattern? Why did the swans leave me behind?
Are these words real? ...Am I real? Can we ever truly know? And does it really matter?
...So as long as we have and create music, sing, and dance, who cares?