A New Song

Dear all readers alike,

I've started another blog 'project' (for want of a better term) to get me through the next three years - I think that's a good enough length for a cycle.  I'm still wrestling with the same kind of problems I always have been, while trying to improve myself bit by bit.

I'm still ill, but still in employment and actually have a girlfriend (!) that things are going very well with.  I don't really know what else to say - I'm at a strange point in my life really where I have time outside of work and money to spare but don't really seem to be doing very much constructive otherwise... Or is that enough?  I am, after all, an adult living with Aspergers.

Maybe I'm trying too hard to be normal (like always) and I should be happy that I've gotten this far and have this level of independence.  Some things are good, but I suppose that some things could be better.  Anyway, find me once more, if you like this kind of thing, at www.speck-synder.blogspot.co.uk and I suppose we'll go from there...

Pastures New

It finally happened.  I finally started a new blog.  It feels like it's been longer than it actually has been, I mean two months is two months... But anyway.  I guess I made the first step in moving on.  

Obviously I'm leaving this all here, unedited (for now), because that will never come back to haunt me at an inappropriate time in my future career.  In the meantime, update your bookmarks and swing by my new pad at http://asylumsouthwest.blogspot.co.uk/ for the next step in the master plan as I follow one three year project with another!  

Tune in already as I've published even at this early stage.  See you next time.

All's well that ends well...?

This is it.  I was never really sure when I started how or when this would end, but I think we're here.  Complex, not complicated.

I haven't written for a long time, really.  Things have gone off the boil recently, not to mention a certain state of emotional volatility that has come from trying to find my place in this Brave New World of Lay-Vicarship.  Turns out that actually, being a Lay-Vicar is almost just exactly but not quite the same as being a choral scholar.  Boozy Friday nights giving out to hung-over Saturdays, the weekly responsorial psalm roulette (altos not included, of course), Sunday nights spiraling wildly out of control and ending (almost inevitably) in the Qdos Karaoke...



The thing is, things have changed.  The tagline at the top, "Love, life, and the poor end of the stall" are no longer really... Appropriate.  Let's deconstruct:

I consider myself formally retired from actively pursuing any sort of love life.  Isn't that sad?  Isn't that dreadful?  What a woeful cry for help!  No.  Sorry.  I know it looks stupid but after how miserable the last break up made me, and how, well...bad I've been at being attracted to people who are either already attached or have no interest in me.  Or seem to but are having some sort of mental crisis... Or even might just be but like to insult me on a continual basis.  Basically...yeah, terrible.  Also, I have no real idea with how to engage with the whole business of successfully showing any sort of romantic interest, and even less with how to successfully interpret it, so I'm out, you guys.  Sometimes I do get dreadfully lonely, and it isn't helped by the feeling that I couldn't actually do anything about it.  This is the no-win situation though, and there isn't a get out, as far as I can see.  Maybe my priorities are all wrong at the moment, witless navel gazing aside.  I do catch myself suddenly caught by the sight of some gorgeous vision... Before remembering that I have no idea what I would actually do.

My life... Well, yes, my life.  I suppose things are going well, actually!  I am pleased to report how well my domestic arrangements have continued to improve, to the point where I naturally refer to the gentleman whose house I lodge in and pay rent to as my house mate, rather than land lord.  Lessons in Verdi, Don't Tell the Bride, tech support and sharing bottles of Budweiser at the start of a weekend have proved far superior to well... Almost everything in fact.  Now a mere 7 minutes away from the outer Crypt door rather than 2, things are very fine in the Georgian terrace I now call home.  I may not have found any permanent work, but bits and bobs here and there keep the wolf from the door, and socially I've been doing much better, hosting a few dinners here and there, including a triumphal roast beef supper for Swedish guests particularly.  But life with the magnificent Dr. N suits me exceptionally well.

And the Stall?  Things could hardly have gone better this year!  Not only have I fulfilled my aim of joining the back row of a Cathedral Choir once again as a full member of the foundation, but I have been accepted by choir, congregation, and most importantly, the Director.  Somehow, my excellent boss seems to have grown to put up with my... Eccentricities, including but not limited to singing all the Christmas descants, and a constant hum of chatter and giggling from the Decani altos.  While I don't get every solo on the books, I don't feel there's anything to complain about, and I've found a real niche being the mainstay of the Alto line - still no days off!  Although I was forty minutes late for rehearsal one Sunday, in a freak occurrence that has both never happened since and left me deeply paranoid about my alarm system.  Thankfully, I was forgiven.  I fit in well with "The Team", I'm sure there are aspects of my game I can pick up on, and the opportunity to develop my skills in a safe environment that I can misbehave in occasionally is nigh-on perfect.


And perhaps this is another reason that writing has gone off the boil - it's like I've ticked it all off.  Basically, the true and original purpose of this blog was to distract me from just how depressed I really was, and thinking back it was certainly one of my darkest hours.  I managed to hide almost everything, but at least I had this to use as a vent when things became particularly overwhelming... Many people have said over the years how admirable a coping method this has been, but let me raise the iron curtain on that one for you folks - I've never been able to cope, and probably never will.  It's all about managing, getting by.  If I can succeed at that then I'm a step ahead really.  Or at least I feel as if I am.

So?  What now?  As the house lights slowly dim, I've already considered that I'd like the show to go on, but on a different stage.  There are a lot of things, personal things, that make me dreadfully angry.  In fact, I tell people that I am almost permanently angry - but mostly with myself; as soon as you understand that, things fall into place a little better.  There are beginnings of long form articles bouncing around in my head, and really the Songman's Rest is no place for a lot of them: video game theory, Historically Informed Performance discussion and that piece I've always wanted to write about Truro Cathedral's Father Willis Organ.  For context, the heading picture is the west end organ of Derby Cathedral, one of the most surprisingly versatile and impressive organs I have had the fortune to serve under.  Short form, be it a weekly bulletin style, or maybe really bad poetry that was scribbled out on some screwed up napkin, or even some thoughts on that film I went to see also don't really belong here... And these are the things that I want to write now!  I also really, really want to get stuck into a thesis on the Orgelbewegung... Actually it's probably for the best that I keep that to myself.

 So, as the curtains finally close, I feel almost close to tears.  Such sentimentality!  Such melodrama!  It's certainly been a journey, and it even looks like my writing has improved, if even a little.  I even managed to crap out at least 1000 words a day last May!  When I set my new page up, I'll post links in the appropriate places.  I do still enjoy writing, after all.

Such fun.

At time of posting, this is the 230th post, and the 163rd to be published, with 13,087 page views  After three years, eight months and twenty days, and a couple of hundred thousand words, it's time to lay this to rest.  Thanks for sticking by me through all the dross and dour sentiment.  

And of course, I'll be back soon enough.  May you be sealed and inscribed for a good year!

Vignette Finale

Everything ends.

Thanks all the same though.


The curtain falls,

The lights go down,

Theatre empties.

It's been a good run.  But everything has to come to an end, after all.  What comes up must come down.

Tomorrow, it could be you.

Killer isn't Dead?

Coming out of retirement to write about video games.  It feels so cliched... How long has it been?

Recently, I decided to just take the plunge and buy a game brand new off the shelf.  No, it isn't Arkham Origins (which we'll get on to in a minute), but instead the latest and greatest horse from SUDA51's venerable stable, Grasshopper Manufacture, Killer Is Dead.  I followed all the development news and watched all the trailers that I could until its eventual release, which I then promptly missed due to the small matter of going on choir tour to Sweden.  I finally purchased it last week (Friday, I think) and have been spending some quality, early morning hours working through the predictably incomprehensible story.  Now, even though I've still got Flower, Sun and Rain somewhere with me, the last SUDA51 game I actually completed was Killer7, to which I will be making many comparisons, and also comparing with Platinum Games' seminal action comedy brawler, Bayonetta. 

Killer Is Dead is the timeless tale of an amnesiac executioner, who after waking up with a robotic arm falls on his feet by finding employment with a state-funded assassination firm.  The deeper we delve into the plot, the stranger everything becomes, with villains invading dreams, government cloning conspiracies, and the eternal battle between light and dark.  Also, the Moon.  Yes, the Moon has always been a prominent part of the Grasshopper oeuvre, and this game is certainly no different.  In fact, you can't seem to get away from it this time.  The gameplay itself is simplistic hack-and-slash, with a projectile secondary weapon, so no real surprises in store here.  The levels comprise mostly of fighting through corridors of generic enemies who require their own specific strategies to defeat... but this mostly boils down to dodging, entering witch bullet time, and mashing the attack button.  It's certainly more involved than Killer7, anyway.  The protagonist's name in this case (just the one protagonist this time too) is Mondo Zappa, the stoic and duty obsessed, katana expert executioner.  Originally named Mondo Smith (although in Japanese this would have sounded just like Sumio Mondo from Flower, Sun and Rain), his name is doubtlessly inspired by Frank Zappa.  Or possibly Moon Unit Zappa?  Don't forget the Moon.

The graphical style of this game is much like Killer7's, cel-shading with three main colour tones, but improved for a HD generation.  Looking at Mondo stood in a room with Wires (this game's Heaven Smiles) ambling towards you is possibly (and lamentably) as close to a Killer7 remake (or refresh) we're going to get.  As mentioned above, and with most Grasshopper titles, the actual gameplay is a bit... tacked-on.  It's just a means to an end, the end being to prove how utterly insane this all is.  But there's a bit of a problem as well.  It's almost as if this game is saying "Look at me!  Look at me!  I'm from SUDA51, and I'm CRAZY!", before leaping around the room...and not always with any real justification.  Okay, I haven't finished the game yet, but it is sadly less compelling than previous efforts.  It's almost too aware at times, especially when there's a pre-boss cut scene that details that there must be a fight as 'there would be complaints from the gamers' if there wasn't.  Thankfully, in a flash of much more familiar tones, Mondo is riding an elevator as part of a later mission and having a radio conversation with one of the other characters about ethics.  He is asked whether he thinks the game is ethical, to which he replies it isn't his job to worry about that, just to execute the targets given to him.  Don't get me wrong, I'm still enjoying the game very much, but it's exchanges like the former that are much more common than the latter, which doesn't really have much more than pure entertainment value, rather than actually making you think.  Sure, you're controlling a merciless professional assassin killing numberless faceless grunts before the boss (which, tweaked, is every action platforming game ever), but just because you're funded by the state... Does that make it right?  It's certainly not in the "What is a country?" stakes, but it's a shining moment in an otherwise dull scene.  There's more than enough commentary been written about the infamous 'Gigolo Missions', which are a really odd addition to the game, as they serve so little purpose.  Badly scripted portals for teenage-style tittilation, It's a shame something so directionless was included.  The best thing about the whole sequences has to be the banging techno beat that starts once you equip the x-ray glasses.

Speaking of what a country is, let's look at Killer7 for a moment.  2005's insane supernatural future noir psycho-political horror thriller has got to be one of my favourite games ever made.  It's like a book rather than a game, with a control scheme pared down to the very bones, simple logic puzzles and set pieces all designed to do one thing and one thing alone: further the plot.  Part first-person-shooter, part puzzler and part mind-bender, the stupefyingly simple controls actually help draw you in to the scenario.  Rather than having to remember complicated buttons combos, it become almost a reflex to draw your weapon, scan for enemies and then reload.  Also, you have infinite ammo.  Handy, eh?  

It also contains some of the maddest things to ever be included that just seem to work: the pigeon that helps you win a boss battle, a Luchador who headbutts a bullet into submission (that's one thing that has disappointed me about Killer Is Dead, no Lucha Libre references), and of course, the dead man with all the answers from the very start (spoilers! lol), Travis.  Serioulsy, I can't tell you how much I love that guy.  There is so much that defies expectation that you simply have to accept it in order to move on - the suspension of disbelief.  The setting, basically a modern cold war between the United States of American and Japan, is the theatre for conspiracy of the highest order, national identity, orphan trafficking, and of course, an assassin with an identity crisis.  The Moon is featured here, but without explanation as a loading screen.  It's never explained...like much of the game, in fact.  It helps that it isn't an action game (in the conventional sense), that navigating the levels is basically done for you so you can focus on the matter of unraveling what is actually happening behind the scenes (make sure you speak to Travis every time you see him!).  Killer7 is much deeper than your usual offering, 2005 or not, and it feels like Killer Is Dead wants this depth so desperately but just... Misses.  The soundtrack helps, making every different level and area easily recognisable by sound alone, not to mention the bizarre sound effects when you solve puzzles or collect items. 

What I really can't criticise Killer Is Dead for actually, is the audio.  The voice acting is well implemented, even if the script oscillates wildly from overly serious to completely inane, and the actual soundtrack is sufficiently interesting and engaging in parts.  As I said, the script is sometimes mad-cap, and other times takes itself way  too seriously - the bizarre office scenes before and after each mission starring alien Doctors, a musician with no ears and a ghostly artist are just mental.  Mondo's strict recitation of the game title at the start and end of the playable mission serve no purpose to remind you THAT THIS IS A GAME OKAY.  Mondo's sidekick, Mika, is the comic foil to all this terminal seriousness brought about by our central hero, what with what must be the world's most annoying voice and quasi-school uniform.

Anyway.  I want to turn to an action game from a different studio as a kind of...second opinion.  Anybody who's seen Bayonetta in action can confirm how utterly ridiculous  it is, in terms of setting, action, really dreadful casual sexual banter... Bayonetta is a game of extremes, right down to the button-mashing boss fights.  While the fourth wall is far more sacred, its perfectly aware of its existence as a truly ridiculous game, and clutches this to its healthy (but not quite heaving) bosom.  Alongside the main platforming sections, there are motorbike driving levels and even a rail shooter section to complement the high-octane action that's the mainstay.  Having not only read all about, but also experienced the Gigolo Mission of Killer Is Dead, Bayonetta really knows how to play the the titillation game.  Cheesy, sexually suggestive script writing, played for the most groans available, coupled with the scantily clad protagonist (that catsuit is made out of hair, don't forget), it rides a line of acceptability - if you take it too seriously, there's plenty to take issue with, but really, the entire premise is completely ridiculous that this is the level it should be taken on.  The concise but effective combo system (dodge, vertical attack, horizontal attack) has enough timed strikes in it to make it better than your usual mash-a-thon (Killer is Dead, I'm actually looking at you), and worth getting used to for the Boss battles (especially Jeanne's).  By dodging at the last second, you can enter a slo-mo state known as witch time, which of course aids your combos and avoids damage.  Bayonetta straddles a line between embarrassing and enjoyable, but but lives in that space anyway, and triumphs because of it.  Not only does it succeed as an action game, but it also succeeds in presenting an innuendo-charged atmosphere, which is where Killer Is Dead falls down.

Hiatus

I finally finished Killer Is Dead earlier.  I say finally, but the main campaign isn't very long at all.  Assessing it as a pure action game, it falls down compared to Bayonetta and even (or should that be especially?) the Devil May Cry series, the 4th of which I am most familiar with.   As a Grasshopper Manufacture game however, it still holds its own at least.  The reliance of chess symbolism and the centre stage placement of the Moon feels very heavy handed though, and it's more the memory of these elements being mindbending rather than the game presenting events that use these symbols (like the chess scenes from Killer7) where other things are happening that carry you through instead.  As a huge SUDA51 fan, I have enjoyed my first playthrough, and will play more, but I can see why somebody who isn't as great a fan would feel let down by the almost deliberately incomprehensible scenario, the less-than-helpful controls, and quite frankly, the voice of the main character's assistant.  Even then, the lack of luchadors is simply disappointing.

In conclusion, I certainly don't regret my purchase... But only just.  Having lived with both Killer7 and Flower, Sun and Rain, I'm used to the madness and often inhibiting controls.  Maybe though I've been spoiled by the Arkham series, with its seamless combat that makes no demands on the player; 4 button combat has never been better.  
At the end of the day, I have enjoyed my journey to the dark side of the moon and back, and maybe, just maybe, the next game from Grasshopper Manufacture can reclaim that sense of wonder and utter madness of previous titles without having to make compromises.  Hell, even when you boil it all down, Super Meat Boy  was one of the most addictive and rewarding games of the previous generation, the spirit of which was picked up on by Black Knight Sword, which added to the classic platformer recipe with its unique kabuki theatre art setting.  

Oh well.  Until next time... Tomorrow, it could be you.

Out of the Deep

To say that I've kept this blog at arm's length for the past month would be an understatement.  

I've been struggling with block since the new choir year started actually, not least because moving out was dreadful, but also the impact of actually being a "grown up" (in the loosest usage of the term to date) is quite... disquieting?  Is that what I mean?  It's new and unfamiliar, like learning to walk again.  The refreshing sensation of being able to leave the Scholary behind outside the east gate is still a novelty, this only being the second month of living away compared to the previous twenty four.  Even though I am yet to fulfill any societal concepts of adult life, I feel much more positive on the whole.  Things have improved, and continue to do so.  

Something that I recently identified that was having an negative effect on my writing is how deeply attached I am to the outcome.  This is not fiction (sadly?), and knowing that friends and acquaintances regularly read sometimes makes me dreadfully nervous.  I never used to be afraid.  Well, not so much.  Years spent trying to keep all the people happy all of the time have wasted what emotional strength I do have, and in fact when I am not able to do so I feel disappointed in my own self.  The monster may no longer stare back out from the mirror, but who is there now?  A sycophant?  Please.  How awful.  Even though I am no stranger to controversy or confrontation, it is almost as if I shy away deliberately these days.  It's like I am trying to project an image that I simply have no right to.  Oh spare me a little, that I may recover my strength before I go hence and be no more seen!  Even after three years, no names and a slew of cultural references, I am still worried that people might find out not just what I think, but also what I feel - almost seeking out mediocrity as a mode of expression to keep all the secrets from everyone.  Including myself.

Of course, the outcome that I fear the most is rejection.  An almost paralysing fear that keeps me from taking any sort of chance you could imagine: financial, professional, dietary... The most mundane things.  The biggest fear of course, is being rejected in a romantic way (sorry this is stilted but I'm trying to search for a better expression).  It's one of the things I try to keep secret from myself, with questionable success rates.  I go through awful psychological loops where I can even feel ashamed sometimes to be attracted to somebody.  Why bother even looking?  What woman would ever look at me?  I am the lowest of the low, but still haven't hit Tyler's "rock bottom".  Of course, long time readers and fans of the Captain will point out that in the past things have worked out, but really they haven't worked out for very long and have shown increasing patterns of (ding ding you guessed it) borderline sycophancy on my part.  Maybe self destruction is the answer!  All the time running in the background is that critical fear of rejection.  Of upsetting the status quo.  It makes me weak, and dreadfully so.  It is as if I have nothing to be proud of.  Boo hoo how sad!  It remains far easier to hide in the shadow of platonic and familial relationships with men than actually admit to one's desires for a woman.  I'm sure I can't be the only human being who feels like that, let alone the only autist.  Sometimes, normal people don't have every thing easy after all, which I am slowly learning. 

Vomit.  How close to the truth we came but swerved away!  I'm sure we'll be back here soon, as once again, it's the biggest problem on my mind.  Even living in a climate of self-imposed austerity isn't actually that much of a problem, and as luck would have it have often found time and place to earn a quick buck to keep the booze rolling in.  Turns out that what could charitably be described as Truro's one and only Dive Bar found so far has just as much place in destroying my liver as does the classy cocktail joint where everyone knows my name.  My domestic arrangement continues to improve, and I'm pleased to say I get on very well with my Landlord!  As much as I would like to live in my own place rather than just a rented room, there have been a few episodes already where having another person to talk to has made all the difference.  Critically, I do not feel lonely even half as much as I have before.  It is like I've finally got chance to sure up the walls of the cracked edifice that I am, which is a true Godsend!  Even though the weather is dreadful, things are looking up, but don't worry!  I'm not going to finish on some sort of blitheringly hopeful note.  It's more the fact that...

...It isn't that bad.

Postscriptum

New schedule coming.  Alongside singing every day, I've taken to transcribing une grande messe d'orgue to fill up my time.  I'm trying to finish it in time for the Chief's birthday, so fingers crossed!  In the meantime, I think I'm finally going to try my hand at a little fiction, and might even publish that epic in Haiku form I've been working on...

Tabula Rasa

See, the thing about having a block when you're me, is that flashes of inspiration come and go, making their arrival unannounced and often unwelcome, perhaps in the middle of putting a knot in a necktie, or perhaps waiting for tea to brew to the optimum point, or even (most annoyingly), the fine mean-tempering of my Tenor Banjo.

This is not one of those times.

This is one of those times that I think that actually I just need to sit down and actually get something out and published because Jesus Christ I am supposed to be writing a regular blog and did you know I managed to set out at least a thousand words a day in May, and it's been all quiet for a month.  A month!  Terrible.
The short answer is that a hell of a lot has happened, and actually, I don't really know where to pick up.  Where could I even begin?  I've moved house, received promotion, welcomed a new cohort of scholars, installed a harsh yet justified financial regime... But what's really interesting about that?  Obviously a lack of interest in even reviewing my own situation, let alone anything else, is indicative of some kind of... primordial unhappiness, and to be honest, having only moved in a month ago to my new lodgings I'm actually hardly surprised.  Things are still deeply chaotic, and compared to previous moves, much more stressful.  I bloody hate moving, and I will not move from that platform.

However.  Why not try something... New age?  Dip into the pot of pop psychology and focus on the positive HA HA but no, actually things are pretty okay.  Although things are...less than ideal at my new lodging (household animal companion allergy and hit and miss with the hot water), I am very happy with my new domestic lodging.  I am looking to expand the ancient feast of the Thursday night curry, with the help of a small subscription fee and the dining room to bring new levels of culinary excellence and the fellowship of having a good meal together.  Hmm.  What else is good?  The new Scholars!  Yes. 

I am fond of telling people that things are different this year.  All sorts of things taken for granted in former years have fallen away: the frequency of curries, which bars we visit post-evo, even down to the fact that there's no television in The Scholary!  Everything changes, I suppose, even we who hate change.  I am now, as previously stated, a Lay Vicar of the Cathedral Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Truro... but to be perfectly honest spend almost every evening with the Scholars.  Things are different this year, with the Scholars being much younger on the whole, with only one member being incumbent of his post.  We have a new, slightly international flavour to this year, with scholars coming from as far afield as Sweden, Canada and most notably, Oxford. The house has seen some improvement, and while the current denizens are still working out the kitchen, the atmosphere is much clearer generally (which may or may not have something to do with the use of air freshener in the toilet...).  On the whole, voices are quieter than they have been the last two years, but the blend hasn't suffered for it; if anything, the back row's tuning has improved across the board, even if the front row is still raising blood pressures all round.  Of course, my behaviour as a probationer was dreadful as well, and there's no point from shying away from that... But I do remember being clipped round the ear, which is somewhat unfashionable these days.  Or illegal.  I don't know.

I'm looking forward to how this year pans out.  All six of the new scholars, including (or should that be especially?) the Organ Scholar, have their own strengths to bring to the table.  This is my third year in Truro after all, and who even knows where I'll end up (will it be here just like my forebears?), perhaps I'll manage to get back to England one day or just maybe I'll make it across the Atlantic.  If I'm ever going to get anywhere, I really need to address this utterly fatal lack of confidence that I have.  It's almost as if I never quite manage to catch a break and really get everything back together before the next wave comes along or I need to put my social face on and go and do the Lay Vicar thing or even go and work in the Office all day... I dunno.  Finding a balance is difficult.  More difficult than you think.  But... That's my life.

So!  This hasn't been too bad.  Perhaps a month hiatus is what I needed to pass the birth pangs of the new age.  One thing that I did think about as I was buttering toast last week was that I can't really write because I have no idea what I am, or what I'm doing.  Last year I was a Scholar who hung around with the Lay Vicars, and this year I'm a Lay Vicar who hangs around with the Scholars.  Living off a pittance, but this time so I can actually pay off my overdraft and not spend the rest of my life languishing in student debt.  Hopefully, I might find more chance to actually flex my writing muscles.  One of the biggest issues in my life is having to acknowledge my disability, which is something I am taking a huge amount of time to come to terms with.  Even elementary social cues still escape me, after all this time and all this effort I'm sure you could understand how frustrating that could be.  

Back to the grindstone though, as once again I must awake the first Cello Suite and get back to preparing the second for Lent.  I would much rather prepare Banjo recitals than sing, because anybody can go hear some Countertenor hoot through some hit parade of classics... But Bach suites on a Banjo?  You heard it here first, folks.