Welcome to “Gaming Memories,” a blog series where I reminisce about my favorite video games. I will slowly but surely get to every game on the list, and speak to why each holds a special place in my heart. That not only means I’ll talk about why I think each is a great game that speaks to my tastes, but also where and how it affected me in a larger context. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

SPOILER WARNING: This blog contains spoilers for The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

I’m not sure I’ve ever anticipated a video game release more than The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. I was 12 years old, The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past was already one of my favorite and most defining video game experiences, so the thought of playing Zelda in 3D on the Nintendo 64 was pretty much the most incredible thing I could imagine. In my young mind it was poised to be the ultimate video game, the medium’s defining triumph, and one that would set the standard for years and years to come. Sound unreasonable? My expectations almost certainly were.

And yet somehow, they were largely met.

It’s hard to fully capture now, over two decades later, just how impressive Ocarina of Time was in 1998. Plenty of classic video game franchises of the 1980s and early 1990s failed to make the jump to 3D successfully, and it’s not that hard to imagine a world where Zelda failed as well. But Nintendo, as they do at their best, walked that thin line between pushing forward while still crafting a quality, polished game. First and perhaps most importantly, Ocarina of Time set the standard for not only the franchise going forward, but also 3D action-adventure games at large with its intuitive controls, context-sensitive actions, and lock-on targeting; you know, “Z-targeting.” Second, it made use of its extra dimension in gameplay-relevant ways, frequently demanding the player interact with objects and enemies on all three planes. Third, it was one of the largest, most sprawling video game worlds to date (especially on consoles), and exploring it all in 3D was surreal. It may sound like hyperbole now, but Ocarina of Time formed much of the template that 3D action-adventure games would use for years and years to come: it showed the world how 3D games could control, what kind of worlds they could have, and how the player could interact with those worlds in meaningful ways. It was among the biggest technological and creative leaps I had experienced in a game at that point, and in my 12-year-old eyes, it was nothing short of magic.

While being one of the first great 3D action-adventure games is hugely important to Ocarina of Time’s legacy, it’s just as important to recognize that it was also a great Zelda game, with all that entails. The Legend of Zelda was already one of the most celebrated video game franchises, and all of the series’ beloved qualities made the transition to 3D fully intact. The sense of adventure and discovery, which permeated every corner of its large and wondrous world. The intricate and demanding puzzle box dungeons, full of clever environments that tested your spatial awareness and ingenuity. The evocative art style and visuals that stood out in its day, and the varied and iconic soundtrack that still stands out today. The progression of fun and inventive items and tools, the endearing and sometimes silly cast of characters, and the devious enemies and bosses. Ocarina of Time was not Zelda in name only: it executed the Zelda fundamentals well, fundamentals regularly placed among gaming’s best. Had any of this been lost in the transition to 3D, it may not have been worth it. But Ocarina of Time made the transition appear effortless -- even though it was likely anything but -- and for existing Zelda fans like me it was a dream come true.

Yet while Ocarina of Time can, in some ways, be viewed primarily as a successful 3D version of A Link to the Past, it had a lot of other little touches that further gave it its own identity. A few examples: it introduced a day and night cycle to the series, made musical instruments an important staple, as well as introduced everyone’s favorite horse, Epona. But for me, it was Ocarina of Time’s bigger narrative touches that distinguished it from its predecessors the most. It fleshed out the Zelda universe with new races, new characters, and new historical lore, and told an epic tale that spanned seven years. That larger scope allowed for real shifts in both the characters who had seven years to grow, as well as the world itself, which fell dramatically into ruin under Ganon’s rule. And it was all punctuated with numerous moments that remain as memorable to me as any. Stepping out of the Temple of Time as an adult, only to witness firsthand how far the world had fallen. The surprise reveal that Sheik is Zelda, and how much she had taken matters into her own hands during Link’s absence. Even the bittersweet ending, and the realization that Link could never truly have his childhood back despite stopping Ganon and saving the day. Ocarina of Time did not have the most complicated story ever told, but it was effectively told, and it was the game that made story a substantially more prominent part of Zelda going forward.

It can be a little difficult to have a measured conversation about Ocarina of Time today, in 2020. On the one hand, while it mostly holds up, it can also feel a little dated: the overworld can feel barren, the controls can be clunky, and like most games from that early 3D era, the visuals can be rough. On the other hand, for those of us who played it in 1998, it lingers in our memories as one of the most significant landmarks in the medium’s history; there’s a reason it’s still widely considered among the best, most influential video games ever made. It’s one that still resonates with me as well, and when I think back on Ocarina of Time, I can’t help but be in awe of what they pulled off. Nintendo caught lightning in a bottle, and I'm not sure I'll ever witness a leap quite like it again.

Welcome to “Gaming Memories,” a blog series where I reminisce about my favorite video games. I will slowly but surely get to every game on the list, and speak to why each holds a special place in my heart. That not only means I’ll talk about why I think each is a great game that speaks to my tastes, but also where and how it affected me in a larger context. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

I played Dungeons & Dragons for the first time in 2003, when I was in high school. It was also my first exposure to a traditional “pen and paper” RPG, and it immediately captivated my imagination. The possibilities seemed endless, limited only by the stories our group could tell together, and the options for creating my own unique character were equally exciting. So I rolled my halfling rogue named Milo, mounted my riding dog, and we rode off on all sorts of grand adventures (presumably to save the world). It was a brand new type of game, and I was hooked.

Then that same year, BioWare released a Star Wars video game based on Dungeons & Dragons rules.

Of course, there had already been plenty of video games based on the D&D license, including BioWare hits such as Baldur’s Gate and Neverwinter Nights. And of course, a video game adaptation can never be as open-ended and imaginative as a true pen and paper RPG. But Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic’s release could not have been more timely for me. As someone who still primarily played console games at the time, who had just been introduced to D&D, and who considered Star Wars among my favorite fictional universes, playing Knights of the Old Republic (affectionately referred to as KOTOR) on the Xbox in 2003 was a revelation. It brought a classic type of PC RPG to a console, with a smooth interface engineered to effectively command multiple party members at once with a controller. It translated the D&D framework well to a video game, which it was able to leverage on both mechanical and storytelling fronts. And all of it worked surprisingly well in the context of the Star Wars universe. In fact, KOTOR remains my favorite Star Wars video game to date, and quite possibly my favorite piece of Star Wars media of any kind; a claim I don’t make lightly.

The ways in which KOTOR leveraged its D&D framework stood out to me in particular, as someone who grew up on the Japanese RPGs of the 1990s, and had virtually no exposure to Western RPGs as of 2003. In a game like KOTOR, you create your own character from scratch, and then constantly guide their growth. While the Japanese RPGs of my youth certainly had character customization in their own ways, KOTOR had it baked in from the start, and gave the player a lot of explicit control over who your character was and who they would become. Your class, stats, skills, and even how you looked were all common decision points, and critically, those decisions clearly impacted how your character played. Were you going to focus more on melee lightsaber combat, or devastating force powers? Were you going to be fast and nimble, or built like a tank? Were you going to be more skilled with computers, stealth, or persuasion? These decisions added up over time to allow for personal, nuanced player characters, and while you couldn’t create your party members from scratch in the same way, you did get to choose how they grew as they leveled up. This led to an intricate web of skills and roles that I found satisfying to balance, especially when the entire party worked together as a single cohesive unit. KOTOR was by no means the first Western RPG to successfully implement these ideas. But it was among the first I played that executed them well, and it made quite an impression.

Perhaps even more impactful for me than D&D’s influence on KOTOR’s character customization and combat, was its influence on KOTOR’s narrative structure. It was one of the first games I played that empowered me with dialogue choices, and thus one of the first games I played where I felt like an active participant in its narrative; it was the clear precursor to Mass Effect’s vaunted interactive narrative. And while KOTOR’s choices could regularly boil down to stereotypical “good vs. evil” dichotomies, they still felt meaningful, especially within the context of its Star Wars setting. It explored the philosophies of both the Jedi and the Sith, let you make your own judgments about each, and then made you walk the path that your choices led you down. It’s the rare game I played through multiple times, not only to try out different character builds, but also to experience different story paths. It’s worth stressing that KOTOR’s story was great by traditional metrics too; it had excellent writing, a large cast of well-realized and endearing characters (shout out to that lovable murder robot, HK-47), and the overarching plot was gripping and paced extremely well; KOTOR’s climactic plot twist was particularly memorable, and remains among my all-time favorite video game story moments. Toss in superb visuals, strong art, and a great Star Wars soundtrack, and KOTOR used its license effectively to produce a wonderfully cinematic experience.

My introduction to Dungeons & Dragons in 2003 sparked an affection for traditional pen and paper RPGs, and Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic expanded that affection to video game RPGs based on D&D. It was one of the first Western RPGs I played -- on a console no less -- and its approaches to both character customization and interactive storytelling were eye-opening. It offered more freeform ways to participate in a video game RPG than I was used to, and that it was all set within a stellar portrayal of the Star Wars universe only sealed the deal. Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic remains one of the most compelling RPGs I’ve played, and it came at just the right time to solidify itself as one of my most cherished gaming memories.

Welcome to “Gaming Memories,” a blog series where I reminisce about my favorite video games. I will slowly but surely get to every game on the list, and speak to why each holds a special place in my heart. That not only means I’ll talk about why I think each is a great game that speaks to my tastes, but also where and how it affected me in a larger context. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

About halfway through my “ironman classic” run of XCOM: Enemy Unknown, I flirted with defeat. During a mission to save civilians from a chryssalid attack, as part of a calculated risk, one of my best soldiers ended up in enemy range. While the enemy attacked as expected, the critical hit my soldier suffered was unexpected, and it cost them their life. Also unexpected to me, the zombie that rose from my late soldier got to move and attack immediately, and downed a second soldier with another critical hit. The mission, which was already tense before these setbacks, now seemed doomed. Being an ironman run, however, I had no choice but to pick up the pieces and make the best of it. The rest of the mission was long, scrappy, and my soldiers took a lot of hits. But those four remaining heroes survived, and my run continued.

XCOM is a game that can be largely described through memorable moments such as this. In the big picture, it’s a fairly generic tale of a fight to stave off an alien invasion and save the world. But in its details, XCOM builds uniquely personal stories for every player, and the events of your story can be surprisingly resonant as a result. Your sniper who started slowly, but became nigh unstoppable by the final mission. The loss of your favorite assault after a heroic sprint to save civilians from a chryssalid swarm. A well-timed grenade that completed the mission just in time. Abandoning Europe after too many of its countries fell to the invasion, or lending South America a lifeline after a desperate Hail Mary mission. Its unscripted, emergent structure promotes such moments, which come together to spin unique, personal narratives for every run. XCOM embraces the interactivity inherent to the medium, and allows its story to form naturally around whatever happens: big or small, good or bad, every moment gets compiled into your tale of triumph and disaster. The result is that every move you make is full of exciting tension as it becomes a part of your story, which further lends extra weight and meaning to your play.

That’s one of my favorite aspects of XCOM: it’s about your personal story as you fight off the alien threat, and every facet of the game’s design supports this goal. At its core, said story is in large part about the soldiers under your command; you train them, command them on the battlefield, and strive to keep them alive as you push them to complete important missions. The fact that soldiers can permanently die, however, affects both mechanical and emotional angles of your story. These soldiers grow and become dramatically more powerful as you use them, and given the demanding nature of the game, it’s easy (and eventually necessary) to rely on your more experienced soldiers as your campaign unfolds. That introduces risk, as the death of a high level soldier can be a substantial mechanical setback. It can also be an emotional sting; I for one got attached to my soldiers as I saw them grow, and as their own stories became a part of mine. There’s a reason so many people name their soldiers themselves, be it after friends or other people they know (or in the case of my brother, after American presidents). But I also enjoy the game’s default, generated names, in particular the nicknames; 'Wolverine,' 'Zulu,' and 'Road Block' did good work in my campaign. No matter how you name them, these soldiers all play vital, memorable roles in your story. Seeing them grow into their own is gratifying. Seeing them die is heartbreaking.

Your story in XCOM is not only limited to the stories of the soldiers under your command, however. While much of your time is indeed spent directing them against aliens on the battlefield in XCOM’s excellent tactical skirmishes, nearly as much time is spent outside of those battles in its more abstract strategic layer. This is where the game’s real sense of urgency comes from, and where players’ stories can diverge even more. As you construct your base, and make crucial decisions on what buildings and research to prioritize, what countries to back, and what missions to take, everyone’s path to stopping the alien threat can look wildly different. Yet it all emerges naturally, the result of a series of challenging, in-the-moment decisions made in response to the particular semi-randomized threats you face (not to mention your own playstyle). XCOM does a great job at making the situation regularly feel desperate, which pushes you to make all sorts of interesting trade-offs. And critically, those trade-offs feed right back into the tactical layer, as the choices you make in your base have a clear impact on the battlefield, and vice versa; how well things go on the battlefield has a clear impact on your focus back at base. It’s an incredibly effective loop that makes it easy to become invested in every aspect of the game’s design as your story unfolds.

While I was too young to play the original X-COM, tactics games have always been a personal favorite of mine; I enjoy the particular brand of logic involved in making the most of my units’ abilities turn after turn. The magic of XCOM: Enemy Unknown, then, is how it combines those strong tactics with an equally strong strategic layer, and how both sides feed into each other in meaningful ways. It’s a mesmerizing concoction that feels fine-tuned for my gamer brain, yet it doesn’t feel dry and robotic either. Instead, XCOM leverages its smart blend of tactics and strategy for creating countless memorable moments, which come together to write unforgettable and personal stories. It’s a game that gripped me like few have, and remains a powerful example of what this medium is capable of.

SPOILER WARNING: This blog assumes you are familiar with everything that happens in both Final Fantasy VII Remake as well as the original Final Fantasy VII. As such, there are massive spoilers below for both games (and this blog may not even make sense if you are not familiar with their plots anyway). Additionally, I give brief spoilers for the endings of the first Mass Effect, Star Wars: A New Hope, and The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Enter at your own risk :)

Final Fantasy VII Remake contains all of the hallmark moments of the opening hours of Final Fantasy VII. You go on the famous bombing mission to blow up Mako Reactor 1. You fall through the roof of the church and into Aerith’s flower bed in the sector 5 slums. You cross-dress to infiltrate Don Corneo’s hideout and interrogate him. You witness in horror as Shinra drops the sector 7 plate, mercilessly claiming countless innocent lives. You infiltrate the Shinra headquarters, save the girl, and make a daring escape from Midgar.

Yet as the credits roll, none of that seems to matter.

But let’s back up for a moment. When it was revealed that Final Fantasy VII Remake would only cover the Midgar portion of Final Fantasy VII, I was both skeptical and hopeful. On the one hand, it felt like a cheap ploy to needlessly extend a beloved classic into multiple, full priced parts, almost certainly by way of a lot of filler. On the other hand, if done well, it was a chance to flesh out the complicated world, characters, and story of Final Fantasy VII in fascinating ways; there was potential here to craft one of gaming’s grandest opuses. For most of Remake, we see both the bad and the good of this approach. There is indeed substantially more filler than I would like: Remake stretches a 5 hour portion of Final Fantasy VII across 40+ hours, thanks in large part to excessively lengthy and grindy dungeons, and rote side quests that have you perform the most banal of RPG jobs. But Remake also adds in welcome depth to the Final Fantasy VII lore in effective ways. I loved getting to know characters like Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie better, who were minor side characters in the original but get a lot of spotlight here. I loved the additional exploration of the way Shinra uses propaganda to influence its citizens, especially as it expands upon the war with Wutai that took place before the game. I loved getting to spend extra time with Aerith, and getting a much better study of her character; not to mention her new buddy routine with Tifa. I loved most of the new characters as well, and how much more we get to see what life in Midgar is like for the average person living there. It’s one of gaming’s most iconic cities, and that we get to see this city in ways that were only hinted at in the original is wonderful.

Most of all, I loved the way Remake positions the fight between AVALANCHE and Shinra as its core throughline plot. It not only makes sense as a plot with an extremely well-defined arc: you start out making inroads blowing up reactors, hit a strong moment of crisis when the plate is dropped, climax with the infiltration of the Shinra tower, and set up the next game with the dramatic revelations you have there. But it also serves as a great way to give the spotlight to one of Final Fantasy VII’s core themes that, in the original game, quickly becomes overshadowed by other concerns (ie: Sephiroth). Final Fantasy VII is, at its core, a game about saving the planet. For the first 5 hours of the original, you attempt to save the planet from an evil megacorporation that is literally bleeding the planet dry so that it can profit off of cheap energy, and you take the fight to them in their home base of Midgar. But once Sephiroth is introduced at the end of that opening act, Shinra takes a back seat while the main characters chase Sephiroth around the world. Remake, however, had the chance to dig deeper into Shinra and their evil ways. They are a huge threat to the planet -- certainly a big enough threat to pose as Remake’s primary antagonist -- and Barret and his team of AVALANCHE members serve as clear protagonists to root for in that fight, as they directly oppose everything Shinra stands for.

My favorite moments of Remake are the ones that dig deeper into that fight. We get more insight into Barret’s dedication to the cause, and just how extreme he is willing to be. We get more insight into Tifa’s concerns, and how she acts as a more moderate balance to Barret’s radical nature. I especially appreciate the dialogue between the two, as they both clearly share the same end goal (to stop Shinra), but differ on the best way to get there. Barret, the radical, wants to blow up Shinra at all costs, even if it means innocents die in the process. Tifa, the moderate, doubts if it’s worth sacrificing lives for change, and questions if there is a better way more than once. When those lives are inevitably lost, you can see their different philosophies come out in who they blame: Barret blames Shinra, Tifa blames herself and AVALANCHE. It’s a poignant and relevant moral dilemma worth discussing, and I’m happy to see Remake explore it further. Even past those two leads, we also get to see more about why their supporting characters are in this fight. In one of Remake’s best new chapters, we get Jessie’s backstory and learn why she fights. It turns out it’s not just the poor people of the slums that Shinra exploits, but also their own workers up top. These added stories and details are my favorite additions to Remake, and go a long way to flesh out the primary conflict of the Midgar portion of Final Fantasy VII, a portion that serves as the entirety of Remake's narrative arc.

That brings us to Remake’s ending, which has nothing to do with Shinra, AVALANCHE, Midgar, or really anything else that Remake focused on for the vast majority of its runtime. For its last few hours, Remake shatters the proverbial fourth wall to become a story about, well, changing the story of Final Fantasy VII. You learn that the whispers that hound you throughout the game exist solely to preserve the original Final Fantasy VII timeline, and Aerith opens a portal to another dimension where you fight the “boss” whisper, which Aerith more or less describes as Destiny itself. (Oh, and you fight Sephiroth there too, just ‘cause.) Now with this literal manifestation of destiny defeated, the characters of Final Fantasy VII are not bound to what happened in the original. We see that Biggs and Wedge survived the collapse of the sector 7 pillar after all, and we see that Zack may also live, a character who originally died before the start of Final Fantasy VII. This is a clear statement of intent from the developers of Remake: they can and will change things about Final Fantasy VII’s story going forward (not to mention that there’s a good chance multiple timelines are in play, and some characters like Aerith and Sephiroth clearly know more than they are letting on). Hell, even as you defeat the whispers, you see “flash forwards” of important events such as Aerith’s iconic death, and Red XIII running through the fields years after Meteor destroyed Midgar (the ending scene of the original game). The implication is that these events are no longer set in stone. The future is now open to any number of possibilities, and the game closes with that as a tease for ensuing installments of the Final Fantasy VII remake project.

Yet that tease for the future left me wanting for the present. Remake spent most of its time focused on the conflict between Shinra and AVALANCHE, and portrayed that conflict so well, and had me so invested, that its abrupt shift in focus was disheartening; when it never went back to give the Shinra-AVALANCHE story arc any kind of closure, I wondered what it was all for in the first place. When I think about my favorite first installments of larger franchises, I think of things like the original Mass Effect, Star Wars: A New Hope, or The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. In each of those cases, they were part of a larger work that did not wrap up everything in a tidy bow; there was clearly more to do in their respective fights after their first parts. But they did provide satisfying closure for the smaller arcs contained within: Saren was defeated, the Death Star was destroyed, and the fellowship was dissolved in favor of Frodo travelling to Mordor with only Sam. Remake, however, does not. Instead, it breaks the fourth wall right at the end, which completely disrupts the story arc it had been expertly telling for dozens of hours. It’s a whiplash inducing shift, and I think this first part of the story suffers without some sense of closure to (or at least a smoother transition from) the Shinra-AVALANCHE arc that dominated so much of its runtime. The most frustrating part is that I think Remake could have had it both ways. I think it could have both provided a better closure to this arc of the Shinra-AVALANCHE conflict as the series transitions to Sephiroth, while also indicating that future parts will break further from the original Final Fantasy VII canon. Those are not mutually exclusive goals, and the fact that future parts will change aspects of the original is, to me, a very exciting idea. Teasing that is a great way to keep people like myself hooked for the future. But in its execution, I think Remake dropped the ball for the present. And that’s a real bummer.

Back in the Xbox 360 days, you could look at your friends list and not only see what game they were playing, but also a short status message about what they were actively doing in their game. Usually it was something generic like “Mission 2” or “Going on a raid” or “Team deathmatch on Strike.” But there was one game whose status message always made me chuckle: Final Fantasy XIII simply stated, at all times no matter where you were in the game, “Facing destiny.” My friends and I poked fun at how overly dramatic and silly it was, but Final Fantasy VII Remake takes the idea of facing destiny to another level. By making Destiny itself the final boss, Remake confronts and defeats its own 23 year old legacy, which sets up tantalizing possibilities for the future. I’m as excited as anyone to see where this journey goes, and when all is said and done this remake project could still be something special. But I can’t help but feel that in its execution, it came at the expense of telling a satisfying story arc for this first installment; my ultimate enjoyment of this first part will be retroactively dependent on what the subsequent parts hold. That it got so close, and told such a good story for so long, only makes that lack of closure even more frustrating. Final Fantasy VII Remake has prioritized confronting its own legacy over telling a complete story today, and until it delivers on its promises for the future, the events of the present ring hollow.

Welcome to “Gaming Memories,” a blog series where I reminisce about my favorite video games. I will slowly but surely get to every game on the list, and speak to why each holds a special place in my heart. That not only means I’ll talk about why I think each is a great game that speaks to my tastes, but also where and how it affected me in a larger context. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

As a kid, we visited our relatives (who lived two states and an eight hour car ride away) a couple times a year. At first, this was exciting because they had a NES and we did not. Once we had a SNES at our own house though, we didn't have any use for their lowly NES; that was old stuff. But when they one-upped us again with a Nintendo 64? Now that was exciting. We got to see Mario and crew in full 3D, and we got to run and jump and race in ways that we never had before. It was a paradigm shift, and playing games like Super Mario 64 and Mario Kart 64 on our cousins’ Nintendo 64 was magical.

Even more magical, they had GoldenEye 007.

GoldenEye may not have been a better game than Super Mario 64, but as a boy who had minimal exposure to PC games in the 1990s, and who had never played a first-person shooter before, it was revelatory. I knew what Mario was (along with other platformers) by that point, so as amazing as his transition to 3D was, it was still familiar ground. GoldenEye, on the other hand, was completely new. And I liked it. There’s not much more magical to me than discovering something new I like, and the fact that I only had limited access to it via our cousins (at least at first) made those rare moments where I got to play it even more special. As such, those early memories of playing GoldenEye at my cousins’ house are among my most distinct ones. We’d take turns trying our hand at the campaign, and spend hours battling it out in multiplayer with all sorts of different settings and house rules. Every visit to our cousins' house was a chance to see and experience something new; a new interaction, a new campaign level, a new set of multiplayer rules. I took it all in with the wide-eyed curiosity of youth, and remember those early days fondly.

Once we had our own Nintendo 64, however, the memories didn’t stop. If anything, having the time to explore GoldenEye on my own terms revealed how clever and rewarding it really was. I got to play the campaign from start to finish myself, and thoroughly enjoyed its arcade structure that offered a ton of varied, stand-alone levels. Some levels were short, hectic shootouts where you barely had time to breath. Some levels were sprawling environments that you had to bounce around as you completed various objectives. Some levels demanded you take a slower, stealthier approach to avoid being overwhelmed by guards. By offering different layouts, weapons, and objectives, each of the game’s 20 levels felt unique. Then once I finished the campaign on the standard difficulty I started it again on a higher one, only to find one of GoldenEye’s smartest features: levels gained additional objectives as you ramped up the difficulty. Even now, in 2020, most video games adjust their difficulty by simply changing health and damage numbers. GoldenEye was a step ahead 23 years ago, as the way it layered in new objectives made each new difficulty setting feel almost like a new game. The way you moved through a level on Agent didn’t work the same way on Secret Agent, and re-learning the game for each run was a real treat. Throw in other fun challenges which led to unlockables such as cheat codes and bonus levels, and GoldenEye’s campaign had a ton of legs that kept me playing for months.

If its campaign kept me engaged for months, then GoldenEye’s multiplayer extended that to years, as I spent likely hundreds of hours battling with family and friends alike. It was one of the first multiplayer games I got into, and it remains the only one that I’ve ever pulled an all-nighter to play with friends. While in some ways it was your standard deathmatch, GoldenEye’s multiplayer had plenty going for it. First, its maps were extremely well-designed, and provided ample space to flank and jockey for a better position. Second, it offered a ton of customizable game settings, and I had a lot of fun experimenting with all sorts of different weapon configurations; “remote mines only” was always a personal favorite. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, in addition to being my first first-person shooter, it was also among the first successful ones on consoles. It’s hard to overstate how important that was at the time, as you no longer needed a slew of capable PCs to get a game session going. GoldenEye brought the first-person shooter to the living room, and its multiplayer thrived for it. I don’t know that I would have gotten into the genre any other way.

Today, decades later, it’s easy to look back on GoldenEye 007 and see how dated it is: its controls are clunky, some objectives are obtuse, and the escort missions suck (sorry, Natalya). But not only was it a really fun game in its day, it also had a lot of smart, positive qualities that I still remember it for above everything else. It had a varied campaign with dynamic objectives across difficulty levels, a robust multiplayer mode with lots of options to promote seemingly endless play, and even fun little touches like the way enemies reacted appropriately to where you shot them. Yet perhaps most importantly, it was a huge step for first-person shooters on consoles, and introduced me to the genre with panache. GoldenEye will always have a special place in my heart for that, and I can’t think of a better game to fill it.

Welcome to “Gaming Memories,” a blog series where I reminisce about my favorite video games. I will slowly but surely get to every game on the list, and speak to why each holds a special place in my heart. That not only means I’ll talk about why I think each is a great game that speaks to my tastes, but also where and how it affected me in a larger context. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

SPOILER WARNING: This blog contains spoilers for Super Metroid.

Super Metroid opens with you, as Samus Aran, investigating a distress signal aboard the Ceres space station. Its halls are eerily quiet, their metallic blue emanating a cold lifelessness as you search for clues, and it doesn't take long to find out just how lifeless the station really is. The primary lab is littered with dead scientists, and a shattered containment tube sits where the last Metroid in the galaxy had been held. It’s clear that someone (or something) has stolen both the lives of these scientists, as well as the precious Metroid. In the next room? Your nemesis, Ridley, who has the Metroid. After a brief duel, and a desperate escape from the self-destructing Ceres station, you chase Ridley to the nearby planet Zebes. Thus begins your adventure to stop Ridley and find the Metroid.

Super Metroid’s opening sits among my favorites in any game, as it effectively sets up what the game is all about in ten minutes. First, by having you engage with some light platforming and fight Ridley (a fight you cannot technically fail), you get to try out both the platforming and combat in a safe space. Second, through its thick atmosphere and detailed environment, it sets up the entire premise of the game’s story with minimal exposition. Third, once you land on Zebes, it’s clear you spend the rest of the game exploring its large world on your own as you search for the Metroid. Super Metroid introduces the game’s core pillars effortlessly, without the extensive tutorials or info dumps required by most games. Not only is that a smooth process that gets the player into the action quickly, it’s also a poignant indicator of Super Metroid’s ethos and artistic ambitions. It goes to great lengths to immerse the player as fully as possible, and the result is that its world feels infinitely more alive and believable than it otherwise would. It all makes exploring Zebes feel highly meaningful, and also lends Super Metroid a surprisingly strong narrative. Its environments explain the game’s happenings quietly but powerfully, which culminates in an all-time classic video game moment. When you finally reunite with the Metroid, which has grown into the titular “super Metroid,” it recognizes you as its original caretaker and sacrifices its life to save and empower you. It’s a dramatic and awesome scene, one that's executed beautifully without a single word.

In 1994, when Super Metroid first released, that kind of freewheeling exploration and atmospheric storytelling was rare. It was not the first game to focus on these things (at the very least it was the third Metroid game), but it’s regularly regarded as the game that codified the “Metroidvania” subgenre as we know it today. Super Metroid gathered up the ideas and experiments of its predecessors, and presented them in a more effective and cohesive way than ever before; in its execution, it was a big step up across the board. Much has been written about Super Metroid’s world design, and for good reason: its world is one of the most elegantly designed in video game history. Its network of hallways and doors, locks and keys, did a wonderful job of regularly nudging the player in the right direction while still leaving room for them to think and explore on their own. That’s a fine line, but Super Metroid walked it splendidly, and Zebes remains one of my favorite video game worlds to date. The strengths of its world went further than its excellent mechanical design too, as its artistic design was equally impressive. It managed to tell a compelling story through its environment alone, and the striking art and moody musical score combined to create a powerful and gripping atmosphere. Its soundtrack in particular ranks high among my personal favorites, and hearing those songs takes me right back to Zebes’ caverns all over again.

Zebes was a world crafted with substantial care and attention to detail, and every aspect of Super Metroid was smartly built around your exploration of it. It’s a holistic approach to game design that I greatly appreciate, and its execution was so strong that new “Metroidvanias” are regularly compared against Super Metroid to this day. It set the standard, and holds up remarkably well decades later. So well, in fact, that it’s almost certainly the game I’ve played from start to finish more than any other. While the nature of its construction lends itself well to speedruns and mastery -- it’s still one of the most popular games to speedrun -- it also speaks volumes to my love of Super Metroid that, as someone who rarely replays games, I manage to replay it every few years. I love the openness of the exploration, and how I always notice new details on every new run. I love the calming sense of isolation and figuring things out on my own. I love the atmosphere, the visual design of each area, and the musical score that perfectly captures the mood. I love the progression of items, thoughtful secrets, eerie boss fights, and how it all comes together for a singular experience; it’s one I’m not sure I’ll ever get tired of.

Four years ago, throughout the summer of 2016, I wrote a lengthy, multi-part blog series about the Metroid franchise and why it’s such an important series for me personally. It’s a series that has resonated with me and my personality as much as any game has; its world design, its atmosphere, its sense of exploration, and even its isolation are all qualities I hold dear. And in its execution, Super Metroid embodies these traits as well as any in the series. It takes my favorite aspects of this entire medium and pulls them together seamlessly into a cohesive whole, and to call Super Metroid one of my favorite video games almost sells it short. There is perhaps no better representative of my gaming tastes than this, and perhaps no other game I love more.

Welcome to “Gaming Memories,” a blog series where I reminisce about my favorite video games. I will slowly but surely get to every game on the list, and speak to why each holds a special place in my heart. That not only means I’ll talk about why I think each is a great game that speaks to my tastes, but also where and how it affected me in a larger context. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

SPOILER WARNING: This blog contains spoilers for Chrono Cross.

In one world, Fargo is a proud and feared pirate captain. In the other, he is a cheater at his own casino. In one world, Gogh is a painter following his dreams but living in poverty. In the other, he is a successful trader, but neglects his son in favor of his business. In one world, the hydra marshes were pillaged for resources and destroyed. In the other, they still cling to life. In one world, various characters may be alive or dead, be dealing with profound guilt or grief, or embark on daring quests. In the other, it could all be the complete opposite.

One of my favorite things about Chrono Cross is how its two parallel dimensions present two wholly different, yet equally viable timelines for the world and those who inhabit it. And by letting you explore both of them, you get to see firsthand the many points where they diverge. These differences can range from very personal ones, such as Gogh’s life choices mentioned above, to world-spanning consequences, such as the fate of the hydra marshes, and seeing it all side by side leads to many poignant, thoughtful moments. It’s a highly effective way to present one of Chrono Cross’ central themes: any choice made, at any point in time, nudges the flow of time towards one of seemingly infinite possible futures. We often talk about choices in video games, but that usually refers to the explicit choices made by the player. Chrono Cross has those choices, but is more interested in portraying the larger web of cause and effect that results from the collective choices of everyone. It's a sobering and real meditation on our place in the world, and proves to be a fascinating narrative structure that got me to reflect on my own position in life as much as any game has. It also justifies its comically large cast of characters (45 total playable ones) better than it should. Many of them end up in different places between the two worlds, and seeing two different sides of them can be mesmerizing. Through their personal stories, Chrono Cross regularly highlights just how far our choices can ripple.

Chrono Cross had some lofty narrative ambitions, and for me it worked; I enjoyed pondering its existential ramifications, and felt it all fit with the rest of the game. And while it received some flak for being too divergent from its esteemed predecessor, Chrono Trigger, I always felt Cross’ premise of parallel dimensions was the perfect way to follow up Trigger's time-hopping adventure. Where Trigger was about exploring the flow of time along a straight line as you moved forwards and backwards through it, Cross was about exploring time as it branched into multiple parallel lines. It evolved and supplemented Trigger's themes without repeating them, which, to me, gave Cross its own identity while still showing clear connective tissue. One thing Cross clearly retained, however, was the same high bar of audiovisual quality Trigger was known for. Lush environments, a bright color palette, and smooth animations brought the world and its characters to life, and its soundtrack is regularly cited among gaming's best. It's easily one of my personal favorites too, as its simple instrumentation and soothing tones were not only exceptionally beautiful, but they captured the game's somber and contemplative nature perfectly. From sweeping cinematic movements, to mellow overworld melodies, to cultural town themes, to heartfelt story codas, Chrono Cross' soundtrack grabbed me in a way that so few have. It's one I still listen to regularly today, and I hold it as dear as any video game soundtrack.

In addition to its strong narrative, large cast of characters, and stellar audiovisual presentation, Chrono Cross was simply a fun game to play for numerous reasons. It contained a lot of flavor and personality, such as the way many characters had quirky, endearing speech patterns. It handled its large cast smartly, such as how all characters, not just the ones you used, leveled up after every boss battle. It contained many of the quality of life features fans appreciated from Chrono Trigger, such as being able to see enemies on the overworld before engaging in combat, and then added many more of its own, such as the the ability to automatically use any available magic to heal after battles. Your choices throughout the game could branch the story in cool ways that lead to different items or characters, which, along with its new game plus feature and many different endings, afforded tons of replay value. Last but not least, I enjoyed Chrono Cross’ combat. While not all that complex, the stamina system was more nuanced than the combat of many JRPGs of the time, and also a clever way to balance the use of powerful magic. I also enjoyed the contrasting effectiveness of the six magic elements, and the way those elements tied into the game’s “true” ending was surprisingly touching. It’s those subtle touches that made all the difference in Chrono Cross, and it had a lot of them.

Upon its release in 2000, Chrono Cross had a lot to live up to. It came out at a time when JRPGs were at their peak, from a company that had been on a roll for years, and was a sequel to one of the most beloved games ever made. Yet Chrono Cross carved its own path to create a memorable experience unlike any that came before it. Its thoughtful narrative, fun characters, gorgeous art, legendary soundtrack, and countless smart touches made for a game I couldn't stop thinking about, one that became a part of me in a way few games have. It's the exact kind of artistic expression I love this medium for, and I'm happy I got to experience it in this timeline.

The top 10 list is a fun tradition, but I always wonder, what about the rest? Most of us play more than 10 games a year, so what happened to the others? For the past few years I’ve taken to ranking the rest of the games I played in a given year, and use that as a chance to (very) briefly speak to them. It gives a more holistic picture of my gaming year, and I have fun doing it too. That’s exactly what this blog is: my ranking of every 2019 game I played that didn’t make my top 10 list for the year. Obviously I can’t play everything, and my gaming time this year was down from previous years. That manifested in me bouncing off more games than normal; a good chunk of games on this list I only played for 5 hours or less. Still, I touched most of the games I wanted to, with the only notable omission being Disco Elysium. That’s the first game I plan to play in 2020. For now, these are the games I got to. I tried to order them as honestly as I could, but I wouldn’t put too much stock in the exact order. They’re all in the ballpark of where they belong. And with that, thanks for reading!

1-10. See my GOTY 2019 list.

11. Cadence of Hyrule. What an awesome and unlikely thing. Nintendo, of all companies, let a small indie team have a go at their most hallowed franchise. It's a cool mashup of Crypt of the NecroDancer and Zelda that really works, and I thoroughly enjoyed it from start to finish. Especially the incredible soundtrack, which I'd put among my all time favorites. These killer remixes were the perfect accompaniment to this killer rhythm game. Cadence of Hyrule was this year's difficult cut from my top 10.

12. Slay the Spire. I wrote on my top 10 list about Dicey Dungeons that I’m traditionally not a fan of either rogue-likes or deck-builders, so color me surprised when 2019 produced two games that combined elements from both genres into something I liked. Of the two, Slay the Spire finishes second due to more random elements making each run feel a little more out of my hands than I’d like, mainly in the way that a single bad hand can ruin you against the toughest bosses. But I still had fun with this one, and am more than happy to have surprises like this from genres I normally don’t like.

13. Magic: The Gathering Arena. MTG Arena is easily my favorite digital interface yet for the only CCG I've ever gotten into. I used to play the physical version heavily, but fell off for multiple reasons over the years. Arena is not only a faithful and competent digital recreation, but it also offers a host of modes and events that make it easy to pick up and play any number of fun formats at any time. I've gotten a lot of cards, and a lot of play, for relatively low cost (by CCG standards at least), which has sparked a mild renewed interest for me in MTG. That's something I didn't think would ever happen again. Thanks, MTG Arena.

14. Void Bastards. This is one of those “gamey” games with a simple loop that’s just fun to go through. It’s not all that deep, and it kind of loses steam the longer it goes. But it’s something simple and fun to veg to for a while. I think it has some neat ideas too in the way you navigate the ships you choose to board and the risks and rewards involved. If it hadn’t lost so much steam near the end in its repetitiveness, it could have possibly made my top 10.

15. Untitled Goose Game. The internet’s favorite 2019 child didn't grab me as much as it seemingly did most, but it's still a good game. I see it as a "lite" version of the recent Hitman games, both simpler and less interesting to veterans of Agent 47's mayhem. But it does have its charm, and a goose is the perfect avatar for causing mayhem.

16. Baba is You. This is a super clever puzzle game that is probably just too smart for me. I really like its ideas from a game design perspective, on how it invites you to break its own rules, yet the type of thinking it demands is very different from how my brain works. That means making progress is a slow, painful affair for me, and led to me not getting all that far before stopping. Baba is You a game I respect more than I enjoy playing as a result, and that's OK.

17. Ape Out. This has so much style, both in its visuals and its music -- I think its procedural generated jazz score is legit rad -- that I can’t help but like Ape Out. The game itself is fun in its rambunctious simplicity, though I did tire of it before I finished it, and it’s a short game no less. That makes me probably appreciate its artistic ambitions more than I like playing the actual game, but it’s a cool thing nonetheless.

18. Control. This might be the best game Remedy has made from a game feel standpoint, and you do get some cool powers that are fun to use in combat. Yet I still came away from it feeling like it was a pretty standard third-person shooter, one that on a mechanical level didn’t do much interesting for me. That’s normal for me with Remedy games, which usually rely more on style and story than their combat anyway, but even that was a mixed bag. I think some parts of Control’s lore are really interesting, but the actual happenings of the story just did not grab me, and the pace of it also felt off. I came away from it not caring much about the characters or what happened to them, and ended up rushing through the endgame just to be able to move on from it.

19. Remnant: From the Ashes. Another mostly standard third-person shooter, but one that gains something from both co-op and some pretty decent ideas and boss encounters. Mostly the former, as it’s less rote when playing with a friend. On the flipside I could do without the terrible writing/acting/story, the bland world design, and the repetitive encounters. I haven’t finished this one yet (primarily due to time restraints), but I would still like to sometime.

20. Katana Zero. I had a very love/hate relationship with this one during my time with it. I nearly stopped playing it multiple times, and it’s not even a long game. One minute I’d be soaking in the thick atmosphere (driven primarily by the cool soundtrack), and puzzling through a room of enemies laid out in an interesting way. Then the next I’d be groaning at the corny dialogue that think it’s more clever than it is, and takes up at least as much time as the killing does. I also got more tired of the standard combat as it went, as the game doesn’t evolve much during its run-time. Even after finishing it, I’m not sure how much I enjoyed it.

21. Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night. I know I’m in the minority on this one, but I don’t think Ritual of the Night is all that great; I didn’t even finish it out of boredom. Maybe I’ve just played too many Castlevania games of this style, but I think Ritual of the Night is, at absolute best, on par with the more mediocre ones. Everyone remembers Symphony of the Night, but seem to forget that half a dozen similar Castlevania games came out on handhelds over the following decade. Point being, there were a lot of these games already, and Ritual of the Night as a deliberate throwback feels dated and unnecessary. Especially given that so many other recent indie games have carried the torch in that space, and have shown so many other more interesting ideas. Then on top of that, last year’s excellent Curse of the Moon not only emulated Castlevania III, but modernized it and arguably bettered in it smart ways. Ritual of the Night has no such ambitions, and while it is a perfectly OK “one of those,” I’m not sure that plays in 2019 for me anymore. I think we can do better.

22. Pokemon Sword/Shield. I don’t give a shit about “dexit”; I think there are too many Pokemon at this point, and expecting all of them to be compatible with every game is a pipe dream that lasted way longer than I ever expected. I also don't give a shit about poor textures or animations or whatever else the internet is mad about. What I do give a shit about, is that Pokemon is one of the few Nintendo franchises that refuses to evolve over time. Sword and Shield are still following the same basic formula that the originals pioneered 20 years ago, and it has lost all novelty as a result. Forget diminishing returns; I've personally reached the point of no returns with this franchise, and have no interest in touching Pokemon again until it can prove it has any amount of creative spark left. That makes me sad to say, but here we are. Its minor quality of life improvements are the only things preventing it from falling further down this list.

23. Valfaris. I also have kind of a love/hate relationship with this one, albeit for slightly different reasons. One the one hand, I enjoy it’s retro style side-scrolling shooter challenge, and it nails what it’s going for pretty well; the visuals and music in particular are metal in the best way. On the other hand, it’s pretty one-note, and got old a little faster than I had hoped. I’m still somewhere in the middle, and not sure if I’ll finish it or not.

24. They Are Billions. Probably my biggest disappointment of the year. It had such a promising early access period with great reception, but I held off until I could play the campaign. Yet it turns out that the campaign in the final product is a horrible, horrible mess. Like, seriously, this campaign is bad. Too long, too repetitive, too punitive, and too bare bones to be interesting (I played three missions and quit). The saving grace of They are Billions is that the survival mode is still alright. I feel like I kind of "solved" it after a few games, but it saved the product from being a complete wash.

25. Apex Legends. I'm just not a battle royale person? But this seems like it's as good as any of them, and I enjoyed the handful of games of it I played just fine.

26. Life is Strange 2. I really liked the first season of Life is Strange, but two episodes in season two has yet to grab me. Maybe I’m just over this style of game, maybe I haven’t latched onto the characters in the same way, or maybe its themes don’t resonate with me as personally. My best guess is that this time around you’re not playing as the character with the powers, and that’s not as interesting to me. Part of the appeal of the first season was the ability to rewind time and experiment with your choices. Season two feels like a more straightforward story so far, and I’m not sure I’ll finish it as a result.

27. Tetris 99. Tetris battle royale is simultaneously a weird and effective idea. I'm not sure I'm into either Tetris or battle royale enough to get into this, but I have to admit they pulled it off way better than I think any of us could have expected. For "free" no less.

28. The Outer Worlds. This is the runner up for my biggest disappointment of the year. I’ve liked this style of RPG a lot in the past, and I like Obsidian as a studio. But I think The Outer Worlds is a subpar “one of those.” The loot is boring. The combat is boring. The character abilities and perks are boring. Even the story and dialogue, from what I’ve played, is boring. It all feels extremely rote and perfunctory, as if I was just going through the motions. Worst of all is that it occasionally showed bits of smart, aware writing, and if the entire game had writing at that level, it would have been much better. Instead I had to trudge through too much generic/bad satire about “evil corporations” to get a small nugget of interesting commentary. I didn’t continue past the Edgewater resolution as a result.

29. Gears 5. This is "more Gears," and that's fine. I just think I might be winding down on "more Gears." I'm not all that far into it, and may or may not finish it, but so far it's done very little for me.

30. Devil May Cry 5. I haven't bounced off a game this hard in a long, long time. DMC has never really clicked with me, so maybe I was setting myself up for disappointment by giving this latest iteration a shot. But less than an hour in I was already tired of the sluggish combat, the adolescent tone, and the rote game design. I didn't play much more before calling it quits, and think my DMC days are now truly done. Which is fine; nobody needs to like every franchise, and this is one that's clearly not for me.

31. Sunless Skies. I may have bounced off this one even faster than DMC5 if it wasn't such an odd thing. I kept going a little longer because I wanted to understand it more, but the tedium quickly overwhelmed me anyway. You have to be really, really into reading quirky lore that revels in its own quirkiness, which I was not able to do without at least some interesting gameplay systems to back it up. But the bulk of my time was spent trekking across large, empty expanses, while occasionally engaging in dull, rote combat. I don't know that I’d say Sunless Skies is a bad game, but more than any other game I played in 2019, it did not grab me in the slightest.

It’s time again for one of my favorite personal annual traditions: looking back on the year in video game music, and sifting through my favorite soundtracks to share in a fun collection. It’s a testament to the strength of the medium that I can do this every year, and looking over this year’s list, I can’t help but marvel at the continued diversity and quality of video game music. There’s something here for everyone, and there’s plenty more good stuff past these 10 games. Please feel free to share any of your own favorites; I’d love to hear them and discuss all that 2019 had to offer. Music only makes the games we play better, and that’s worth celebrating.

As always, a few notes about this list. First, I only considered music from games I personally played, as I feel like context is a big part of what makes this music so meaningful to me. Second, I picked a single representative song from each soundtrack to embed here, though all of these games have many songs worth listening to. Finally, these games are ordered by their original US release date; not by preference. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy listening!

Wargroove

Featured Track: Fledgling Queen (by Phonetic Hero)

Just like Advance Wars before it, Wargroove has a catchy, endearing song to match the personality of each of its many lovable commanders. This is the kind of personality I grew up loving in video game music, and Wargroove carries the torch forward confidently. It’s fun, quality stuff that I enjoyed listening to from start to finish.

Ape Out

No featured track, as it uses a “reactive music system” (by Matt Boch)

I don’t even know if you can call this a soundtrack? At least not in the traditional sense. But Ape Out’s music is critical to its appeal, and is more directly integrated into its action than most. Dubbed a “reactive music system,” its procedural jazz, driven primarily by a simulated drummer, rises and falls in speed, volume, and intensity along with the action. It’s super fascinating and incredibly effective. I love musical experiments like this, and Ape Out’s music is perhaps the biggest reason the game works as an art piece.

Katana Zero

Featured Track: Sneaky Driver (by Bill Kiley)

I love the little touch where, at the beginning of every level, you see your character stop to put in their earbuds and press play on their portable music device. It suggests that he’s listening to the same music you are while ruthlessly murdering countless thugs, which goes an extra step towards bringing you into the game. It’s also just infectious music that fits the game’s trippy and violent vibe splendidly.

SteamWorld Quest: Hand of Gilgamech

Featured Track: Action Over Words (by Erik Gudmundson)

This soundtrack snuck up on me. What began sounding like good-but-traditional fantasy RPG fare grew on me over time, as it became more ambitious and creative along with the game itself. By the end I was rocking out to some surprisingly epic boss themes during some equally epic boss battles, and found myself humming along to the quieter themes too.

Outer Wilds

Featured Track: Timber Hearth (by Andrew Prahlow)

Outer Wilds may not have a lot in the way of traditional songs, but it’s nevertheless my emotional gut punch soundtrack of the year. The moments that do have melodies are incredibly poignant ones, and songs often swell during the game’s major thematic touchstones. The intimate instrumentation and somber yet hopeful tone further help the music lend the whole adventure an emotional resonance it wouldn’t have otherwise. Bonus points for the game’s navigation system, where you follow the sounds of other travelers’ instruments across the galaxy. What a cool touch.

Cadence of Hyrule

Featured Track: Gerudo Valley (Combat) (by Danny Baranowsky)

So what if you let a talented indie composer remix the music from one of Nintendo’s longest-running and iconic franchises for an official game? That idea may sound far fetched, yet it somehow came to life in Cadence of Hyrule even more brilliantly than I could have predicted. Indie games have carried the torch for personable, memorable soundtracks this generation, and here that sensibility is expertly combined with some of gaming’s most iconic music of generations past. And being a rhythm game, its music is front and center of the experience. It’s a match made in heaven, and I struggle to fully express just how freaking rad this soundtrack is.

Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night

Featured Track: Voyage of Promise (by Michiru Yamane)

Last year, Curse of the Moon’s soundtrack perfectly replicated the vibe of the NES era Castlevania games; this year Ritual of the Night successfully takes on Symphony of the Night. It not only nails the vibe it’s going for, but it’s also just genuinely good, catchy video game music. Its music is almost certainly my favorite part of the entire game, and proves (once again) that a throwback score can still be great today.

Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Featured Track: Fodlan Winds (by Takeru Kanazaki)

I’ve always enjoyed Fire Emblem music, but Three Houses raises the bar substantially; this is the soundtrack I could not stop listening to all year. It’s main theme, The Edge of Dawn, perfectly captures the game’s emotional core. Even better are the many epic and memorable battle themes, which combine and remix multiple recurring central motifs in dramatic and affecting ways. It all matches the story’s equally dramatic moments, providing big, bold exclamation marks every step of the way. It’s a well-made and special soundtrack that captures a lot of what I love about both Fire Emblem and video game music at large.

Valfaris

Featured Track: Cosmic Decay (by Curt Victor Bryant)

With Doom Eternal getting delayed until 2020, someone had to carry the heavy metal torch. Valfaris happily stepped up to the plate and knocked it out of the park with this guitar-shredding, face-melting score. Good job, Valfaris! *throws up the horns*

Hades

Featured Track: God of the Dead (by Darren Korb)

I don’t know what their secret is, but Supergiant Games and Darren Korb seem incapable of producing a game soundtrack that’s anything less than amazing. While Hades technically entered early access at the end of 2018, they’ve continued adding new content and new music all throughout 2019, and I’ve continued listening to its music all year too. It’s one of those quality soundtracks that just feels right, and defines the experience of battling your way out of the Greek underworld way better than I could have ever imagined. I suspect I’ll be rocking out to this one for a long, long time; here's hoping there's lots more music to come.

Welcome to “Gaming Memories,” a blog series where I reminisce about my favorite video games. I will slowly but surely get to every game on the list, and speak to why each holds a special place in my heart. That not only means I’ll talk about why I think each is a great game that speaks to my tastes, but also where and how it affected me in a larger context. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

It was a bad week. I failed a test, was physically injured, and had some social troubles going on. I sat down on a rainy Friday evening in November of 2007, and turned on my Nintendo Wii to start playing Super Mario Galaxy. I just need to rest a little, I initially thought. After a brief introduction, I took my first long jump into the gravitational pull of Good Egg Galaxy. As I circled around its brief orbit, and took in the sights and sounds of this wondrous and magical new celestial frontier, my spirits were lifted. I had never seen anything like it, and I spent the next two days forgetting my worries while exploring the cosmos.

That’s what made Super Mario Galaxy stand out: despite being part of a decades-old franchise by 2007, it still felt as fresh and inventive as Mario ever had. Nintendo games, at their best, show you an old thing from a new angle, which results in a new way to play. Mario Galaxy was Nintendo in peak form. It embraced a new setting, and the new physics that came with it, with wide-eyed curiosity, and that led to all sorts of new ways to think about how Mario runs and jumps. Previously simple platforms now had more to consider, as gravity could shift directions between jumps, platforms themselves could shift their position at regular intervals, or you could find yourself in a circular orbit amidst a cluster of small planetoids. Hell, sometimes your best option was to launch yourself out into the empty sky, all to get caught in another gravity field dangerously far away. Such actions may seem like small tweaks on the surface, but they are precisely the kind of subtle changes that made the basic act of jumping -- one of gaming’s oldest actions -- feel exciting all over again. Mario Galaxy was by no means a radical reinvention of the platformer. Rather, in true Nintendo fashion, it presented platforming from an angle we had never viewed it from before.

But it’s not just the gravity effects themselves that made Super Mario Galaxy so fun to play. The game’s vibrant art style was gorgeous, and its whimsical soundtrack remains an all-time favorite that I still listen to regularly. Artistically it was a noticeable step up for Mario, and perhaps more importantly, Mario’s movement also felt better than it ever had in a 3D Mario game; and maybe better than any 3D platformer before it. His large array of jumps, from triple jumps to wall jumps to long jumps, felt spot on, with timing windows and animations honed to a tee. Such flexible and precise movement is always desired and fun, but it was even more impressive when combined with Mario Galaxy’s new physics. When Mario’s jump is affected by all sorts of new and different forces, such as the gravitational pull of a floating space rock, you want to feel confident that you can jump in and experiment. In Mario Galaxy I had that confidence in full, which encouraged me to play around with all sorts of maneuvers, and develop a real sense of mastery over the course of the game. This was especially rewarding in the game’s later stages, which grew to be fairly challenging; I have fond memories from tackling Mario Galaxy’s toughest gauntlets.

Finally, and perhaps the single trait I remember Super Mario Galaxy most for, its level design was impeccable. Not only were its levels expertly constructed, but its galaxy theming cleverly allowed for an unprecedentedly large and diverse set of them. It made perfect sense to have an entire level devoted to collecting a single star, and showcase its own gameplay idea that you never encountered anywhere else. Yet it also had plenty of larger levels that you returned to for multiple stars, which could showcase a more robust set of ideas in a larger space. This struck a great balance between focused challenges and exploratory platforming, which helped the pacing tremendously. More than that, the sheer variety of things you did to earn stars within this structure was staggering; you rarely did the same thing for more than one of Mario Galaxy’s 120 stars. This was another subtle but important way that Mario Galaxy distinguished itself from previous 3D platformers, Mario or otherwise. There were almost no repeated challenges or fluff, which made nearly every level and every star feel worthwhile and interesting. Mario Galaxy never stopped searching for new ways to play from start to finish, and managed to seamlessly flow from one fun challenge to the next. Terms like variety, pacing, and level design aren’t flashy or easy to define. But Mario Galaxy showed a clear understanding of these design concepts, and that’s a big reason why I hold it in such high esteem.

Nintendo often gets a lot of flak for making the same games time and again, and relying on their core franchises too much. I’ve been critical of this as well, but when they do it right, they create great new ways to play seemingly old things. Super Mario Galaxy was a prime example. At its core, this was quintessentially a Mario game: you ran, you jumped, you stomped on goombas and you collected stars. Yet we had never seen Mario quite like this. It built on the strong Mario fundamentals with new physics, gave its art, music, and controls a big facelift, and then placed it all within some of the most well-designed levels the genre has ever seen. The result was something both familiar and new, both comforting and thoughtful, and comprehensively joyful. Super Mario Galaxy was a magical game that grabbed my heart when it was down, and lifted it up into the stars.