By fatherwags [Richard Wagner]

“One of the first elements of the games that prompted this recognition were the interfaces. GH2 was definitely low-fi, like the equipment of a rock band just starting out.”

Spring – the time when an old man’s fancy returns to his youth – and his first time.

Smokey. Sweaty. Bodies grinding and reeking of alcohol.

I was about fourteen or fifteen. My friend’s mom would take her weekly trip into Calgary (about an hours drive away) to play Bingo for the evening, and she would drop us off at a bus stop with our skateboards and hours of unsupervised time.

On one trip, another skater told us that his brother’s band was playing at a bar, and asked if we wanted tickets (apparently his brother’s band was a little worried about having an empty house for their debut).

That was my first time.

I still don’t know how three kids with skateboards got past the bouncer, but the experience was unforgettable (the same can’t be said about the band).

I’m sure they weren’t very good, but the experience—the experience—pubescent anxiety, teenage angst, middle-class self-loathing, given a voice—a voice—in the dark, dingy basement of a long-since out-of-business bar, has never been rivaled.

I’ve gone to other concerts, but none like that one. Now I attend concerts performed in stadiums or large auditoriums, where people stay at their seats, where the music is so perfect it might be playing from a CD, where the sole act of rebellion is a little weed amidst the secure anonymity of the crowd, and where people return to their lives largely unaffected by their evening of entertainment.

I began to think about these two experiences recently, after I played Guitar Hero III: Legends of Rock (GH3) and subsequently picked up Guitar Hero II (when I needed more songs to play).

You might recall from a previous article that I received GH3 for Christmas. I played it for all of January. Towards the end of January, as I started to play Guitar Hero II (GH2), subtle differences became apparent.

There were different songs, of course, but mostly there were differences between my experiences of the games. GH2 recalled my first time (even though I played it second), while GH3 called to mind more recent concert experiences.

One of the first elements of the games that prompted this recognition were the interfaces. GH2 was definitely low-fi, like the equipment of a rock band just starting out. The note-counter and the star-power meter possessed an aesthetic that wouldn’t be out of place in a music video made by a twenty-two year old attempting to re-create the golden age of rock. Sure, they’re artificially reconstructed versions of objects that never existed, but the images resonate because they match our revisionist version of the past. They’re simple and they’re iconic.

Compare those to the slick, polished, and shiny meters of GH3. These are the stuff of a band traveling with an airplane full of cutting edge audio and musical equipment (and maybe a giant lemon for the stage). Instead of a simple tube slowly filling with a light that actually sparkles like stars on top of a grimy pointer, now there are fluorescent tubes sparking with iridescent light on top of an hygienic gauge. Instead of a tally counter, now there is a digital display. Instead of make-shift authenticity, there is polished imagery.

The encore mechanic feels the way the meters look. In GH3, the encore feels pre-determined, like the forgone conclusion of a famous band not including their biggest hit (from their first album) in the set. You know they’re saving it. In the same way, in GH3 you finish the last song in the set and then the necessary steps are taken to transition into an encore: the backdrop is changed, police officers show up, tear gas is launched into the crowd. The problem is there’s nothing that makes it feel like the crowd actually wants you to play an encore. The cheers might be a little louder, but that could just be an auditory illusion caused by your momentary break from playing music.

In GH2, when it’s time for an encore, you’re given the impression that something significant about the crowd has changed. The camera pulls back off the stage, you see the crowd starting to wave their arms and the chanting gets louder. Now, from the back of the hall, you witness what your mastery of colored buttons has wrought: a crowd of poorly animated stick figures gesturing so wildly they might break out of the graphical limitations imposed by a lack of motion-captured gestures. The camera, fleeing this crazed scene like a parent who misguidedly follows his or her child into a mosh-pit, races back towards the stage where you assume your position—ready to appease the throng of fans adoring your mastery of a plastic guitar to “play” music and of a bathrobe to make a fashion statement.

The GH3 experience is scripted and exact. The note tracking is more complicated and it feels precise–because it is. It’s polished to perfection and loaded with more notes, regardless of the difficulty level. It makes you feel like you’re actually playing the song, but it’s far more punishing and relentless. In GH2, there are moments when you could be playing more notes, but instead you’re allowed to enjoy the feeling of playing a spectacular guitar solo since you don’t have to hit every other note, or even every fourth note. You’re allowed to be immersed in the experience because you don’t have to push yourself every moment just to keep up with the song.

For the same reason, even though the animations are worse when compared to those in GH3, they are less disappointing because the whole game feels more like the music produced by a garage band that records their first (amazing) single on some equipment they borrowed from one of their dad’s friends. You understand this reality, and you’re more forgiving of the flaws because there’s something fresh and intangible about your experience with the music.

The guitar battles in GH3 also feel awkward. They evoke the forced spontaneity of a guest musician who, spontaneously, joins the band for twelve consecutive shows in twelve different cities. The battles are enjoyable (all but the one against that bastard Lou!), but they create a completely different, and artificial, emotional atmosphere. Instead of making you feel like someone famous has walked out of the crowd at the bar where your band is performing, stepped up onto the stage and borrowed a guitar for a song or two, with GH3 it feels more like a celebrity walked out from back stage with their own guitar and plugged it into an “extra” amp that was set up “accidentally.”

As the Guitar Hero franchise has evolved, it, ironically (or perhaps not, given the industry from which it has taken inspiration), has lost some of the rawness, the edginess, that seems more true to the essence of rock and roll. To use a musical metaphor, GH2 feels like a classic wooden guitar, while GH3 feels like a plastic one. The former experience feels authentic and true; the latter feels artificial.

What I find most odd when comparing my experiences of the two games, is that I like the music in GH3 more than GH2. Despite this, I enjoy playing the second game more (and it’s not just because of the difficulty level–I swear!). GH2 is more immersive; it’s a more powerful experience.

Nonetheless, I’m grateful the two games have evoked in me an acute sense of reverie.

I suppose I could still attend performances of amateur musicians abusing their instruments while screaming about being mad at their dads (although, with laws prohibiting smoking in public buildings, some of the ambience would be lost), but I actually enjoy the concerts where I don’t have to worry about my physical safety. Everyone is nicely sedated by the pot smoke coming from “somewhere” and reasonably cautious after our recent face lifts and tummy tucks. We all know we have to get up early the next morning to work for, or to be, “The Man.” And we all understand that cleaning blood stains out of the leather seats in our BMW’s is not a pleasant way to spend a Thursday morning.

So I go to concerts for adults who want to reminisce about, rather than re-live, their youth. I listen to music that sounds just like the CD’s I have collecting dust at home. And then I go back to my life and recall my first time, while my plastic guitar gently weeps.