I Shoulda Neva Smoke That Shit Now Im At Peshay Studio Set (1996)

A genuinely lovely and methodical puzzle platformer that leans into abstraction without sacrificing its internal logic for the player's sake. Much the same as The Witness, Popol Maya, and even Clutter 1000, Venineth is entirely atextual, its ruleset deduced purely through play. Whereas those other titles can lead to frustration and walls when their logic is not understood, Venineth makes every effort to delicately railroad the player towards their objective. These enormous levels might seem incomprehensible in scale at first, but clever design and the nature of the respawn system ensures that progress is always made, never undone. Patience can certainly be worn down -- one segment near the end of the game had me wandering in one locale for over an hour because I had missed an object -- but the experience on the whole is meditative enough to encourage slowing down and thoughtfully considering what lay before you. And if the atmosphere itself does not suggest such a pace, your immeasurable momentum does.

Gameplay isn't where Venineth shines brightest. Its landscapes are undoubtedly the best I have seen in possibly any game. The dev team's Polish background is abundantly clear through sweeping vistas and reflective corridors that seem ripped straight from the mid-2000's demoscene. Impossible geometric hyperstructures float above eternal seas of clouds, cubes intersect in perpetuity, hexagonal prisms stretch like unceasing columns of basalt. Yet even as an Unreal Engine 4 title, this feels less like a tech-demo and more like a set of playable Bryce renders. There is a specificity to its textures and lighting that encapsulates a simultaneously horrifying and heart-warming liminality. The abutting of perfect cones, cubes, tori, and spheres against the natural world exacerbates this. It is a (post?/hyper?)mechanical imposition on places not our own. The only evidences of life are those geometries, the occasional fleshy nodule, rare flittering yellow wings in the sky. All the while, space ambient music is your steady companion, sometimes puncuated by DnB. The absence of tracker music is to Venineth's benefit, as its presence would no doubt make the illusion err on the side of nostalgiabaiting.

By no means for everyone, by all means for me.

Outstanding as a showcase for Cosmo D's musical talents, ineffectual in every other regard. The Norwood Suite represents a turning point for Cosmo D's oeuvre towards commercialisation and an acceptability for the gaming masses. The wide-open amorphous slapdash spaces of Off-Peak have been cast aside in favour of regimented, interconnected spaces which ultimately refuse the possibility of wasted time and effort on the part of the player. That isn't to say that earning money for your labour is bad. Rather, there is a sense of sterility in presentation and experience.

Though Off-Peak allowed the player total freedom in their approach to collecting their ticket pieces, The Norwood Suite has a fairly prescriptive path in place for progression. Some items may be found off the beaten path, but the primary objective feels at times like railroading -- ironic given it was the previous game which featured trains. The widespread, warm reception of The Norwood Suite in comparison to the non-coverage of works of Oleander Garden, TIMEframe, or 0_abyssalSomewhere exemplifies my issue with the former; it is off-beat, 'outsider' art presented in a manner which is palatable to non-outsiders.

To pilfer the thoughts of our greatest mind, "Cosmo D reminds me of Mr Brainwash." Like Mr. Brainwash or Banksy, there feels to be a sort of appropriation of the work by those on the periphery of the core game/art world. Cosmo D's human are of malformed flesh less to make some grander point of bodily discomfort and dysmorphia, but to come across as too weird to be uncanny, too ordinary to be anything but human. This holds true throughout the experience, striking me less as the autonomy of the self as actualised in Second Life, and more like the interpretation of that digitised Other by one who exists as an observer, a trouble maker, a mocker. By way of example, The Norwood Suite is Griffin and Justin McElroy's intentional grotesqueries made for their corporate sponsored, lampooning of the Other in their Second Life Monster Factory videos. It is insincere. Superficially about something, but altogether hollow.

Collective longing for a by-gone era. A faded memory. Life distilled. An unwitting oxymoron.

I've never 'completed a goal' in Kaze no NOTAM. I doubt I ever will. I don't think I need to.

From the outset, Kaze no NOTAM does not read to me as a game that needs extensive play, or completion, to be understood and appreciated.

Hiroshi Nagai's Hockney-esque artwork graces the box art and title screen. Since his summer trip to the United States in the summer of 1973, and his vacation in Guam the following year, Nagai has been enamoured by idyllic Americana-infused seascapes. His paintings evoke the phenomenological sensation of the Californian coast as imagined, lived vicariously through Bret Easton Ellis' Less Than Zero. They drip of capitalist excess with their unbounded pools, Barragánian architectures, and designer cars. Nagai is also inseparable from Japan's Bubble Economy and concordant tech boom. His 1979 collaboration with Eiichi Ohtaki on a picture book inspired Ohtaki's 1981 album A Long Vacation, itself a staple of the City Pop genre. His work became so renowned that other City Pop and AOR artists sought Nagai out in droves. Though Nagai's output continued and continues through to the present day, it is intensely emblematic of the 1980s in reality, as imagined, and in the cultural zeitgeist more broadly. The resurgence of City Pop as informed and influenced by the nostalgic reminisces of Vaporwave and Future Funk makes this self-reinforcing.

Listening to A Long Vacation or any number of its progeny and siblings is an exercise in misremembered and falsified nostalgia. I did not live in mid-century America or Japan. My understanding is informed by the memories of others. My constructed and artificial memory sees only the good of that time, supplemented by the noteworthy. I have this mental image I know to be untrue and unrealistic of life as slow and transient, something that simply occurred. An era of what might as well be no information compared to today, marked by deliberation and intent.

Kaze no NOTAM is much the same. I certainly have input here, and while my actions and decisions are not made lightly, they are ultimately unimportant. Approaching a goal, a destination, is effectively happenstance. Opportunity comes when it wishes, not when I reach for it. This is a loss of control not in the sense of a mistake in Getting Over It, or things going to hell in HITMAN, or the physical chaos of BeamNG.drive. It is an understanding that control was never, and is never had. It is the Stoic coming to terms with the fact that what may happen, will happen. Our choice is whether or not we make peace with that fact. We are to appreciate what we have, what we had, what we will not have, what we never had, what will never be. I can't go back to my past, or anyone's past, but I can luxuriate in the wind and in their memory.

I drift through the city, over the valley, betwixt the haves and have-nots.

Whatever will be, will be.