Wtichbreed's Heretic Rapture Different, Yet Still the Same

Heretic Rapture by Witchbreed is a fairly impressive debut disk on one hand and yet somehow unremarkable on another.

The fusion of metal with a female singer to add melody is hardly anything new in the music scene.  Nightwish, Within Temptation, Krypteria, and countless others have adopted this tactic and tried to put their own spin on it to stand out from the crowd.

Even though this is perhaps an overused trend and there is a veritable boatload of mediocre music released in this category, this is a trend I’m all for on the whole.  When done correctly, this fusion of melody and aggression can be simply captivating.  

Witchbreed doesn’t sound terribly original in concept, but in execution they actually manage to stand out from the crowd nicely.

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The Magic of Spirited Away

It is not every day that the experience of watching a movie can transport me beyond the structured confines of the plot and make me contemplate my own life. It is rarer still that the general sense of strong emotion that the movie provokes seems more important, more satisfying than the plot itself once all is said and done.

I experienced just such a movie when I watched Spirited Away.

What I found important was not the plot, the characters, or the setting. The movie’s true magic lies elsewhere. 

Somehow, if you let it, if you approach it with an open mind, Spirited Away manages to fill you with a sense of childlike wonder. It’s a fragile effect that would likely fall apart if you were to think about it too hard or try to analyze what, exactly, it is about the movie that manages to accomplish this wonderful feat, but the effect cannot be denied.

Watching the movie made me curious: why are such feelings so rare? Why have we allowed this state of mind to slip away from us, to be relegated to child’s play and the socially unacceptable fantasy worlds of those who haven’t properly “grown up”?

Clearly it’s not that only the young can experiences these feelings. Spirited Away left me with no doubt of that. I will admit that I had to battle my own sense of disbelief at the beginning of its tale. It took a good while for it to really draw me in. But once I did I was hooked. I was enveloped by it and felt a true sense of emptiness once the credits rolled and it was gone.  Like the mournful hours after a joyous celebration, I just wanted to go back to the good times that had somehow slipped away from me.

But what I missed was not the characters or the story or the world. What I wanted to go back to was not the classic “Alice falls down the rabbit hole” plot structure or dreamlike world.

What I wanted to go back to was that magical feeling of envelopment, of being in a different world. 

Some of my most cherished childhood memories are of creating such worlds for myself and for my friends. I think much of my interest in gaming and other forms of storytelling today might well be an attempt to recapture that feeling of being in another world. It doesn’t come close to those bygone days of youth, but I guess it’s the best socially acceptable outlet I have for seeking this type of fulfillment.

Frankly, that’s a problem.

Spirited Away reminded me how important such feelings are. Everyone needs to escape every once in a while. Everyone needs to build their own reality and live in it for a time. Real life can be a heck of a drag and it’s a damn shame that we treat imagination as such a leper, to be cast aside once we’ve entered adulthood.

Of course we must all face the sad truth that we have to grow up and enter the true world for ourselves someday, but we don’t have to leave a large part of ourselves behind in the transition. Child’s play shouldn’t just be left to the children.

Open up your mind, relax, and watch Spirited Away. See if you don’t agree with me by the time it’s over.

Review - Rammstein - Liebe ist für alle da

Ever since I first heard their captivating churn on the fantastic soundtrack to the otherwise abysmal Mortal Kombat Annihilation, Rammstein have been more of a mystical entity to me than a band.  An entity capable of consistently producing entire albums that sing to my music tastes better than any other band I have found. 

Whether Rammstein defined my musical tastes or whether I simply happened upon the only band on Earth that could practically do no wrong in my eyes is something I may never know.  Regardless, their music was vital to my youth and remains equally vital to my being now.

It is easy to forget, however, that anything placed on such high a pedestal has the longest distance to fall.

Any slight change in style, any slight dip in quality and someone as fanatical about the band as myself will be left out in the cold, sad and alone, his precious guide into the musical world having abandoned him and left him with no one to revere, no one to look up to, no one to give him eternal hope in the form of beautiful sound waves.

Rammstein have, until now, produced a scant three new album releases since I have discovered them, and each produced a different wave of feelings for me.

I was lucky enough to have personally experienced the dawn of the album Mutter, their first new release after I discovered them.  I have long considered Mutter the pinnacle of their creative abilities - a testament to the power of their scintillating mix of beautiful melodies, churning rhythms, and German poetry. 

The wait for Reise, Reise was interminably long and the product it produced decidedly different from their earlier work, but I still absorbed every drop.  It was epic on a scope far beyond what had come previously, even if it had abandoned some of the aggression.

Rosenrot saw the biggest change and the smallest period of anticipation, coming just a year after Reise, Reise in a highly unorthodox move by Rammstein.  It took a while for the true depth of the changes present on this record to really sink in.  To say this album is a divisive force among Rammstein fans is to utter a severe understatement.  While I have come to appreciate its differences and the emotional power it displays, I began to worry about the course the album had set for the band. 

The twin albums of Reise, Reise and Rosenrot had become progressively less industrial, less aggressive, and more experimental.  So far it had not been enough to shake my faith, but could another move in such a direction finally separate me from my beloved band?  Finally create a stylistic divide wide enough to turn me into one of those pathetic souls yearning for the “good old days” and lamenting that my band of choice had the nerve to actually move on and try something different?  Would they force me to transform into one of those bile-spewing creatures claiming that the band was incapable of ever matching the utter brilliance of their early masterpieces?

Would I be forced to turn on my beloved Rammstein, forced to admit that they weren’t, in fact, infallible? 

Like the otherworldly entity I sometimes like to imagine them to be, it appears that they had simply been testing my faith in their most recent absence. 

I never should have doubted them.


After finally getting my hands on the full version of Liebe ist für alle da and soaking it in with a pure, unadulterated joy I haven’t felt in ages, it became clear that perhaps the band had some of the same worries that I did.

They realized that perhaps they had drifted a bit too far away from what the band really was.  Rather than continue the process of change simply for the sake of change, they decided to go on a search for what Rammstein truly meant; to find those all-important roots, those basic definitions that state what a band is all about.

The result truly is a defining album.  It is a gospel of modern Rammstein.  It is a culmination of everything they have yet produced. 

It is, quite simply, the best collection of music they have ever put together. 

The band has rediscovered that wonderful aggression in a fashion not seen since their formative albums, Herzeleid and Sehnsucht.  The unrelenting churn and animalistic screaming of B********, the horror movie in audio form that is Wiener Blut, and the classic industrial churning and chanting of Rammlied are just samples of the glorious head banging fodder that awaits.

They have again delved into truly dark subject matter, with no pretense of the dark humor or levity they bathed such subjects in on recent albums in songs such as Mein Teil, giving us a look at what lurks in the shadows in the definition of “love”.  Such outright darkness has, again, not been seen from the German collective since their first two albums.  I challenge anyone who listens to Wiener Blut with a full knowledge of what it means to avoid shifting uncomfortably in their seat as they listen to Till’s simply evil welcoming of the listener into the darkness.

At the same time, the emotion, the epic scale, and the poetry of recent releases is back in full force.  Mixed with the aggression and darkness of old, these more recent additions to the Rammstein sound are given an entirely new context.  Reminders of Rammstein’s ability to create a beautiful melody are scattered all over the album, even hidden amongst such aggressive cuts as Rammlied and B********. 

Joining these, however, are purer examples of melody more well-crafted than anything yet heard from the band.  The soaring vocals of the chorus in Ich tu dir weh are simply impossible not to sing along to.  The catchy, well-worded chorus of electronic ditty Haifisch will lodge itself in your head, despite being decidedly atypical for Rammstein.  Frühling in Paris stands as easily the most fantastic example of a slower tempo tune ever made by the group, challenged perhaps only by Donaukinder, which was sadly relegated to the deluxe edition so far fewer people will have the opportunity to hear the haunting track. 

Liebe ist für alle da beautifully pairs old and new for a Rammstein that sounds revitalized, reenergized, and refreshed. 

Till’s vocals are far and away the most consistently impressive performance he has yet delivered, ranging from guttural screams to creepy whispers to low-pitched growls to soaring highs, his voice displays a range that is simply unfair for one vocalist to possess.  Combined with his continually impressive poetry that makes terrific use of the band’s native German language, Till makes for a truly formidable leading man.

His bandmates don’t fail to impress either.  Richard and Paul give us some of their most memorable riffs in years, largely ditching the indistinct droning guitar sound present on much of Reise, Reise and Rosenrot and returning to the forefront of the mix after being somewhat backgrounded on the last two albums. 

Perhaps the most impressive improvement is Christoph, whose drums have gone from generic filler (as was the case even on the otherwise classic Mutter) to driving beats that often take center stage.  He is finally displaying consistently impressive drumming ability and the change is truly welcomed.  When the churning beat is as important to the music as it is with Rammstein, it is truly surprising that solid, varied drum tracks have taken this long to work their way into the mix.

Every track on this album deserves the listener’s attention, which is a truly rare thing in today’s musical landscape. 

In the interest of fairness it should be noted that perhaps the album is not perfect.  Roter Sand, while wonderfully haunting, doesn’t quite live up to the mid-album slower track perfection of Frühling in Paris.  As the deluxe edition of the album demonstrates, Rammstein’s strict adherence to their “eleven tracks per album” mantra also left one or two solid tunes out in the cold, although having too many good songs is a pretty good problem to have.  Still, the terrific Donaukinder really should have been stuffed in somewhere.  Finally, the misleading first single Pussy does feel a bit out of place, although its catchiness cannot be denied and its placement after the chilling Wiener Blut is a masterful work of pacing, bringing a bit of much-appreciated humor to an otherwise dark album.

I may not truly have been in much danger of legitimately disliking just about anything put out by Rammstein, as they are far too important to me, but the fact that I like the album this much is surprising even to me.

The band has truly found itself again in a way I frankly wasn’t expecting it to and the result is magical. 

The only negative to be found here is the fact that there is only one Rammstein and only one Liebe ist für alle da and, for me, that means that a musical experience this amazing likely won’t come around for a long time, if ever again. 

Which makes it all the more vital that I seize it while I can and enjoy the hell out of it.

I sincerely urge you to join me.  

Prince of Persia: The Downward Spiral

Prince of Persia: Epilogue is the culmination of a game filled with lazy design choices and form over function decisions.

It magnificently exemplifies those vile, those rank, those despicable trends in the burgeoning market of downloadable content that, despite the relative newness of the concept, should already have long ago been banished to the history books, never again to be forced upon the poor, unsuspecting consumer.

Prince of Persia: Epilogue was unfairly criticized for making gamers pay a fee for the ending to the game, a charge that, were it true, would make Prince of Persia into the rough equivalent of a mafia boss of the digital realm, extorting his poor victims for every last cent they’re worth, unable to wipe the satisfied grin off his pudgy face all the while.

Such a charge is blatantly false, however what it does instead is sadly no better.

In fact, the mafia approach might have been preferred if only for its predictability.

What we really have here is a case of history repeating itself; of terrible design trends coming to their logical, inevitable conclusion; of the giant, noisy marketing machine clanging to life and seizing hold of development, pushing the potentially interesting story toward its sad, predictable, totally unsatisfying non-end.

Clearly the design team behind this game had a better idea of what their world should look like than how it should play.  The visuals and animation are stunning, the music is epic, the plot progression is interesting (in fact, it’s the only thing that kept me going through the maddening Hedge Maze of Eternal Torture that the game eventually devolved into), and the characters are decently compelling once you get past the jackassery of Prince and if you learn to obsessively press the certain controller button that prompts the random spurts of dialog.

Along with the wheelbarrows full of artistic ambition, however, comes dump trucks full of arrogance and misplaced self-confidence of the type that can only find its source in an overbearing marketing team and a budget so mind-bogglingly huge it takes control of the entire project.

It wasn’t enough to make me suffer through an unspeakably annoying combat system in the game proper.  It wasn’t enough to make me fight the same tedious enemies over and over again.  It wasn’t enough to reuse the same platforming ideas ad nauseam until I began to wonder whether I was running around in circles instead of progressing through the levels as I was supposed to.  

Perhaps most hurtful, it wasn’t enough to take a potentially interesting story, the diamond in the rough, the hundred dollar bill buried in the giant shit pile, the proverbial carrot on the stick that was enough, just barely enough, to keep me moving through the game and hack the ending off with a rusty machete, put a small bandage over the bleeding stump, and shove an unsatisfying cliffhanger down my throat while forcing a hastily written note into my hand that said, “If you ever want to see your precious ending, buy our inevitable sequel.  It’s gonna totally rock.  Sucker.”

This game did so much to anger me over the course of its relatively short play time, so much that detailing it any further would surely send the length of this post into the realm of the patently ridiculous, yet it apparently wasn’t enough for the scheming bastards at Ubisoft.  

No, they had one last little prank up their sleeve.

For their ultimate coup de grâce, they slapped together a stinking, concentrated dose of their most annoying design choices from the main game, slapped the label “Epilogue” on it to make it sound semi-legitimate and trick tired, wounded saps like me into daring to get our hopes up for it, thinking it might lend some closure to the story or right some of the wrongs we had been dragged through, and then had the sheer brass balls necessary to actually charge gamers for the pile of crap.  

Those maniacal douchebags must have been laughing all the way to the bank.  

Prince of Persia: Epilogue contains some of the most difficult, most annoying platforming in the entire game.  Cheap tricks and shamelessly reused platforming elements lurk around every corner and the drunken cameraman does his best to ensure that you don’t even know which way is up, much less which way you’re supposed to jump.

The combat was so maddeningly button-mashy that it literally gave me hand cramps and by the time the ordeal was barely half over I was just this side of taking a blood oath to personally destroy the game disc in the fires of Hell if I had to fight that same goddamned annoying enemy again.  You’ll feel like you’re facing one of the two supremely frustrating enemy types featured in the three hour ordeal every five minutes or so right up to the final battle which is, go figure, exactly the same as all the other fights you’ve had against that same enemy.

Did I mention that, somewhere in the midst of all this blatant self-copying, they actually reused the concept for one of the final “boss” segments of the game itself too?  

Yet I still continued.  I had paid good money for this thing and I was damn well going to make it to the end, come Hell or shattered controllers.

Humans are supposed to beat video games, not the other way around.

Finally, I prevailed.  

Even more surprisingly, both of my Playstation 3 controllers are still intact.

What did I get for my hours of struggle?  Was it worth the pain and anguish and stress and disappointment?

In a word: no.

In two words: hell no.

What the smug developers at Ubisoft saw fit to bestow upon me after suffering for a few more interminable hours at the hands of their diabolical whims was, amazingly, a non-ending that was outmatched in its lack of containing absolutely anything that a good ending should only by the original ending to the game, and not by much at that.

What I got was the hardest to obtain teaser trailer I’ve ever viewed in my life, a small hole in my wallet, and a large hole in my soul.

I could go on another rant here about how these glorified advertisements posing as endings are ruining both movies and games these days, or even about how bad Ubisoft in particular is becoming after having done more or less the same damn thing with Assassin’s Creed, but I’ll refrain.  Those are different arguments altogether and, frankly, I just don’t have the energy for them after what this game has put me through.
What I will say is that Ubisoft’s sin against satisfying storytelling hurts more than most because by the time I got to the end of Prince of Persia, the story and the characters represented the only possible hope I had of coming away from the game with a positive experience.  I wanted to like the game, but the terrible combat, control scheme that felt like I was giving vague suggestions to Prince rather than actually controlling him, and repetition wore too thin.

When, after all of that, the story fell out on me too and I could practically see the dollar signs glowing in the pupils of Ubisoft’s marketing department, it hurt.  It hurt because I had spent my time playing a game that ultimately proved to be a severely unpleasant experience.  It hurt because I felt I had wasted my time on a story that didn’t go anywhere.  It hurt because I really did want to like the story and the characters and I wanted to see what happened to them.  And it hurt because I now know it will take nothing short of a miracle for Ubisoft to get me interested enough in this franchise again to take a chance on spending more time with it when the possibility of a second, even more crushing disappointment always looms on the horizon.

It’s bad enough when you leave a game disappointed, but when you leave wishing that you had never picked up the blasted piece of software in the first place?

That’s an entirely different level of bad.

All I wanted was a moderately satisfying conclusion to a tale I was kind of enjoying.  Tell me dear readers, still in possession of that glorious thing called “sanity”, is that really so much to ask?

And if it is, why have we let the state of things sink to such lows?

Video Review - Captain Dan - From the Seas to the Streets

I had enough fun with my first video review that I decided to do another one.  I once again plundered the archives and now I present to you my review of Captain Dan - From the Seas to the Streets redone as a video review.

I had fun doing this one too, so you can expect more of these in the future.

These messages never actually work, but I'll try anyway: If you enjoyed this, please let me know and give me feedback.  Even if you didn't, for that matter, please tell me what I could do better.

I always appreciate comments, compliments, and constructive criticism.