Nothing but melodies and footfalls

I've discovered exactly why modern games, by and large, don't connect with me the way the video games of my youth and adolescence did, and it all comes down to sound design and, oddly, the improvements of technology in this field. Imagine, for a moment, you're playing Mega Man. What is it about Mega Man's sound that you remember? Is it the environmental sounds of water crashing on rocks, of birds flying through the air, of the sound of Mega Man's shoes on polished metal?

No, of course it isn't, because those things weren't a part of Mega Man's sound design. Instead, you probably remember this:

The games of yesteryear are comprised almost entirely of their music, by necessity super catchy and almost always instantly recognizable. It's an element of game design that is almost entirely forgotten these days in a push for more cinematic experiences, but so many of the games that I've attached to are ones with completely unforgettable, essentially "video game-y" soundtracks that punctuate every move, every action, without becoming completely subservient to those actions.

Music plays such a largely tangential role in most modern videogames, with the exception of Nintendo (even though the sound design of something like, say, Ocarina of Time is pretty advanced, it's the game's leitmotifs that bring you into that world). I find myself finding so many games to be hollow experiences, but I bet that if they forefronted a spectacular video game soundtrack, I would probably be more willing to forgive their transgressions. Making the soundtrack so prominent, so vital, ties a game into a memory receptor that we use to remember other things fondly, namely music. It gives a game a life outside of its narrative and gameplay structures, and that's increasingly important to me, as I often forget that I've played many games.

The progression of technology has perhaps had a more ruinous effect on videogames than any other medium, because as we spiral closer and closer to that "perfect" realm of ultra-precision and ultra-reality, we lose the imagination and the wonder that made this medium so great to begin with. So little is left to the imagination anymore – everything has to be spelled out.

And from a more "art historian" perspective, the fact that video game music essentially pioneered a whole new, specific form – essentially, the synthesis of Kraftwerk style analog synthesizers to a pop sensibility into what we now call "chiptune" music – is important, and shouldn't be discarded lightly. Koji Kondo, who has done more for video game music than almost any other composer, even decided against an orchestrated soundtrack for Twilight Princess because of the interactivity, the fluidity that traditionally video game-y music can provide. This isn't to say that all orchestrated soundtracks are bad or non-interactive – hell, look at Kondo's and Mahito Yokota's soundtrack for the Mario Galaxy games – but too often they're trying to ape the tone-based experiments that have taken hold in film soundtracks, rather than playing up the melodic, playful elements of a great video game soundtrack. Those games just don't make me feel anything, but right now I have the music from Final Fantasy: The 4 Heroes of Light playing in my room. That's not a great game, but its music automatically brings me into a realm of imagination and wonder that something like, say, Mass Effect 2, could never hope to.