Moby’s two hour show at the Theater of Living Arts in Philly combined songs from his newest reflection, Wait for Me and his groundbreaking album Play with a smattering of others into a finely-tuned uplifting performance. Though the show was not sold out, Moby, with his backing band and opener Kelli Scarr, channeled tons of energy and shared his heart to the enjoyment of those in attendance.
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I played Killzone 2 a couple weeks ago. At one point, after a tough battle, me and Rico, a squad mate, were riding an elevator to a top of a tower. As it was rising, I looked at Rico and noticed him staring at the floor, as if deep in thought. I stepped towards him, wanting to put an hand on his shoulder and as “You OK?” I didn’t really care for Rico, most of his vocabulary consisted of curse words meant to prove his bravado, and he seemed unable to say a word without shouting it; he was arrogant, impulsive, and I found him all around unlikable. But I did care about Rico: He was the guy next to me in the trenches, the guy who killed any Helghast soldier that flanked me, the guy who help keep me alive during the tough battle earlier. So, even though I didn’t like him, I stepped towards him, wanting to put a hand on his shoulder and ask “You OK?” But I couldn’t. Because this was a game. So instead I just watched him, feeling bad that I couldn’t to anything. The game finished loading, the elevator doors opened, Rico shouted “Let’s go kill some Higs!” or some other generic line meant to prove his bravado, and I continued playing.
Killzone 2, more than any other game, captures that chaos, confusion, and violence of war. And that’s precisely what makes it fun
There’s a constant oppressive atmosphere in Killzone 2. At multiple points in the game, characters comment on the state of the planet Helghan, pointing out how desolate it is. During one level in a desert power plant, we’re told that the beauty of the planet was sucked dry by the constant war machine of its inhabitants (the Helghast). Whenever we leave the city we see this for ourselves. The ground is always dry, the sky is always dusty, and I can’t remember ever seeing a piece of greenery in the game. Looking at it from that perspective makes the history of Helghan rather tragic: A people fueled by war deplete the resources of their planet, and now war is all they have left. It makes sense then that this planet would be home to a race of warriors since every day is a fight for survival. This is a hellish place to live.
Reinforcing that idea is the heavy focus on urban warfare. Fighting through the rubble of a destroyed city is always distressing, even if it’s the city of your enemy. There’s just something unsettling about the imagery. You’ll also spend a large part of the game moving through corridors or small rooms, lending an important sense of claustrophobia to the combat. We’re always trapped, confined, always fighting in the shadow of some structure. Even though the story has us invading Helghan, the level design is meant to make us feel like the oppressed victim.
The graphics were a selling point of Killzone 2, but it was criticized in many reviews for it’s rather limited color palette of browns and blacks, with nary a primary color in sight. But this art style was necessary to maintain the constant dark atmosphere. Unlike the “destroyed beauty” art style of Gears of War, there is nothing beautiful about the environments in Killzone 2. You’re fighting in a destroyed city, and the colors used effectively portray a city under siege. This world feels dirty and grimy, the kind of place no one would voluntarily visit.
But I did visit it voluntarily. I then returned to explore every nook for collectibles. I returned again to play online, where the battles are even more chaotic than those in the single player campaign. Despite oppressive atmosphere in Killzone 2, it was still fun. What did I, and so many others, find entertaining about this chaos?
The answer, I believe, lies in another game. In Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare, whenever the player dies, a quote about war is displayed on screen. The quote that has stuck with me the most was by Winston Churchill: “Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.” Out of the 80 possible quotes that can appear, this is the most appropriate one because it doesn’t just describe war, it describes our infatuation with it. People love danger, it’s exciting, and being shot at is certainly dangerous. But most people don’t want to put themselves in harm’s way, so they choose to live vicariously though entertainment: Books, movies, and of course, video games. War games will always be fun, no matter how grimy, dirty, violent, or chaotic they become, because we’re being shot at without result. We get that exhilarating adrenaline rush of being in danger without actually putting ourselves in danger. No matter how realistic a virtual world or its inhabitants are portrayed, the fact that they’re not real will always turn the violence into a theme park attraction, rather than something genuinely dramatic. However, perhaps when a war game involves real people, in a real battle, in a real war, then, like with Super Columbine Massacre RPG!, that traditional gameplay we’ve become so used to will be given a powerful subtext and change the way we view our actions. Until then, war is fun as hell.
At Design Observer, Dmitri Siegel looks at the design of products in ordinary supermarkets—design not selling itself as “design-y”. “To end up here, Design ideas need to trickle down well past the middle-brow and survive extreme pressures of low margins and fast turn,” he somewhat snobbishly remarks (and I think the capped D in design is a telling typo).
He points out the ludicrous ergonomic features of grooming products and the ubiquitous easy-pour spouts and remarks that these pseudo-functional additions to packaging are mere ornament. The convenience these things are supposed to supply (but most likely don’t) is also, I would add, ornamental. Siegel’s conclusion is that the design trades in functionality as a sign rather than anything that is actually useful. Rather than an after-the-fact evaluation of a product’s actual ease of use, functionality becomes a design trope. Convenience as a value works the same way, I think—an appealing idea in the abstract even when it never manifests itself in practice. Our craving for convenience is so inculcated in us that it suffices for a package to evoke the possibility of it for the package to have an added appeal. We can buy “convenience” without experiencing it.
Siegel cites architect Alfred Loos’s “Ornament and Crime” (pdf), a manifesto from 1908 that’s as insane as you could want any manifesto to be, impossible to tell how serious he is from our irony-saturated point in history. (“One can measure the culture of a country by the degree to which its lavatory walls are daubed,” Loos declares in a typical aphorism.) Loos’smain argument is that ornament is atavistic, though Siegel emphasizes Loos’s claim that approving of ornament “was a tacit endorsement of society’s disregard for the quality of its workers’ lives.” Siegel thinks the reverse is now true: “The ornament of today is the complete opposite of that described by Loos — to him ornament symbolized excessive labor, today ours symbolizes pervasive leisure.”
He defends that claim with a reference to Veblen’s notion of conspicuous consumption. Siegel suggests that the fake functionality of supermarket design allows for a conspicuous consumption of unnecessary utility.
Veblen describes how a rich man’s cane is a symbol of his membership in the leisure class precisely because he will never need to use it. The grip strips on a toothbrush and easy-pour spouts are exactly the same. They symbolize effort we will never have to exert.
We want to consume utility we don’t need and then laud ourselves for the effort we have been saved from making, that is presumed to thereby be held in reserve and accrues to us. This then becomes a mark of distinction; the product’s design allows us to claim for ourselves the effort it saves us from making. The contradiction takes on a signaling significance, in Siegel’s view:
The fully equipped chef’s kitchen is a potent symbol of affluence precisely because anyone who can afford it clearly does not need to cook. The $400 Patagonia rain shell and the sport utility vehicle symbolize physical challenges and confrontations with the elements that their suburban owners can easily avoid, and so on.
Today’s ornament mimics utility so that we can make a show of unnecessarily amassing it. When we have the finest kitchen equipment money can buy, every night we eat out becomes eve more redolent of our wastefulness, and therefore our wealth (if you accept Veblen’s logic that gratuitous waste equals a proof of status). The overdesigned products in the store allow the middle class to experience a version of this joyous profligacy.
I think there is something to that, but I found Loos’s take on this idea more compelling: “Humanity is still to groan under the slavery of ornament,” he declares, though as a species we have “progressed far enough to find pleasure in purchasing a plain cigarette case, even if it cost the same as one that was ornamented.” This still seems relevant. Products for the wealthy are those that can eschew ornament, transcend it, because the stratospheric prices obviate the need the products to compete on the more mundane level of superficial ornament. The lack of ornament connotes engineering expense, the effort of clean design, the quality of the manufacturing, the pride in the workmanship as it is expressed through the functionality. They are made for those people who don’t need to indulge in shopping for leisure, people who don’t need to amaze themselves with the unfathomable bounty in supermarkets and 99-cent stores, people who can afford more expensive pursuits and don’t want disposable goods to allow to shop more. Shopping provides the lower class the ersatz, compensatory thrills of purchasing power over an array of crappy manufactured goods—highly ornamented to make them more disposable and to justify the investment of more of our energy in the foibles of retail. But the rich don’t have to resort to such cheap thrills.
Releasing: 10 November
Asobi Seksu’s Acoustic at Olympic Studios, once available exclusively at shows, is seeing a name change and a legitimate release as Rewolf this November. Their lovely cover of the Hope Sandoval (of Mazzy Star) song, “Suzanne”, is available for you to download as many times as you want, and it doesn’t cost a thing. What a world.
01 Breathe Into Glass
02 Walk on the Moon
03 Meh No Mae
04 New Years
05 Blind Little Rain
09 Familiar Light
Timothy Egan, author of The Worst Hard Time, releases his next work of nonfiction with The Big Burn: Teddy Roosevelt and the Fire that Saved America. Once again tackling the American West, Egan tells the story of the legendary forest fires that ripped through Washington, Idaho, and Montana on August 10, 1910. As park rangers fought these massive flames, President Roosevelt and United States Forest Service Chief Gifford Pinchot saved the land through the establishment of national parks.
Below is a video of the author reading the opening of The Big Burn (as part of an interview with Nick O’Connell, editor of The Writer’s Workshop Review). In just first few paragraphs, Egan paints a vivid, specific picture of the time of the fire, allowing the reader to empathize with this story from long ago.
The Big Burn releases October 6, 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
// Moving Pixels
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