All Your Tracks Are Belong To US

      My earliest tech memory was sitting in my Dad's makeshift office playing a primitive Lion King video game on PC. I think it was Timon and Pumba’s Jungle Games but I can’t be sure. It was some sort of educational game wherein you had to match bugs or something pattern based like that.

    Games like this would come and go for most of my adolescence. No firm's titles more frequent than The Learning Company. Their discs would eventually fill my CD library at a frequency almost eclipsing the abhorrent amount of AOL trial discs that would become used for nothing more than throwing ninja circles. I think somewhere in the planet there is a secret mutant underground society that still uses AIM to communicate their plans for world domination in what will inevitably be the most pitiful and choppy act of virtual terrorism ever.

    They probably have ties with the Sock Gnomes. An unruly alliance wherein they subjugate the Mole People in hopes of creating a mega-economy based on gold found by the Mole People and exchanged for socks. There's no telling what Gnomes can do with a strong enough bandwidth connection.

   
      Sure enough, my Dad got tired of cleaning my Cheeto stained fingerprints off the keyboard and bought me a Super NES and Sega Genesis. This would have made me the coolest kid in school if I had had any idea what kind of social goldmine I was sitting on. But at that time cooperative/competitive video game play was reserved for the arcade and hadn't really grown into the stuff of Bromance Date Night just yet. I was more interested in exploring this new world in my own self-imposed social exile. 
   
     The whole video game thing was in a strange place at that time. On the surface, computer games were mostly concerned with fighting the good fight trying to convince parents that games could be educational. This was the perfect cover for all the total time wasting, procrastination-yielding, ADD catalyzing, seizure inducing flashing lights that was happening on the other side of the game world. (Could you imagine somebody having a seizure while playing Duck Hunt or 64 Bit DOOM or something? How cute is that?)
   
     Soundtracks at that time were limited to whatever some dude could dream up on a makeshift synth in a cubical. We're talking Pre-Tony Hawk Pro Skater - which was arguably one of, if not the, strongest driving force for not only the punk/emo/screamo scene which would soon pigeonhole the Vans Warped Tour, but also the inception of Video Games as a platform for music discovery. Still, the Mario theme song was/is the hardest song I have ever tried learning on guitar. Which says a lot about my integrity with the instrument, but says even more about fuck you.

   

    Games became a way for me to discover the world around me. I had never seen a hockey game before playing NHL '95 (Mighty Ducks 1 & 2 not withstanding) and I was sorely disappointed when I actually did engage the sport awhile later and realized that I couldn't keep track of the puck on TV.

    My favorite Football team became the Green Bay Packers purely because they looked the coolest on NFL Blitz and Brett Favre was a fucking beast.

     I learned more about ancient Egyptian mythology and Architecture from that Cluefinders game than from any history class.

Thoth Accounting. Gettin’ you dat papyrus since 2000 BCE

     Math Blaster taught me more math than any teacher and also introduced the first case of intellectual property law into my cognition.

I see you Megaman

    Now as a teacher I see my 4 year old students playing games that I would have thought were made by extraterrestrials in my formative gaming years. I can't help but encourage their exploration. It was only years after that Lion King game that my parents told me that I had been born with poor hand-eye coordination and they had bought me these games and gaming systems as an experiment to combat my ineptitude. It didn't do much for my handwriting, but I was able to play the guitar and drums in later life with passable proficiency.

Good parents know that some nights bedtime can wait

    Games also made me task oriented, a skill that would become invaluable when I entered the job market. Namely in the vein of my (thankfully) sort lived career as a Property Manager. If you've ever had the displeasure of coming into the office after a mediocre to decent weekend to find over 200 emails that each "REQUIRE IMMEDIATE ATTN" then I don't need to illustrate how experience playing Morrowind/Zelda/GTA should be listed on your resume under: Relevant Skills. 

    But most importantly, games helped me discover music. I first heard of Bloc Party through the high-speed demolition madness of Burnout Revenge. That game had the best curated soundtrack of any racing game bar none. The Outline, Maximo Park, even a Doors "Break On Through To The Other Side" remix. That game is like a perfect time capsule of mid-aughts indie. 

   

   But what really stuck with me after all the explosions was the instantly hooking shimmer of a song flaunting Daft Punk's appearance at some dude's house party.  

    From that point on I was a card carrying LCD Soundsystem acolyte. When I spent a year in Israel (07-08) Sound of Silver was one of my most listened to records. I have distinct memories of taking buses out of Jerusalem feeling very much like a "Real life, emotional teenager." That was the last year of my teendom and this all felt way too fitting.

   Years later I would be watching the live stream of their final show, tearing my clothes in mourning and regret for never seeing them live and passing out not before my tears began to taste like Jack Daniels. 

   When I woke up the next day and moved the hot computer off my groin I sat Shiva for 3 days. Since then I still have a terribly difficult time listening to "All My Friends." James Murphy slowly became on of the most important musical figures in my life. I was amazed at his persistence and his honesty, his ability to be both hilarious and devastating at the same time.

   When I began to realize I didn't give a tailbone about Physical Therapy (tailbone, get it! isn't that humerus?!) and was making more money writing peoples essays then managing a restaurant, the idea of giving this writing thing a try seemed a little more apropos; but no less terrifying. Swimming through the interweb one day searching for "James Murphy" my search was completed with the words "... on failure." The 9 minute interview that followed was like a god send. 

I watch this at least once a month

   When I had the chance to meet Murphy in Brooklyn he was DJing at Output. It wasn't LCD but in some ways I loved it even more. He didn't play "Daft Punk Is Playing At My House", but it was dance-ably agreed that "James Murphy Is Playing" would be just fine. 

    I approached his booth when he was taking a breather and feeling totally stunned, shook his hand told him "I just wanted to let you know that your music has meant a lot to me, thank you." Which is probably the One Billionth and One time he has heard some nervous worshiper say that. But, in his ever Murphian cool, he put his hand (THE HAND I JUST SHOOK) over his heart and said, 

   

    "Thank you that means so much to me." Which, if we're being honest, is probably the One Billionth and One time that he has said that. But, ever genuine, he made it feel like the first time.

    I wonder if I would have ever had that encounter with Mr. Murphy if I had never picked up Burnout. Sure I would have heard of LCD somehow, but would they ever feel as totally MINE as they do if it hadn't been in this way? Would I ever hear Murphy saying "I was a huge failure" and feel that he was talking directly to ME?

   Good games have always had the power to completely immerse the player in the virtual experience, making each gamer's journey completely unique. But there is something else that I have learned from all those lost lives, broken controllers and late nights; something I feel James Murphy has been trying to tell us all along: It's okay if you don't believe in yourself; just keep trying.