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This album was ranked sixth in my Top Ten Albums I Wrote About in 2016
Björk's stylish opus Vespertine, my very favourite album, holds a special place in my heart, and Disney's uneven but underrated take on The Hunchback of Notre Dame is nestled in there too. Snug and cosy in between is Pokémon Sapphire, the first video game I ever owned.
So enamored was I with the exotic tropical Hoenn region and its friendly cast of characters and creatures that I blitzed through it in a single day. For whatever reason, I had resorted to the power point in the kitchen where, clutching my freshly-minted Nintendo DS in my sweaty ten-year-old hands, the afternoon sun burned its approval into the back of my pasty white ten-year-old neck. My trusty companions saw me through thick and thin — Fruitifly the Tropius, a brontosaurus cross-bred with a banana tree whose design I adored and whose shortcomings I staunchly ignored; Bruce the Kyogre, that sassy old leviathan from the box cover whose ability to summon a perpetual drizzle and boost water-type attacks I utterly squandered; and of course my beloved Swampy the Swampert, who, despite his slimy moist skin and utter lack of outer allure, I managed to coach to victory in Lilycove City's Master Rank Beauty Contest.
It wasn't until much later that I would come to fully appreciate how much bigger, brighter and better everything about Ruby and Sapphire was than its predecessors. Visitors to the Kanto and Johto regions were stuck with flat, lifeless cities of identical pixilated buildings. Each new area in Hoenn has its own charm, its own flavour, its own personality, and clearly some thought had gone into the designing of the continent — the wind blows volcanic ash from Mount Chimney constantly north, showering Route 113's glassblowing workshop and Fallarbor Town's fertile fields in constant fine particulate. Verdanturf Town and Route 117 to the south are renowned as a haven for sick people and a rich selection of plant and insect Pokémon, all of whom benefit from the pristine air. Of course, the terraforming department still left room for improvement: smack in the middle of Route 111 is a sudden, incongruous desert. But precious little effort was expended in designing the previous regions, which only sometimes incorporated beach between land and sea.
The full-colour graphics were streets ahead of their predecessors, and the blippy chiptune of the Gameboy Colour games, charming to be sure, could not hold a candle to the bold and brash soundtrack of the Hoenn region. A bracing electric bass solo accompanies the player up the smoky reds of a volcano, soothing strings conduct the way across Hoenn's cool blue seas and, most excitingly, a decent facsimile of an orchestra propels its ways through the rich, dense jungle. So sharp and intricate and precise were the instrumentations on that grueling trek to Fortree City that they shone bright, even through the battering rainstorm. The booming timpani, rolling snares and crashing cymbals are thrilling enough, but the superlative brass sections would go on to attain coveted meme status, becoming a shorthand for the sense of unadulterated excitement and joy Ruby and Sapphire brought to the Pokémon series.
From the broader route themes guaranteed to be looped dozens of times to the brief, tense pre-battle jingles, these games present a tight, unified soundtrack worthy of the technological leaps and bounds they accompany. Ruby and Sapphire remain the most cohesive of the lot, at least as seen through my thick rosy nostalgia goggles, though certainly and objectively not the best. The great physical/special schism of 2007 had yet to occur, obviating absurdities such as Fire Punch doing non-contact damage simply by dint of being a fire-type move. Compulsory for navigating the world while cluttering up vital move slots, hidden moves were still a nuisance that went uncorrected until literally last week. From a practical perspective, it boggles the mind that a sufficiently sizable seafaring monster would need to learn a specific move to ferry the player across water, then learn a second to climb waterfalls, and still require a third to dive underwater.
The widening in scope was not limited to cosmetic improvements. Those paying close attention to musical motifs are treated to a foreshadowing of what's to come. The first few hours of the games are of course all fun and games. Those taking it seriously are taking it the wrong way. And when straying into the path of grunts from the local villainous organisation for the first time, hoping to dissuade them from stealing plans to an experimental submarine, it all proceeds as the rest of the game has, with an adrenaline rush of brassy fanfare. After all, you have just seen them queue patiently to enter Slateport City's Oceanic Museum. Perhaps when this is done, you'll visit the bazaar to scope out rare berries and fancy furniture. It's all fun and games, right? But before too long the brass drops out completely, and a buzzing baritone synth line enters, sketching a sinister modal ostinato. A gentle harp countermelody contrasts. A solitary bell rings out. A mournful oboe reprises the main melody, building into a discordant reprisal of the initial fanfare.
This shift is so striking and so foreboding that it completely stopped me in my tracks. These people are not to be trifled with. A scheme more ambitious and more dangerous than I could ever have imagined was unfolding before my very eyes.
These are no petty thieves, like the Mafia-lite Team Rocket from Johto and Kanto — Team Aqua and Team Magma are unabashed ecoterrorists. Eventually the player comes to realise that they seek to awaken an ancient monster of legendary power slumbering at the bottom of the ocean, which of course they do, to cataclysmic effect. It is up to the player to tame the furious beast and avert the apocalypse.
The Ruby and Sapphire soundtrack is so clearly proud of itself, delighting in its own ambition, luxuriating in its own 32-bit decadence. Whatever progress is made in future games, these will forever remain my favourites.
· · ·
Björk's stylish opus Vespertine, my very favourite album, holds a special place in my heart, and Disney's uneven but underrated take on The Hunchback of Notre Dame is nestled in there too. Snug and cosy in between is Pokémon Sapphire, the first video game I ever owned.
So enamored was I with the exotic tropical Hoenn region and its friendly cast of characters and creatures that I blitzed through it in a single day. For whatever reason, I had resorted to the power point in the kitchen where, clutching my freshly-minted Nintendo DS in my sweaty ten-year-old hands, the afternoon sun burned its approval into the back of my pasty white ten-year-old neck. My trusty companions saw me through thick and thin — Fruitifly the Tropius, a brontosaurus cross-bred with a banana tree whose design I adored and whose shortcomings I staunchly ignored; Bruce the Kyogre, that sassy old leviathan from the box cover whose ability to summon a perpetual drizzle and boost water-type attacks I utterly squandered; and of course my beloved Swampy the Swampert, who, despite his slimy moist skin and utter lack of outer allure, I managed to coach to victory in Lilycove City's Master Rank Beauty Contest.
It wasn't until much later that I would come to fully appreciate how much bigger, brighter and better everything about Ruby and Sapphire was than its predecessors. Visitors to the Kanto and Johto regions were stuck with flat, lifeless cities of identical pixilated buildings. Each new area in Hoenn has its own charm, its own flavour, its own personality, and clearly some thought had gone into the designing of the continent — the wind blows volcanic ash from Mount Chimney constantly north, showering Route 113's glassblowing workshop and Fallarbor Town's fertile fields in constant fine particulate. Verdanturf Town and Route 117 to the south are renowned as a haven for sick people and a rich selection of plant and insect Pokémon, all of whom benefit from the pristine air. Of course, the terraforming department still left room for improvement: smack in the middle of Route 111 is a sudden, incongruous desert. But precious little effort was expended in designing the previous regions, which only sometimes incorporated beach between land and sea.
The full-colour graphics were streets ahead of their predecessors, and the blippy chiptune of the Gameboy Colour games, charming to be sure, could not hold a candle to the bold and brash soundtrack of the Hoenn region. A bracing electric bass solo accompanies the player up the smoky reds of a volcano, soothing strings conduct the way across Hoenn's cool blue seas and, most excitingly, a decent facsimile of an orchestra propels its ways through the rich, dense jungle. So sharp and intricate and precise were the instrumentations on that grueling trek to Fortree City that they shone bright, even through the battering rainstorm. The booming timpani, rolling snares and crashing cymbals are thrilling enough, but the superlative brass sections would go on to attain coveted meme status, becoming a shorthand for the sense of unadulterated excitement and joy Ruby and Sapphire brought to the Pokémon series.
From the broader route themes guaranteed to be looped dozens of times to the brief, tense pre-battle jingles, these games present a tight, unified soundtrack worthy of the technological leaps and bounds they accompany. Ruby and Sapphire remain the most cohesive of the lot, at least as seen through my thick rosy nostalgia goggles, though certainly and objectively not the best. The great physical/special schism of 2007 had yet to occur, obviating absurdities such as Fire Punch doing non-contact damage simply by dint of being a fire-type move. Compulsory for navigating the world while cluttering up vital move slots, hidden moves were still a nuisance that went uncorrected until literally last week. From a practical perspective, it boggles the mind that a sufficiently sizable seafaring monster would need to learn a specific move to ferry the player across water, then learn a second to climb waterfalls, and still require a third to dive underwater.
The widening in scope was not limited to cosmetic improvements. Those paying close attention to musical motifs are treated to a foreshadowing of what's to come. The first few hours of the games are of course all fun and games. Those taking it seriously are taking it the wrong way. And when straying into the path of grunts from the local villainous organisation for the first time, hoping to dissuade them from stealing plans to an experimental submarine, it all proceeds as the rest of the game has, with an adrenaline rush of brassy fanfare. After all, you have just seen them queue patiently to enter Slateport City's Oceanic Museum. Perhaps when this is done, you'll visit the bazaar to scope out rare berries and fancy furniture. It's all fun and games, right? But before too long the brass drops out completely, and a buzzing baritone synth line enters, sketching a sinister modal ostinato. A gentle harp countermelody contrasts. A solitary bell rings out. A mournful oboe reprises the main melody, building into a discordant reprisal of the initial fanfare.
This shift is so striking and so foreboding that it completely stopped me in my tracks. These people are not to be trifled with. A scheme more ambitious and more dangerous than I could ever have imagined was unfolding before my very eyes.
These are no petty thieves, like the Mafia-lite Team Rocket from Johto and Kanto — Team Aqua and Team Magma are unabashed ecoterrorists. Eventually the player comes to realise that they seek to awaken an ancient monster of legendary power slumbering at the bottom of the ocean, which of course they do, to cataclysmic effect. It is up to the player to tame the furious beast and avert the apocalypse.
The Ruby and Sapphire soundtrack is so clearly proud of itself, delighting in its own ambition, luxuriating in its own 32-bit decadence. Whatever progress is made in future games, these will forever remain my favourites.