Once Fed

Dear reader, it’s been a busy few weeks. However, instead of boring you with tales of work both old and new, here’s the aftermath of what I caught at intervals during today’s grind. Nestled into its bed of broken concrete and twisted steel and behind the juvenile bulk of a Cat 304C, sits a high-reach excavator. Not a particularly large model, some urban Komatsu effort, but one that gnawed away at a building for the better part of today. The hydraulic shears rose over the rooftops and clamped down to feed; Sauropodian sensibilities in grace and form and grazing. These beasts are the thunder lizards of our day.

Nocturne of Isolation

Dear reader, I woke this morning grotesquely early with the specific intention to get a few last-minute lesson materials done. Instead, perhaps true to form, I got side-tracked by deciding to recount a dream that has been lingering in my head for a month-odd. So, deciding to use it as an excuse to warm up to the the writing side of the OPSTAN project and to trial something Chris Whittington threw my way, this was an hour and a bit of no holds barred keytappery. Behold, ramblings to meet the sun in a mode not familiar.

A dream.

I see from over a diminutive hedgerow a vaguely tended Georgian cultivation in unnamed rural desolation. An unintentional one, this hedgerow, simply a fence now host to vine and shrub. The feeling of this place is colonial, at least through my understanding of an avenue that runs behind me with heavy oaks standing to attention on either side. The grass underfoot is wet with dew, drying under a morning sun. The temporal confusion accelerates as I find myself trudging beside short and stubby sandstone ruins, classical victims of wildfires where nothing bar stone foundation squares and the odd scarified chimneystack remains defiant in its existence. Oddly Victorian by way of the unruly, punishing Antipodes.

It feels like a forlorn amalgam of the Tasmanian Midlands – Oatlands, with its iconic Callington mill, and Ross’ convict bridge – and its penal hearts of darkness; Port Arthur, Saltwater River, Mariah Island. My childhood familiarity is feeding this anachronism, as these sandstone craters speak somehow of Federation. Perhaps a commentary on the century that preceded it; nothing more than mental condensation of frontier hardships and cruelty, from settlement to the inception of a nation. Painting from source material of museum daytrips and leaden architectural grandiosity, an existence etched on the backs of chained transportees and the lash, of slowly eroded class distinctions and sociological parameters withered by accepted distance and the daring provocation of reality. These foundations I see beside my soggy feet, I figure they were quarried and hewn from the surrounding hills. I don’t stoop to examine the rough bricks in the grass, but I care to imagine a thumbprint pushed into their surface, as was the fashion of the day.

I come to an incomprehensible piece of architecture. Fancifully built upon eight-foot pillars, this mammoth cubic structure certainly looks plucked from a soot-blackened Manchester. Despite its size, I had not seen this creation upon my walk. Partially secluded by the oaks, it sits next to the avenue that runs into the distance. The building squats on its struts over more of these low stone wrecks, capturing them within a concentrated shadow. There is no staircase up, nor a door to meet it. No windows. No jagged sawtooth roof. It defies the commonalities of an oasthouse with its masonry. I am compelled to investigate.

I fail to recall the flooring above my head as I passed beneath the building, dipped immediately into shade. It must have been composed of heavy beams or iron, boarded with thick slats of hardwood. At least, I imagined it to be. As much as I can infer Tom Roberts’ Shearing The Rams, with the rich visual din of shearers and livestock and the well-trod timbers of a rural shed, the illogical creation above my head could have featured anything as flooring. It retrospect, to be so confounded by whatever whoever resided within walked upon is as confusing as the building itself. But my attention was not drawn upwards, but down.

I come to one of the small cubic ruins that sat beneath the protective precinct of the building. Its depleted walls not merely one or two blocks high, as found in the other shells, but feature an undulating height as though it had either suffered a purposed, piecemeal semi-demolition, or had been constructed in a haphazard and frivolous manner. One brick here, two there, another here. The prominence of its height was on the far side of where I stood, its uneven level hiding the tumbling hedgerow behind and allowing me to see a copse of distant trees across the field, bathed in a tempered light, in contrast to my dusk. Looking back down into the contents of this ruined arrangement, I see clods of dirt that rise to a lazy central plateau.

And I see two bodies, partially interred.

Old navy-blue clothing clung to the exposed and upright skeletal forearms of the one on the left, the other clothed in thick black. Their relative positions spoke either of siblings or a couple. I linger, unafraid but unsettled. The one with the extended arms doe not seem to be frozen in anguish or pain, more in languid resignation and fatigue. As though he or she had been captured at the end of a particular long day, sighing with a cigarette and being placated by a dipping sun. The semiotics of the hands at such quiet capitulation were matched by their unfinished burial. It is a scene that emanates a great tiredness. A glacial beleaguering of both man and his creation, worn smooth like a rock in the waters of river Time.

Then, a presence. Many, in fact. In my mind’s eye, I become the focal point for a group of phantoms, their incorporeal densities a construct I feel, rather than witness. Phantom is a disservice, a term saddled with triviality. These things, or occurrences or responses or whatever they are, shoal about in a circle. They are individual, but at the same time, one and the same. My blood chills and I make my way away from beneath this mausoleum and back towards the light. The spirits, again a term I hope to use devoid of preconceptions, circle in wide berth and weigh my passage as I step across strewn blocks and towards the open air. There is a viscous melancholy beneath that building, a constricting collar of despair that grows as I move between the comparatively mild ambience surrounding the bodies and my escape from the secluded darkness.

Before stepping out into the light, I turn and look back at the place where I found the two. I feel as though this gargantuan brick building atop of them has some sort of correlation, a connection to their resting place. A figment, a tulpa, a creation post-mortem. The haunting presences seem to be noble parasites; guardians of solemnity encouraging rumination at the feet of their long-dead masters. I feel for the deceased and wonder how they had come to rest here, and who, despite their lacklustre attempt, had laid them to rest.

The warm, epicurean embrace of the sun greets me reassuringly as I return to day.

At the base of an oak across the avenue, between heavy roots, grows a scattering of thin stemmed flowers. I wander over, stooping to snap one from the ground with a quick pull as I stand. Rolling this unknown flower between my thumb and forefinger, I consider walking back and paying my respects with this freshly-plucked offering.

The posited gesture is fleeting, as the thought of once again being enveloped by that lonely wash of softly pressurised hopelessness fills me with unease. I toss the flower away and walk from the place, never once turning back. I am a coward, I think as I wake. A coward.

Get To Da Choppa

Hope you had a great weekend, dear reader. Just a quick one, otherwise known as a Craig Thomson. Now, this here gunship above – one piece of concept art for the tabletop sci-fi miniature game commission effort (which is looking great! More on that soon) – is actually a variation on an old helicopter design from…gawd…years ago. 2006, we’ll say. Empires have risen, fallen and risen once more in a shorter time.

When I wandered back to Van Diemen’s Land last year, I scooped up the original little scrawl from the big plastic tub that housed much of the pre-expatriation scribble-downs. Oodles of the stuff. This was buried under piles of life drawing and shows the mitochondrial roots of the above. Ignore the forlorn posture of a bipedal tank in deep lamentation.

That’s enough cheaply-sourced narcissism for you, dear reader. Still working on a lot of art when other matters – the usual story for all of us; home, work etc. – are seen to. Some slow foliage work is being pencilled for the next OPSTAN piece. I must say, there’s something peculiarly calming about drawing flora. It allows the graphite to snake and score in a celebration of mechanically-antithetical exuberance. Well, both flora and dinosaurs. We need more dinosaurs.

Philip Rhayader’s Hand – OPSTAN Project Artwork

Not technically Rhayader. I hear the bloke was left-handed. Hello there, dear reader, and welcome to 2013. A month in, and the only great cataclysms befalling the human race are the ones we brought upon ourselves. Doomsday predictions wish they could be as frightening as the slow-motion derailment we’re enduring at this point. If you look carefully, you’ll see Homo Sapiens ordering fillet steak in the dining car. They might even reach for a drop of Bordeaux.

But put that to one side. It’s Friday night. Everyone should have their feet up. Eschatological whimpering is not becoming when there’s a weekend to be had. And what better way to ring in a few days off and my wife and daughter at the inlaws than with scribbling, scanning and slopping about Photoshop!?

Here are two OPSTAN project pieces, one sitting at around 95% complete, the other a long way off.

For those poor souls who’ve hung around here, you’d know this piece in, uh, pieces. Looking forward to finishing this one off. Only a few things left to add and tweak. The proper dimensions are outrageous, but when it’s finished, we’ll shrink it down to A4 size. 

As you can see, there’s a foreground, midground and background to do, but this evening proved marvellously productive. Now, to start scribbling in foliage and other assorted bits and pieces. Quite happy with it at this early stage, but everything is subject to change!

The tabletop boardgame unit design commission job is still on-going, with these pieces above the balance to more serious mechanical and technical art. It’s actually quite an intrigued and eye-opening experience, because it makes a bloke really consider what he’s scratching on the page. How will this be rendered as a 3D model? What will be the 3D printing constraints? Is a certain detail logical in a 3D space? It’s a big jump, and certainly speaks more to science and architecture than simply just drawing something that, while cool, is dimensionally impossible or illogical.

Tell you what, here’s a little preview of a vehicle design for the miniature game.

I’ll be thrilled to direct you to more information when the fantastic creator/developer/3D sculptor/Modeller/One-Man-Army Stephen Smith is ready to roll out the details. Just stay tuned, because there’s a lot of good stuff coming down the pipeline.

Now shoo. You’ve plenty of other things to do! 

2012 & All That

Dear reader, we have survived the Baktun rollover. Deemed by many as the Y2K of Antiquity, the most devastation we saw were a few arrests in China and dry-run bunker sleep-outs. CGB Spender was wrong, unless David Icke’s theory of increased reptilian presence in the White House retains its camouflage. The Mayans and their pop-cultural snowball melted when we all woke up on the 22nd. The End will keep.

As such, inspired by the great DM Scheer‘s 2012 review, I want to – on a less exciting and much less poetic level – recount the year in quick bullet points for those keeping score at home. If you DO find yourself with a tally at the end, it might be time to adjust and upgrade your interests and social proclivities.

I am currently at the inlaws for New Years celebrations – queue boozing, feasting and bad TV in equal measure – so this is being composed on a phone. Technocracy or inanity unleashed?! You decide.

Onwards and in no particular order:

- The shmultzy position of seeing young Charlotte grow on all levels during 2012. From basic capabilities like holding a pencil correctly and using utensils to kicking off her bilingual journey and showing great strides in using consumer electronics and problem-solving, it has been a slightly more wry Hallmark moment around every corner and at each milestone. Going to kindy, end of year performances, the usual stuff. And making her old man feel like he’s an overbearing stooge when all he does on Facebook is update with photos. Hopefully, there was enough humour in this year’s effort to avoid disdain taking root.

- A prodigal return to the homeland. While the journey and weeklong stay in Olde Hobart Towne had a couple of hiccups, it was the highlight to see family and friends again. Especially the old comrades who honoured me by making treks from elsewhere in Australia. Humbled.

- Getting over artistic reservations and spiking self-fulfilling prophecies. I attribute this to the double whammy of DM Scheer laying it down and being commissioned to design units for a science-fiction boardgame. The former was the kick up the date I needed and the latter the impetus to put lessons learned into psychological practice. That, and putting together the long-haul team for the OPSTAN project, permanently changed gears for the better. The nib may not move as quickly as it once did – due to the obvious family/work duties – but it moves with more purpose. Cannot be happier!

- Writing for Pete Davison‘s site, GamesAreEvil. And they aren’t evil. Unless it’s in a fetid, mid-Nineties “So good it’s bad!” way, uttered while scarfing Big M milk on your California cruisers. Getting to interview developers, preview and review games, write columns and even engage with heavyweight folks like Troy Goodfellow…really exciting. While my writing needs a veterinary needle of clarity, nothing makes for better writing than simply doing it. And hell, simply interacting with independent developers in places like Estonia and Holland and finding out various creative processes and influences does wonders for perspective.

- Continuing learning the ropes of rural responsibilities. Servicing a rice combine harvester and operating the drying oven. Prepping, making, stacking and deploying the Shiitake logs. A cursory introduction to charcoal making. And so on. All valuable, practical lessons that – should the Mayans have buggered up and called Doomsday a touch early – will come in handy sooner, rather than later!

- The usual teaching business. Had a great year with students both young and old. Great progress with the kindergarten kids in both English and Art. The adults hit it out if the park as we discussed everything from Japanese political enfranchisement to superstitions and eschatology – perhaps all are the same thing!
That, and squaring up a new job has been the cherry on top of a very fine working year.

With that, and missing a lot of the details, dear reader, I want to thank everyone everywhere and wish all a solid and successful 2013. To a bright, bountiful and forward-thinking New Year.

Floating Boats in 2012–The NGAAT List of Fine Wares

You would be fumble for excuses not to attend when handed your ticket to this dismal event, dear reader. I would receive stuttering falsifications about mythical prior engagements and sick relatives; the thinnest of veils and most inept of obfuscations. But who could blame a person for skirting the tragedy that is the NGAAT Boat Festival for 2012. Without further ado, let me smash the Pink Mink against the bow of this rickety beast, await non-existent applause and wave to an empty dock as the most unseaworthy of events rolls down into the waves to sink immediately.

Unlike last year, we shall pile it on like Creosote’s breakfast and not stop merely at gaming. So, tuck into those wafers and settle the heaving rump. Behold, a wreck to end them all.

GAMING

Julius Marlow’s Prostate Check Award for Most Stylish Reboot 

Perhaps it’s not so much of a stretch when set against the Western rise of the Visual Novel, but imagine my surprise when I find a long-lost genre reanimated in a glorious shower of cybernetic gore and language parsers. CYPHER: Cyberpunk Text Adventure is a vibrant modern take on the Infocom experience of yore. Roaming through a classic Eighties-style rain-soaked-and-neon-lit vision of the future with nothing but your ability to linguistically knife your way through the puzzles and situations, this Argentinian creation by the Cabrera Brothers was certainly an unexpected delight.

Not only was the quality of the writing great – a given, considering the style of game it is – but the developers rustled up a massive slew of printable accoutrements in the spirit of the text-adventure heyday. Massive reams of mocked-up commercialism from this near-future dystopia, a paper-craft robot, artwork and wallpapers – the whole Deckardian spread. A terrific, if a little parser-inflexible, game that will sort the adults from those things we tend to create a lot of. You know. When the, uh, goes into the, um…

As an aside, the last text adventure I played was Legend Entertainment’s Gateway. Frederik Pohl would be proud.

Roger Federer’s Chest Award for Damn Serious Gaming

I have this chronic and terminal love for Eugen Systems. Those French Gods. Those divine le Dressay brothers, bathed in the light of celestial faultlessness. After RUSE, I thought – in some strange and largely positive take on the Mortal Kombat mythology – that heaven and Earth had collided and we were free to shunt tank stacks in the presence of angels. But no, Eugen were about to take us beyond Ragnarok and into a realm of synaptic pleasure so rich, no mere human could possibly comprehend where reality ended and fantasy began.

This hyperbole was uttered in feeble, final breaths from the smouldering carcass of a shattered Scimitar, as Soviet gunships thwopped past to inspect their handiwork. Wargame: European Escalation is, at the risk of setting the New Gamer Movement back ten years, a Man’s Game. And by Man, I mean pudgy grognard and those who know a little too much about Cold War military technology to be trusted beyond ‘uneasy acquaintance’ in the teledex categories.

Featuring 2012’s best – yes, I didn’t unload the palette of Kenobian absolutes for nothing – graphics, which did justice to the highly detailed environments and units, Wargame: European Escalation remains a lonely watermark of excellence. Lonely in that, while incredible, was just a touch too niche in concept for the bumbling herd of ruminate consumers. I shouldn’t judge, given that 2012 was dominated by strategy experiences in the MOBA/DOTA sphere. But I will. I will judge. People should be all over this masterpiece. They should be relishing the delicious era of burgeoning electronically-controlled weapons systems and all the steel tonnage that is part and parcel of conventional warfare.

Wargame: European Escalation is a game for all to enjoy, and a pox on all the houses who forewent it for some fantasy-themed cheese fondue with a toxic community. Lords Manage yourself the hell out of my office and DOTA you come back.

Jean-Claude’s Warm, Wet Tears Award for Big Guns Going Small

While I towel off to avert an pressure front of pheromones wafting over all of you, my tumescence remains and points proudly at the offices of Amplitude. The Kevin Bacon here is that one of the production heads on RUSE, Mathieu Girard – formerly of Ubisoft – decided to drop from the cruising altitude of triple A development and fly gleefully over the treetops of independent game-making. What we got was a double-barrelled blast of goodness.

One, Girard and his team set up the GAMES2GETHER model of community interaction within the development process. Active members on the forum could suggest ideas and have a close and constant discussion with the developers from milestone to milestone. An integrated voting system highlighted what the community wanted, but at the same time, it was managed effectively as to not dilute or bastardise Amplitude’s vision. It worked.

Oh, and yeah, that other barrel discharge? A terrific 4x space empire builder. And a coup for UI design in the strategy sphere. Endless Space remains a divine thing to play, with any deficits in character or mechanics amiss either already seen to in updates and patches, or on a list being stalked by the authoritative nib of a marking pen.

While we’ve seen a lot of big developers turn to smaller projects over this increasingly carnivorous and ultimately unsustainable production and industry environment, the Girard story is my pick for not only striking out without the usual saddlebags of Kickstarter or turning to iOS, but for creating a viable system of consumer enfranchisement that, instead of producing another Elemental, gave us a killer experience with an invested future.

The Come In, Palmerstone Award for One-Man Army Antics

Christopher Lambert must be haunted by that one line. However, unlike it being some sort of tragic allegory for the man’s cinematic cardiogram, sometimes it is truly for the best. And while the Internet is a treasure-trove of dedicated one-dev projects, I cannot in good faith consider anyone more apt for this nomination. Chad Mauldin, formerly of Day-One Studios, set out to create what is ostensibly Chromehounds for PC. By himself.

If there can only be one, then I’ll take it.

Modular Assault Vehicle, or MAV, is just one of those rarities in the wild realm of independent video game production where there is such a solid mechanical core, implemented by a bloke who knows not only his craft so deeply, but knows exactly what the target is. A high-concept yet ultimately lean multiplayer-focused mech game. As such, there is no airy-fairy nebulousness about it, no tortured idealism or message. Not to say those things aren’t warranted or worth investigating, but damn it if I would deny myself the gravitational pull of this hydraulic heaviness. One man carving a game from the dreams of a niche collection. A stunning effort thus far, with the FCS directing all weapon groups towards a big, broad horizon.

The Jason Gillespie Chittagong Award for Tail-Ender Surprises

Two splendid efforts here, and one on that infernal iOS device. First of all, Starfarer. While most people were indulging in their Star Trek Dating Simulator, or whatever that Bioware jug of soggy tissues was, a tiny band of indie space cadets unleashed an early build of what is possibly one of the best tactical space combat games we’ve seen since…hell, I blame the herd in saying we’ve not seen something like this in years. See what the buffoons have done? Robbed us of exciting and intricate gems because they’d prefer to hand over their wages to corporate monstrosities and their evil sausage machines.

In short, Starfarer is a highly-detailed top-down combat sim-lite, with a wealth of customisation and RPG elements. Configure your ships, configure your weapon loadout, configure your weapon grouping, configure you passive and defensive systems, configure until the cows come home. What’s more pleasing is that the entire experience is rock-solid, has an beautiful interface and wildly accomplished controls. Now, you CAN roll about with Commander Shoppert or Shipfad and muster a diminished chub in an awkward, laughable polygon root scene on the Citadel…OR, you can tear off that flimsy member and grow a new one, made entirely from Starfarer-brand Space Steel™, and walk proud and menacing as you master the ins and outs of technical combat.

The other effort is a little Splash Damage spin-off. RAD Soldiers is an asynchronous multiplayer-centric squad-based strategy for iOS, and while that combo of awesome settles on the palate, I will offer a Bordeaux Riesling – on the house – in reminding you it is free. Not only that, but unlike the usual pitfalls of the Free-To-Play market, it seems to have its head squarely screwed on. Expansion packs for maps and challenges are reasonably priced, with in-game currency well-tuned for accumulation simply by playing. Great customisation, which has become the official Word of the Jason Gillespie award, with new units, weaponry and items built into player levelling. Of course, spend a little real-world coinage and you’ll find a faster-tracked experience, but it does seem like we’re dealing with a game where ‘pay to win’ has been relegated to sitting quietly in the back alley, aptly ignored.

Highly recommended. And free, so unless you’re some sort of cork-sniffer or lacking the platform requirements, there is literally no excuse. Literally. Could not be more literal. Monasteries, parchment and a quill-toting abbot-level literal.

The Dili Downpipe Shotgun Blast of Honourable Mentions

Like that vile but oh-so-satisfying hawking of phlegm in the shower, sometimes you’ve just got to get it out. The following make the exclusive race, and while edged out by a nose in the prestigious awards delivered above, still get a lifetime subscription to The Watchtower and a complimentary one night stay in the Grong Grong hotel. Second prize is two nights at the Grong Grong hotel.

The Walking Dead – Wow. I am the first to roll my eyes are characterisation in games. But this one? While having an increasing appreciation for the AMC television series, this game made the intellectual property more than simply a half-decent TV show and comic books I’ve never read. I measure this moving Choose Your Own Adventure book against good dramas, instead of applying the usual caveat of “…well, for a game, at least!”. Incredibly tense, great use of episodic content and a benchmark for all games that concern themselves with player investment and storytelling. An absolutely essential experience for both game narrative snobs and those who are interested in seeing the medium at its most enthralling.

Hotline Miami – A blood and neon-soaked slice of top-down puzzle-solving by any means necessary. You simply cannot honestly say you had your finger on the pulse of gaming in 2012 if you did not play Hotline Miami. Intoxicating, bilious, empowering, humbling, grubby, surgical, toxic insanity. Go and read the review I did with Tristan Dutch Damen and feel that blood on your hands.

Faster Than Light – Getting from A to B. Well, getting from A to B with a raft of crazy adventures between. From rescuing stranded cosmonauts to battling pirates, upgrading ships with drones and weapons to boarding enemy vessels and targeting subsystems. And fires. Oh, the fires. If you’ve an appreciative bone in your body for science-fiction – yes, even if it’s one of those little tympanic bones – then you owe it to yourself to play Faster Than Light. Serious geekery packages within serious game. Good friend Mark Whiting wrote a massive review that takes a light year to read, but is well worth it for deep insight into why Faster Than Light matters.

Teleglitch – This bizarre Estonian indie outing plays like top-down Doom. In fact, it kind of feels like a rewired Hotline Miami, sent through a more industrial pixelator and stapled onto a rogue-like. It’s not a true rogue-like, but Teleglitch is similarly hard as hell and takes no prisoners. This sci-fi survival horror feels very much like ALIEN3, rather than ALIENS, and since that’s the franchise’s most underrated cinema outing, you can kind of see where the appeal lies. Brutal, lonely, haphazard and deliciously good. Review for the curious.

Cargo Commander – Absolute gold. No, better than gold. Platinum. Platinum stripped from space derelicts by the weary old hands of a space trucker dreaming of home. This Dutch effort stole my heart early this year with its light-hearted and somewhat subversive take on, again, the rogue-like formula. Optimising your way through the darkened hulks of drifting containers on the edge of a black hole, accumulating loot for the company and dodging alien menaces within the containers snagged from the void, Cargo Commander is one of the year’s must-play games. Have a damn review, if you need more convincing. 

Krater – This is actually my Game Of The Year, but I figure I can link to the GamesAreEvil article when the contributor-supplied event goes live. In short? Here, I’ll shamefully quote myself:

From an artistic perspective, Krater is a treasure trove. From a gameplay perspective, it’s a rollicking, chunky globule of MOBA combat with ARPG trappings in crafting and upgrading. From a holistic point of view, Krater is the damn finest thing I’ve played in 2012.

MUSIC

Sister’s Panties Award for Unexpected Pleasure

I’m no music snob. Well, not really. Like any shmoe, there are the comfortable fits and familiarities that are easy to tune in to, but it is the path not usually taken that deserves special mention. And this year – pretending for a moment that this is not the award’s inauguration – I bestow it upon Lana Del Rey and her expanded Paradise Edition of Born To Die.

Without sounding like a Pitchfork Media review – i.e., enjoying the spine-snapping satisfaction of roosting inside one’s own rectum – I think Lana Del Rey encapsulates a large slice of modern American mythos. The adulation of the fake. The vacuous watermarks of success. The vapid Dada-esque idealism of society and celebrity. Del Rey’s very own blatantly manufactured retro-songbird sound and look are part and parcel of this curious celebration. Especially when set against the backdrop of a powerhouse culture on uneven economic footing and the core of this social idolatry, it feels somewhat perverse and more than a little insipid.

And yet…and YET…I think that’s part of the Del Rey experience. It is a shining example of this nebulous, uncountable mirage writ large. A compact, gorgeous, unintellectual pondering on the American Dream. A modern take on a classical era. An Anna Nicole Smith scraping for Marilyn Monroe cred, and while Del Rey never descends to that level of deplorable tragedy, most of Born To Die feels like it comes from that same place. Del Rey seems to want to exist in this dreamscape. It’s an intoxicating blend of kitschy romance with a forlorn contemporary narcissism that makes me forgive the slightly shallow lyrics and just dissolve comfortably in this strange creation.

I’m very much looking forward to further things from Miss Lizzy Grant, but for the time being, I’ll be here, wrapped in the Stars and Stripes and swirling my toe in the narcoleptic wonderland that is Lana Del Rey.

You’re Also A DJ, Aren’t You, Chad! Award for Solid Synthetics

I had no idea who Matthew Dear was at the start of the year. And if you went solely off his website, you’d be excused if you broke the glass and punched the Hipster Alert. However, Matthew Dear’s Beams album is an astoundingly solid slice of electronic music. In the vein of Mouse On Mars with an infused loungecore vocal styling, Dear has created a very playful and never boring release. Not a single dud on the CD. In fact, the last album I heard which never incited a gravitational pull towards the skip button was the aforementioned Mouse On Mars’ Radical Connector, oh so many years ago.

There isn’t much more I can say about this one, outside of it being my imagined party album of 2012. But I don’t have parties. And as such, the fact Beams scythed through my social interaction glacier should be seen as a victory of outlandishly massive proportion.

Skrillex Who? Award for Drum And Bass In The Place, Innit!

A double-header for this cleansing brand of dance music. A bold bid to rid us of dubstep’s cloying reverberations, I pick two stunning DnB releases for trash duty; S.P.Y.’s What The Future Holds and Machines by Russian producer Enei. An aural peeling cream for those afflicted by the lazy, squelchy musical equivalent of prefabricated housing.

S.P.Y., not to be confused with the Korean horse trainer, has produced one of those albums that takes you back to the days of Roni Size; to the era of Goldie and those layered, club-friendly female vocals drizzled over the top of surgical snares and hats. It has a mysterious, wet weather quality about it, not unlike the 3AM drizzle found in Burial, but this one is pure 11PM concrete. Dare I suggest that more than a few tracks on What The Future Holds are, ahem, anthemic? Yes, I dare.

Enei’s Machines is on the darker end of the spectrum, with a crazy bag of sonic tricks pressed into the crunchier beats. Honouring the Jungle roots, Machines is a minor monster when it comes to delivering a slightly more raw and ready sound. That said, it’s not a perfect album. Listening to it from go to woe probably does more to dampen the experience than emphasis the terrific song structure on an individual level. Samey? No. It just works better in chunks. Perhaps dropped into a playlist where you can savour the flavour in smaller servings. Either way, don’t play it when driving, as Machines has the propensity to cause the accelerator to stick to the floor.

Stafford City Carpark Award for Quickest Listener Burnout

This prestigious award goes to that affable, cuter-than-a-button ditz Claire ‘Grimes’ Boucher and Visions; ushered upon the Canadian starlet because she crafted a clutch of songs just so damn listenable. And as such, I listened until I could listen no more. I am very much done with Visions like an American is done with three kilos of smoked ribs. Satisfied, but any more and I run the risk of chundering.

Which is not what I want to do, because she’s a summertime Enya for drug-addled 20-something festive goers and her stuff is great, in a bubblegum electro kind of way. The follow-up to Visions is the real question, because that seraphic echo and the simplistic Casio beats are ripe for warping.

TELEVISION DRAMA

The Russell Crowe Arena Award for Being Very Much Entertained

Without question, the standout television event of 2012 – despite the season being still underway – is American Horror Story: Asylum. This show, given what the writers stuff into the show, should be an utter trainwreck. A completely inoperable shemozzle. However, it works. It works deliciously. Being an anthology, the writers never have to worry about season carry-over arcs and are thus offered far more freedom than confinement by the limited number of episodes.

There’s a wild, unbridled, saucy enthusiasm by the cast; performances are visibly relished. If the first season was a sexed-up reinvigoration of a tired trope, this is pulp horror and the kitchen sink. We’ve got serial killers, demonic possessions, Nazi experiments, alien abductions and a slew of other insane narrative injections; defying what would otherwise birth a wheezing, malformed chimera and creating a maniacal beast of irresistible, racy delight.

From Zachary Quinto to Jessica Lange, James Cromwell to Lily Rabe and Evan Peter; every single actor seems to be having as much fun as I am, sitting there on my arse loving the absolute bejeezus out of the show. Not many series get that kind of personal reaction, even the greats from HBO. Absolutely stellar, off-kilter fun.

Oh, and Ian McShane’s guest role? The year’s most sinister performance.

Mariana Trench Award for Fastest Drop-Off

This appalling award goes to none other than Homeland. How can a show go from something so great to something so silly? I’d like to think that we’re paying for our sins in accepting such a gutless final episode in the first season – one of the very few marks against Homeland’s name in an otherwise stellar run – but you can’t hold it against a production company for wanting to keep a good thing going.

Turns out you can, and you damn well should.

Season two kicked off rather strongly, but decided to show its hand too early. There simply wasn’t enough meat left on the bone to continue the cat and mouse psychology between the CIA and the conflicted hero-terrorist Nicholas Brody once his charade was turned against former captor Abu Nazir and company. Homeland thereafter struggled. We had silly side-stories involving hit and runs and Carrie Mathison acting in such idiotic fashion that you wouldn’t hire her for shopping trolley collection, let alone keep her on at the CIA. Jessica Brody and the wearyingly torturous consternation of Dana are, strangely, the least offensive of the bunch. Which leaves Saul simply to offer that joyless bearded smirk. His line from the last episode of Season two summed up this year’s continuation.

“You are the smartest and the dumbest f***ing person I’ve ever known.”

Creator Alex Gansa has admitted as much, so hopefully the third and final season should be a lot better than what we got in 2012. If I could Skynet the whole operation and deploy a contained season-length arc directive in the same way American Horror Story does it, then by God, do I think it’d be some bold television; to not have the fire that burned so brightly reduced to such middling intellectual embers that you’d be hard pressed to get a marshmallow toasted.

Straight To The Pool Room Award for Top Australian Production

There’s a nice little homegrown rat-pack of acting talent lurking down under these days, and frankly, there always has been. While most tend to abandon the Antipodes at the first sign of bigger things across the Pacific, good work does get done before they leave. Names like Damon Gameau, Lachy Hulme, Brendan Cowell, Asher Keddie and Jessica Tovey might not be household names – especially in the United States – but these young performers are absolutely magnificent and coupled with what I truculently nominate as Australia’s Aaron Sorkin (minus the artesian smug basin) in Christopher Lee (no, not THAT one), are utterly world class. Enter Howzat! Kerry Packer’s War.

But maybe I’m being parochial or jingoistic. Or perhaps, Lachy Hulme’s portrayal of the late media mogul ‘who not only looks like a hammerhead shark, but acts like one’, Kerry Packer, and his tenacious struggle to get World Series Cricket into the limelight, rightly deserves the exultation and adulation from all and sundry. It’s a corker.

Yes. It’s the latter. A two-part miniseries that celebrates the growth of international cricket, an age of sporting personalities and their incremental marketability, the voracious and often loathsome Packer, and an era in Australian history that continues to bear fine fruit for screenplays.

While the first episode is stronger than the second, it culminates in a fascinating representation of one of the biggest feats in not only sporting history, but entrepreneurial prowess on a global scale. Unlike the comfortably insular world of American sports, this was a grassroots movement for cricketers across the globe that was engineered by a single vindictive, ruthless but ultimately passionate newspaper magnate. Truly a sport that deserves ‘World Series’ attached, but moreover, truly an effort worth examining. Howzat! Kerry Packer’s War is a drama raht orff thuh meat of thuh bhet. And if that little description means anything to you, you’d have already watched the damn thing.

CINEMA

The Eastman 910 Award for Unexpected Excellence

Oh my. To think I’d be listed this as one of the best films of 2012. Oh, how the intelligentsia must be picturing my cultural credibility dribbling down the drain. Their loss, I say, as it is with remarkable pleasure that I list John Hyams’ Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning as this year’s film that caught me completely by surprise.

The action genre has been dominated by dismal, creatively-beached juggernauts for years now. We get the odd flash of brilliance here and there, but ultimately, the straight action flick is a thing of the past. This is either out of embarrassment on the part of production companies – who wants to make non-ironic action films?! – or simply this inability to revitalise such films for a modern audience. You only have to squint at the Die Hard franchise to see where things went pear-shaped (hint: it was when terrorists tried to ‘hack the internet’). And thus, we are left with over-produced Michael Bay wankfests. CGI semen absolutely everywhere.

In walks John Hyams, son of old directorial hand Peter Hyams (Outland, 2010, Sudden Death, End of Days, etc.) and reboots this classic cornball franchise in 2009 with Universal Soldier: Regeneration. While a very serviceable and very enjoyable throwback not only to the token action films of the late 80s and early 90s, it had a touch of Frankenheimer and other great directors that worked their magic in the later stages of the Cold War. While the premise was fairly cut and dry, the greenlight given to make another offered Hyams the creative freedom and impetus to craft something much more unique.

Indeed, Van Damme and Lundgren are back, but in very enigmatic supporting roles. That’s a very useful word to describe Day of Reckoning. Enigmatic. It’s a stylistically subversive film, given what people might come to expect from both the franchise and the actors within. Day of Reckoning feels like a lucid dream, with little characterisation or explanation outside of the bare minimum. This may confound some viewers, but instead of the blunt plots we’re used to in action films, this is a refreshing change that only helps to emphasise the dislocation of these once-government-run human attack dogs.

With superb cinematography from Yaron Levy and Carpenter and Noe-esque sound design by Michael Krassner, we wander through this bizarre and subtle apocalypse of burnt, compressed humanity through the tortured half-lives of zombie Übermenschen. This is ostensibly a sci-fi horror film of sorts, with a curious and rather legitimate psychological bent weaving throughout. The action scenes are some of the best choreographed I’ve seen in years, foregoing the sloppy quick-cutting techniques now proliferated as the norm in Hollywood today. Hyams has a deft eye for combat and his previous master stroke in casting MMA fighter Andrei Arlovski returns here. The fighting is brutal and harrowing, never glorified. Gratuitous, yes. Celebrated, no.

After all, the strange tragedy of these testosterone-ridden husks is simply their violent, constricted outlet being so singular in nature. We can appreciate their prowess, but never envy their reason to be.

Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning is a remarkable semi-arthouse action film. It might not work for everyone, but those who want something different from a film style of yore without having to settle for the usual cheese fondue would do well to check this one out. See if the Red Band trailer does anything for you.

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And that, dear reader, is the NGAAT Boat Festival List for 2012. Winners will receive a poorly-photocopied certificate in the mail.

Deluge

Dear reader, a minute update to cap off the weekend. Perhaps in the spirit of our time and under the meteorological whim of Mother Nature, when it rains, it certainly pours. Operation Stanley is well underway, with narrative arcs beginning to form and the spine itself sprouting columns of nerves and intrigue. My particular part of the equation is still on one certain piece of work, but it truly is the best work yet and sets a high but attainable bar for the rest of the artwork.

Thoroughly proud and in awe of my comrade collaborators’ work, and once the current piece is done, I shall move on to start illustrating elements of their narratives. A good few concepts have been pencilled roughly on scraps of paper, so many first steps on this long, fine journey.

Another amazing thing happened of late, too. This is still in the very early stages, but I was contacted and commissioned by a fellow in the UK to help design units and vehicles for an upcoming sci-fi boardgame/tabletop miniature game. This is mind-blowing. A real dream come true. I can’t say much more about it than that at this stage, but to have folks deem the scribbles good enough for commercial purposes seems to coalesce and fuse nicely with the enthusiasm cache for all projects on the go.

In the GamesAreEvil sphere, I managed to snag some interviews with a swathe of great indie developers. Pasi Kainiemi of Moduulatio talked about his awesome solo project, Running With Rifles, and spoke on the Finnish independent dev scene (a touch of insight into the old Demo Scene days, too!). I managed to get in touch with Maarten Brouwer of Serious Brew to yap about Cargo Commander, one of the year’s best games (review here, if you’re interested). Alexandre Avenard of Parisian studio Brain Candy candidly recounted the tough and somewhat bungled launch of multiplayer strategy game Fray and their relaunch of the Reloaded Edition. And, with Tristan ‘Unbearable Dutch’ Damen, we ganked, stabbed and bludgeoned our way through a discussion on Hotline Miami.

As far as the Tactical Tuesday column goes, there’s a musing on Bohemia Interactive’s Carrier Command: Gaea Mission, which is one of those not-quite-there-but-very-much-salvageable titles. Also, a brief but glowing slice of fanatical fervour for Moonbase Commander.

Now that the horse has effectively choked on all that awkward self-promotion, I shall retire and wish you all the finest of weeks ahead.

Aesthenopia: A Primer

Dear reader, after a shameful, stuttering start to Operation Stanley, things are rolling. I’ve got two collaborators in on the mission, and while I was initially rather confused at how to corral the tone of this new project, everything is very much on track. Excited and comfortable with tempered output. Like sipping a fine spirit, or some other tepid analogy.

Anyway, while I won’t update NGAAT with every piece of art and its process, I may as well do something horrifically narcissistic before bed and throw down this early foreground slice. Still need to add a few more characters, adjust some lines, add a touch more detail…then, it’ll be assembling the mid and backgrounds, which I’ve got planned out. Oh, if only my highschool art teacher could see me now. “Now Alex,” the aloof John Knap would say, thumbing through my submitted sketchbook, “I can see a finished artwork over there…but this visual diary is empty. Where’s the planning? Where’re the development records? You’ll be lucky to pass.”

And here’s one for those who were in on the joke: “It’s due…NOWWWW, GENTLEMEN!”

A population of three people would get that, including the great DM Scheer, Lord Chan and, well, myself. Anyway, the mid and background sections are planned. Once linework is composited, it’s colour time. Really looking forward to having a proper piece finished. By the end of the month, with any luck, but realistically early December. 

Burning through my 0.05 Staedtler Pigment Liners and Uni Prockey markers feels good. Except those Staedtlers aren’t a buck like the Prockeys, so there’s a quiet requiem on my messy desk for each fallen soldier. They really have become the fineliner of choice, besting even the Nouvel Pigma Graphic range. German efficiency.

Construction & Lee Brimmicombe-Wood

With the weekend almost over, dear reader, it was time to clean house. Let’s get down to brass tacks, which in this day and age, is possibly the most under-used of all hardware commodities.

The above is a quickly-flatted piece I’ve been working on for Operation Stanley. Still much to do, lines to clean, perspectives to tweak and colours to figure out, but it’s coming along. One of those arduous scribblings that never had the luxury of an indulgent single or double session to render on paper, thus was pencilled and inked in spits and spats over the course of a week or two. There is still much more to do, with an entire composite background and other features yet to be added – still existing elsewhere in scrappy 2B form. Fingers crossed they don’t ruin the affair by botching the perspective. That said, as a fellow who revels in the finality of creating linework in the olden style – ala, never digitally – there’s a certain element of rumination about positing the next addition to a composite piece. Anyway, enough of that.

So, I owe you an ALIENS: Colonial Marines Technical Manual spiel. Here it is:

Buy this book.

If you’re a person who found themselves reading through pen and paper RPG supplements, or fastidiously studying technical concept art compilations, Lee Brimmicombe-Wood’s surgical banquet of hard sci-fi, using the tools of the ALIENS franchise, is for you.

Brimmicombe-Wood is actually a leading software engineer and game designer, which perhaps explains the clinical attention to detail. From the internal workings of the M56 Smart Gun computer targeting array – mentioned in an earlier post – to interstellar naval combat and the individual systems aboard ships such as the Sularco, Brimmicombe-Wood writes with a fervour not only to simply flesh out James Cameron’s film, but to inflate a universe that is only briefly inferred by the films.

And it’s a fascinating universe from a strictly hardware point of view. Getting to know the history and variants of the UD-4L Cheyenne dropship (in the pipe, five by five) was terrific. Even more so was reading about evolving infantry tactics in the Colonial Marines, coupled with advances in firearms and associated technology. The classic ALIEN/ALIENS androids and their use when embedded in USCM detachments. All given tangible legitimacy through Brimmicombe-Wood’s successful attempt to pad out what has, ultimately, turned to somewhat of a pop-culture cliché. I generally accommodate any sort of space marine archetype, on account of having a morbid fascination with military hardware, earthworks and heavy machinery, as well as sci-fi hardware, but there is no shame nor excuse made when one rifles through ALIENS: Colonial Marines Technical Manual.

I would recommend everyone, even those with a passing interest in either the movie franchise or science-fiction in general, check it out…but it’s not really a coffee table book. If learning that the M577 APC’s RE700 20mm gatling cannon has the option of firing AP fletchette rounds – caseless ammunition fed into a revolving chamber, sprayed with hypergolic binary propellants and ignited – doesn’t appeal, then perhaps stick to broader fare.

Personally speaking, dear reader, such mechanical detail leaves me unashamedly tumescent. Many thanks to DM Scheer for his vision and kindness with this one. The man can read me like a book.

Hmm, surely I can cram a tail-end slice of inanity in.

Well, contrary to these loathsomely narcissistic posts, I generally hate to self-promote. Calling it an insecurity would be conservative, but it can get rather grubby. That said, I’ve been lucky enough to have had the opportunity to write a nice little column over at GamesAreEvil, specifically on strategy gaming. Now, as much as I’m a gross pretender when put against geniuses like the great DM Scheer, I’d like to think an everyman’s perspective is as warranted as the views of the true armchair generals. So, here’s the lowdown thus far:

Reign: Conflict of Nations

…Set in the aftermath of the Black Death, the great pestilence from the East that exploded in Europe in 1349 and took out up to sixty percent of the continental population, we find ourselves in Marienburg overseeing a fresh-faced Hochmeister and his fortified city of righteous Teutons. Of course, there are plenty of other Northern kingdoms to choose from, but who could deny themselves a mandate from the Holy Roman Empire to cleanse the West Baltic regions of those Old Prussia heathens? Of course, it also took a Polish invitation, but the Germans appear to have a habit of turning up before the invitations are sent out. In the spring of 1350, von Kniprode made his first move…

More Here

Stormrise

Creative Assembly’s alarmingly broken Stormrise – a game so thwarted by its own inability to grant the player any worthwhile control that I call it the strategic misfire of the generation solely by that deficit. Reluctantly so, mind you, as there’s some great ideas within.

More Here

Wargame: European Escalation

Remember the M60A2 Starship? Anyone? You know, that strange Patton MBT variant? Well, truth be told, neither did I prior to playing Eugen Systems’ Cold War opus. But that’s the thing about gaming and the inherent pedagogical propensity. I had just spent command points to unlock this curiously-turreted beast and was losing them in untold numbers across the green vales of the Rhineland. Just what was this Starship and why was it so terrible?!

More Here

Real Warfare II: Northern Crusades

“They be fatter than them we saw above Starkenburg.” the knight beside him observed, looking at Leuthold before joining him in looking at the birds. “Though I wager neither flight felt much the Lord’s own famine. These? Gluttony by way of Masovian flesh.”

“Sir Herwyn, had only the call of the chroniclers beckoned before the sword.” Leuthold said, turning to face his brother-in-arms.

“A man’s fate other than my own, Komtur.” Herwyn laughed. “Allow me prediction; the ravens roost amongst the corpses by nightfall, their bellies too full for heaven’s reclaim.”

Leuthold pressed his horse forward a few steps, squinting across at the treeline. The shadow of troops moving to the edge of the forest, the near-inaudible clank of arms their herald. He looked back at Herwyn, then along the mercenary lines. “By the grace of God, let us prepare them a feast.”

More Here

Also, after reaching out to some brilliant indie developers, I’ve snagged a couple of terrific interviews with more on the way. As follows.

Tread Heavily – Interview with Bombdog Studios’ Chad Mauldin on his mech sim M.A.V.

Tapping In – Interview with the Cabrera Brothers on cyberpunk text adventure CYPHER

Enough, they cried. Dear reader, I have bored you enough. Go on, toddle off. Enjoy the last few hours of your weekend, unless you’re in New Zealand or Australia right now, where Monday’s talons are already sinking deep into your slumbering forms.

End of an Era

Dear reader, Orbital Shipyards, the collaboration project that started half a decade ago, has come to a close. It was a very interesting project to be part of, to which I’ll leave the following thoughts.

It’s not particularly apt to say it was a collaboration by the end, as the great DM Scheer was the man in the engine room. At first, we both steered the ship, but when I departed for overseas in the early stages of the project, the distance and inability to be able to spitball ideas across a table – coupled with the trials and tribulations of getting married and settling into a new lifestyle – meant I couldn’t easily drink deep those draughts of heady, focused inspiration as I once did. The shifting of gears meant my contributions dropped off steadily and I felt great shame that the fervour wasn’t as strong as before, the ease of creation no longer as accessible as it once was. In many ways, the project outgrew me as DM Scheer tackled the most hard of sci-fi, the most scientific of developments. My humble scratchings from a perspective of scope felt starkly meagre in comparison.

My own input to the project was one of great consternation. Five years ago, I was happy with my quick and grotty artwork. However, as time passed and I worked on style and skills, especially in digital colouring, I hated looking at the old pieces. I couldn’t retcon these primitive pieces, and in an attempt to break the malaise around the middle of the project, I tried to shake up the artstyle using pencils and a few different scanning methods – both of which ended up making the cohesion of aesthetics look schizophrenic. It was only in the later few contributions to the project that a few of the ‘new style’ pieces ended up working to my satisfaction. By that time, as much as the methodology for cohesive creation – the personal ways, if you will – were in place, my ability to hook into the project for illustrative purposes was hideous diminished. DM Scheer was spinning huge scenarios and complex socio-political events, and I was sitting there not confident in my grasp to do them justice.

That was then.

As much as that reads like some massive self-slap, and it is, this was one the great creative learning experiences a bloke could hope to be part of, as well as a lot of fun.

The inception of OS was amazing. DM Scheer and myself, hilariously – and sometimes painfully – not always on the same page at times, totally had this fusion drive-mentality, with Wikipedia running hot, links being exchanged, ideas being chewed over and the birth of an arc that would last as many years as it did. Figuring out how to do offworld mining with chemical lasers, population, life support systems, bureaucracy and all the other issues and developments life on another planet would deal with.

I saw my scribbles be given literary ballast by way of DM Scheer’s masterful and technical way with words, his love of science and minute detail. As much as I can’t shuck the disappointment in my own early work, knowing that they were the blueprints from which DM Scheer took to craft his epic narrative is something rather humbling. While it was five years coming, to finally render the original colony ship…and give a face to what the man had been writing about all these years was a quiet moment of victory.

So, lessons learned?

For me, it’s about throttling expectation of creative output. Gear the output/lifestyle ratio accordingly. With a young daughter, a number of jobs on the go and the usual rigmarole of family life, as much as the creative fires burn to the point of frustration, those long sessions of unabridged output simply don’t exist and won’t exist for the time being. Inspiration is much harder to channel and corral, let alone in the unexpected event of a window of opportunity. That said, having worked out a rendering and colouring methodology of sorts, I can get artwork up and running fairly quickly now. There’s still a fair few niggles and I’m never happy, but we’re at a point where the middling stuff is lightyears ahead of the old stuff – and rightly so.

Learning to stop the self-hatred and self-doubt as a scribbler. Never using the term artist, preferring to use illustrator, I’m getting over this creatively-destructive, palsying perspective of post-render disgust.

The next project is going to be good, and stepping it up a notch in terms of collaborative freedom as well as methods of construction. Now is the time, I said to DM Scheer. And truly, after OS, I think it certainly is.

P.S. I still owe you folks a review for ALIENS: Colonial Marine Technical Manual. On the list of things to do, but one just had to pen a few thoughts on the closing of one huge project.