Growing up tragically deprived of video games until somewhere around the age of 10, I have the unshakable feeling that I missed out on some essential skillset that I’ll never be able to fully make up for.  Additionally, the intermittent exposure I had to gaming up to that point narrowed my enthusiasm for the genre to such a degree that I had no clue what I was missing out on.

It all started with Sonic the Hedgehog.  I don’t remember why, or how, but but my first real encounter with console gaming was the original Sonic on the Genesis.  If it had happened to be Mario, my retro gaming ineptitude might not exist as it does today.  Alas, fate caught me in its insidious web.

I loved Sonic.  I wasn’t very good at it, but that hedgehog had attitude.  Not that I knew what a hedgehog was, either.  And my parents weren’t quite down with videogames.  They did their best to encourage me to spend my time other ways, reading or playing outdoors like good little boys should.  Their main method of encouraging me not to play games was to simply not buy me a game console.

This worked pretty well.

But every year, for my birthday, a family friend — whose inner child was, more aptly, an outer child — would go out of her way to rent me a Sega Genesis and Sonic the Hedgehog.  And for a few days, every year, I’d play as far into the game as I could make it (which probably wans’t very far) and then do it all over again.

Fast forward a few years — the Nintendo 64 has been released, and an older cousin sends me his old Sega Genesis.  And, gradually, as I owned my own console and began saving up money to buy my own games, I became a gamer.  Pretty soon the Genesis wasn’t enough to contain me — I hoarded my money until I could afford an N64, and my allegiance smoothly transitioned from Sega to Nintendo.  Unfortunately, I missed everything else.

Hell, I hardly even touched a Super Nintendo for the full span of my childhood.  By the time videogames had their hooks into me, my friends were playing Saturn and N64 games.  When the Super Nintendo was dominant in the 16-bit era, I had a laughable knowledge of the wonders it contained within its grey shell.  I distinctly remember listening to kids at the lunch table discussing games, and at the time I had no idea that “Super Nintendo,” “Super NES,” and “SNES” all meant the same thing.

It wasn’t until years later that  I began to understand the sheer volume of unmissable games that I had unforgivably missed without a clue.  You could write a book on game design based on Mario alone, and the Super Nintendo’s vast library contained so much beyond Super Mario World.

But now I’m all-too aware of the treasures of the 16-bit era still waiting to be plundered.  And I still enjoy old games — in many cases, more than new ones.  But here lies the rub — I’m tremendously bad at them.

Somehow, I missed out on something important as a child.  I’m not sure what it was, exactly.  Maybe it was simply the skills gained by playing games ad infinitum until every nook had been explored, every secret uncovered, and every level mastered.  I didn’t get them.  Or perhaps it was something more innate, a magical familiarity with the medium absorbed through prolonged contact with Nintendo’s classic controller.

Either way, I didn’t get it.  And now, when I fire up games like Mega Man 2, my self-image as a gamer crumbles.  More than crumbles.  Implodes.  Even Super Mario World, a game children could finish in an afternoon, utterly torments me.  In fact, I’d challenge anyone to find someone worse at 2D Mario than me.  I’d go into that one pretty confident in my own ability to utterly fail.

At 20 years old I’m still trying to learn how to ride this particular bicycle.  it’s like being a kid, wobbly and unsure, but without the finely-honed instinct of youth.  And there’s a diamond in the rocky terrain of my fail-strewn path — I can still discover, with child-like glee, games that wore out their freshness for my peers years ago.  There are still moments for me to unearth that convey an incredible amount of emotion with so little.  When a midi and a sprite can make you feel more than the most incredibly choreographed, orchestrated and narrated games of the current generation, you know there’s something magic there that is rarely recaputed in 2008.  And when I dig back into the past and experience one of those moments, it’s like Christmas every time, and that is something I wouldn’t trade the world for.

The Rock Opera is an unusual and rare musical form that I can’t say I’m especially familiar with.  The Who’s Tommy is actually the only example I could name off the top of my head; and even then, the term is a little fuzzy.  According to Wikipedia, a rock opera differs from the more common concept album (a la the wonderful Sgt. Pepper’s) by being, well, operatic.  The album has to have some sort of storyline, as expressed by a singer or singers who personify certain characters in the narrative or recount their adventures.

Anyway, to the point of all of this.  Thanks to a timely Penny Arcade update, I learned of the band The Protomen.  They have recently released a demo from their new album, which I proceeded to listen to.  That was all I needed.  I was entranced, but Breaking Out couldn’t prepare me for the brain fucking The Protomen were about to give me.

The Protomen’s self-titled album is a rock opera through and through.  The story is based on Mega Man, and the immortal conflict between Dr. Light’s creation and the evil robot-ruling Dr. Wiley.  But The Protomen tells a tale far removed from the innocent 8-bit storytelling of the original Mega Man games.  It’s a dark, depressing future in which Dr. Wiley controls humanity with an army of robots.  Worse, humanity is unwilling to fight for its own freedom.  The album practically exudes George Orwell.  Hope lies with the proles, but they won’t stand for themselves…

The album kicks off with, quite possibly, my favorite track: “Hope Rides Alone.”  The beginning sets up the story with a quiet narration that could easily evoke images of Kyle Reese in The Terminator, explaining the destruction of humanity with unusual calmness.

“No one was left who could remember how it had happened, how the world had fallen under darkness. At least no one who would do anything. No one who would oppose the robots. No one who would challenge their power, or so Dr. Wily believed..”

I love Hope Rides Alone enough to quote the entire song, but we won’t go there.  The song is actually about Protoman, Dr. Light’s first creation, who he sends to oppose Dr. Wiley and his robots.  And when the moment of truth comes, when Protoman is struggling at the verge of death, the people gather to watch him fall.

“The crowd had gathered there to watch him fall, to watch their hopes destroyed. They watched them beat him, they watched them break him, they watched his last defense deployed. There was not a man among them who would let himself be heard. But from the crowd, from the collective fear, arose these broken words: We are the dead…”

Humanity, you pussies!  Protoman dies, and the flicker of hope is extinguished.  Movement II A: Funeral for a Son is a horn- and organ-driven instrumental piece that really carries the somber, remorseful tone from the end of the first act to its natural conclusion, as Dr. Light grieves for Protoman.  But the tale isn’t over, and it’s in the second part of Act II that we hit our rock opera stride.

II B: Unrest in the House of Light takes a pretty bizarre thematic shift into…western territory?  If you’ve ever seen any of Sergio Leone’s classic spaghetti western films, you can probably recognize the influence.  It’s that horse-ridin’ rhythmic beat that carries Dr. Light’s narration, as he recounts the death of Protoman.  But who is he speaking to?  This is where the album gets a bit harder to follow, which is natural given the character-based narration.  Maybe he’s never referenced specifically to avoid copyright issues–I’m not sure–but Dr. Light is speaking to his second son, Mega Man.  He pleads with Mega Man not to leave, to travel the same doomed path that Protoman took before him.

III: The Will of One.  Mega Man speaks with Light about his destiny, and decides that he cannot remain safe inside while the people without suffer.  The instrumentation returns to a harder, electric guitar-driven form, with a background synthesizer that definitely brings 80s video game music to mind.  Despite the simplicity of the platforms, composers 20 years ago managed to create some incredibly catchy and memorable tunes.  As the song ends and Mega Man faces down Wiley’s robots, they give us another taste of dystopian oppression:

“We have control. We keep you safe. We are your hope. We are in control.”

IV: Vengeance.  The music takes on an even harder edge as Mega Man screams at Wiley’s forces.  He’s determined to destroy everything Wiley sends against him, but something is not right…

V: The Stand (Man or Machine).  All of a sudden we’re back to somber, reflective…piano begins the song, but why?  Because Protoman is not really dead.  Forsaken by humanity, he has turned his back on his own people.  Can Mega Man kill the brother he set out to avenge for the sake of a people who will not stand for themselves?

VI: Sons of Fate.  The final battle.  Musically, Sons of Fate is probably the most difficult track to follow.  It’s fast, and the opening is a back-and-forth conversation between Mega Man and Protoman that can take several listens to understand.  As the crowd demands the death of Protoman, Mega Man finally realizes that his brother is right: there are no heroes left in man.  We are the dead.

Epilogue: Due Vendetta.  The final track is actually disconnected from the rest of the album, but it’s pretty awesome nonetheless.  It actually samples Mega Man, and it’s basically a rockin’-out closing to round out the album.

The Protomen is an incredible album for so many reasons.  The concept is practically unheard of, and they actually pull it off.  If you just want to sit back and listen to some kickass music, it’ll suit you just as well.  There’s plenty of electric guitar and bass to satisfy just about anyone, but those looking for more can really get into the story.  Or the vocalists, who give each track a unique feel.

I have already decided to make it a personal mission to see them live as soon as possible.  I have a feeling it will be a hell of an experience.  In the meantime, listen to them on Last.fm.  Then listen to them again.  When it sinks in how amazing what you’ve just heard really is, buy it.