As June gives way to July and the first half of 2019 yields unceasingly to the second, we at Mediolana are assembling product components from all across Europe; running logistics tests; and generally doing everything possible to ensure a blissful summer ahead. Something very exciting is about to happen – be sure to stay tuned!
With the Pro Evolution Soccer (‘PES’) series having struggled for so long – and in all plausibility, so needlessly, given the preexisting code – to regain its exhilarating essence, we at Mediolana have recently been reflecting on the Konami Digital Entertainment franchise at its imperious best: the years from 2003 to 2006 which gave the world what are still probably the greatest iterations of computer soccer ever created.
The strengths of Pro Evolution Soccer editions 3 to 6 inclusive were many, but beyond the oft-mentioned game dynamics and stunning replication of individual footballers’ playing styles, the sheer attention to detail and devotion to quality oozed from these products’ every pore. And while later versions simply did not contain the core of what made PES raise the pulse of every soccer devotee who ever had the privilege of experiencing it, certain more peripheral elements still contained traces of glories past.
One of these elements in particular – the credits music which would accompany PES’ long and illustrious list of contributors, headed up by no less a figure than fabled producer Shingo ‘Seabass’ Takatsuka – has long fascinated us, and set us thinking about how some artistic works end up being perceived as great works while yet others languish in obscurity.
The credits music for Pro Evolution Soccer 2010 is perfect illustration of this dynamic. A deeply melancholy and contemplative piece tinged with liberating aggression, it is built around a group of ten recurring notes of relative complexity. (Comparisons with the opening notes of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 may prima facie appear far-fetched, but the parallels are nevertheless discernible.)
And yet the deeper paradox of this profoundly moving composition is that it is buried in an optional mini-movie within a video game which is the best part of a decade old. Someone has had the vision to upload this short film to YouTube, where it has amassed barely 1,000 views and will likely continue to exist as an unloved digital museum exhibit.
It is of course widely recognised – at least in some circles – that human systems often function in a highly imperfect manner; the world of culture is certainly no exception to this rule, and at best can be said to work as a semi-meritocracy. However, the chasm between the beauty of PES’ credits compositions and their frankly non-existent critical reception places even this characterisation under suspicion, and leads one to wonder how many more brilliant musical works are destined to remain – to all intents and purposes – anonymous.