Sonic the Hedgehog remains one of the most painful franchises to exist in the modern era. The Blue Blur's 16-bit iterations were only short of total perfection, with Sonic 3 & Knuckles almost assuredly edging out the legendary Super Mario World in terms of moment-to-moment gameplay bliss.

Of course, those games were also blessed with phenomenal soundtracks. That fact didn't change when the series moved to 3D, but the overall franchise quality did. Although there is an immense portion of the resilient Sonic fanbase that obsesses over the Adventure series, and 3D Sonic in general, it's not hard to see that the hedgehog tripped over his own feet, and continues to do so, as every 3D outing is plagued by some awful, facepalm-worthy decisions by Sonic Team, or some horrendous programming.

Then there's Lost World for the Wii U. When the game arrived, it wasn't only lambasted by critics, but Sonic's biggest fans, as well. 

So, naturally I decided I needed to play it.

Going in, I assumed it would be something akin to Colors, where there were moments of utter glory, but with the majority of the package bogged down by any number of technical flaws.

Much to my surprise, I'm unwillingly loving the game. Sure, it's a major departure from Sonic's typical formula, but it's actually loaded with good ideas (for once... unlike "Werehogs" or "Wispons" or "Super Sonic DLC") and... they all honestly pan out (for once... unlike "Werehogs" or "Wispons" or "Super Sonic DLC"). I don't want to love it, or even like it. Yet here I am.

The game has an absolutely stunning aesthetic, taking major inspiration from Super Mario 3D World, and its gameplay is clearly inspired by Super Mario Galaxy 1 & 2, but despite the extremely obvious lifts (or "rip-offs," if you will) Lost World manages to take what Mario (and even Donkey Kong) did, and warp it to fit with Sonic, creating something unique in a world of Sonic Forces or Sonic 2006. 

It's not flawless by any means, though, and its soundtrack is, unfortunately, one of its weakest elements. 

There's nothing inherently wrong with it, but it's just so blasé when compared to Colors or the fantastic scores of Adventure or Forces. Like its visual and gameplay "inspirations" from certain Mario games, the soundtrack often seems to be aping Sunshine or Galaxy, but only their weakest moments, never fully growing into its own thing. Except for this, "Tropical Coast Zone Act 3/Sea Bottom Segue."

The gentle opening to the piece, which introduces the major progressions and backbone draws the listener in, and this gentle intro quickly accelerates (like a certain hedgehog) with drum-and-bass as the backing. The strings, chimes and ever-changing piano add a layer of emotional depth that, for whatever reason, manages to cultivate a nostalgic atmosphere. Then there's the fleeting moments of electronica to perfectly punctuate the various would-be climaxes in the piece. There's even a nice bridge that almost exclusively features the pared-down drum-and-bass before transitioning back to the fully, main body of the song, complete with its gorgeous progression.

Ugh. These mournful strings and harmonies legitimately bring a tear to my eye. This swirling piece sucks you into its heart-rending vortex, and it doesn't let go.

I want to bite my tongue off for even thinking the following sentence, but I must type this blasphemy for one and all to hear: I earnestly believe that this piece rivals, comes close to rivaling, David Wise's phenomenal soundscape and aural bliss from Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze, a score that fully immerses and transports the player to a realm that it purely defined by music. A place where no single track exists on its own, as they are all part of a cohesive whole that forms a mesmerizing experience, far beyond the simple act of having music accompany gameplay. 

Sonic Lost World's full score isn't exactly in that same boat, not even close, but "Sea Bottom Segue" seems like it could have very well slipped in amongst Wise's ultimate triumphs like "Seashore War" or "Stickerbrush Symphony."

And, once again, I wish I wasn't serious. But I am. 

Pokemon Snap is, for many, the ultimate Nintendo sleeper-hit. The fact that it hasn't been resurrected in any form since its N64 debut is unbelievably embarrassing, especially considering smartphones and the AR craze that could easily be taken advantage of.

Regardless, Snap is a unique experience in the world of Pokemon: instead of capturing the pocket monsters in the traditional sense, you're going on little safaris and capturing them with artful photographs. 

It's addictive, immersive and genuinely quite fun. I have fond memories of renting the game and sitting way too close to the TV (admittedly, I still do this when I play it.)

In the early days of the Pokemon craze, there was a palpable sense of mystery regarding the games, the show and the world they took place in. "What are the Poke Gods?" "Are Ash and Misty IN LOVE?!?!" "Did you hear about Mewtwo in the UNKNOWN DUNGEON?" "What's MEW?" (direct quotes from fellow students on the playground in '99.)

Snap nailed the aura of mystery that was lost after so many entries and episodes. The world of Pokemon felt real and alive in the early days, and Snap continues to do so. 

This is captured brilliantly in the game's exceptionally cinematic intro. Let's watch it below...

Starting out, I love how the natural scene is so efficiently set. The gentle pan and ambient sounds, with the slowly super-imposed logos, do wonders for immediate immersion. Like I said above, the ​Pokemon universe was, at the time, synonymous with mystery and a living world, something that this intro deftly creates.

The careful introduction to Todd, the protagonist, is also very well done, and his impressive-for-the-time model and realistic, motion-captured animations sell him as a living, breathing and relatable character from the outset.

I remember being astounded by how much this intro reminded me of the anime, particularly when Todd senses the nearby ultra-rare Pokemon, Mew. After an effective use of first-person, he snaps into action, only to miss the ultimate photo by inches. He then stares off into the sky, with a tangible sense of wonder and disappointment.

​Part of the brilliance of this intro is the fantastic score, which teases the motif for the final stage of the game, where Todd will finally get a chance to capture the photo that he just missed out on.

The gentle-but-tense musical composition is a great accompaniment to the rising tension brought on by the slick cinematography, both of which manage to create an incredibly powerful connection to Todd and the concept of the game. Despite not even playing it yet, you're already fully-invested due to how well the scene crafts the excitement of nailing the perfect shot of something incredibly rare.

And when the scene masterfully denies Todd the catharsis that he (and now the player) immensely desires, the intro has completely sold the player on what this game, and its unique premise, is about. And it's absolutely breathtaking.

My best friend has found himself on a shoot 'em up / bullet hell kick, and last night I had the pleasure (or displeasure, regarding Truxton) of playing a few of his favorites, both known and unknown. 

The night culminated in playing the PS4 release of Raiden V: Director's Cut and, good God, the soundtrack in that game was so high-tier and incredibly bonkers that I'm not even sure how to approach it or talk about it on this blog. It's so overwhelmingly good that we earnestly were begging the game's relentless composer to just stop due to sensory overload.

Yes, we were drunk.

Regardless, the experience inspired me to make this week's Soundcheck about one of the best games of the evening, Hellfire. This gem features an awesomely innovative system where you are able to change your firing pattern from forward,  to up-and-down, reverse and an X-shaped pattern at the touch of a button, with enemies and bosses (along with their weaknesses) being strategically placed to take advantage of this system, transforming this game from a generic genre-piece to something that stands on its own.

Since I've been inspired, I'd eventually like to do a list regarding some of my personal favorite "shmup" tunes, which will then hopefully give me the strength to tackle Raiden V appropriately one day. If my heart can handle it.

In the meantime, though, let's get right to business with Hellfire's awesome opening track, "Captain Lancer!"

"Captain Lancer" starts things off with a bang, featuring an intro that incorporates purely bad-ass harmonies and orchestration. 

It immediately transitions to its supremely-catchy (and deadly ear-worm) main musical idea, with flourishes every now and again, complete exciting and decisive-sounding build-ups before making its way to a calming bridge that still incorporates the infectious beat of the main body.

It'll then swing around and start things all over again... and by this point, the song won't be leaving your head for a lengthy amount of time, if ever.

Somehow, this short piece perfectly nails the ebb and flow of the gameplay, smoothly fitting with the action-packed, but also thought-provoking take on the genre. 

I'm not a wrestling fan. I never really was. That doesn't mean I don't have my favorites or an appreciation for the sport, however.

Back in the 90s, during the height of the "Monday Night Wars" between WCW and WWF, many of my friends were totally enamored and, although I never truly watched the product, I enjoyed playing with the action figures, going to the WWF restaurant in NYC and, especially, playing the incredible video games. 

The N64 was blessed with easily the greatest wrestling games of all time, but they're so much more than just "great wrestling games;" they're some of the best games on the system, period.

.... but this is not one of them.

The precursor to what would be the legendary roster of AKI-developed N64 games, Virtual Pro Wrestling for the PS1 (known as WCW vs. The World in America) was a very basic and clunky version of what exponentially better games would end on the Nintendo 64. That said, no matter how lame the game is, this intro is beyond bad-ass.

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I mean, what can be said? A non-desript, metallic CGI man is stomping through a desolate wasteland in outer space (?) and the celestial body of the sun rises, imbuing him with courage.

Out of nowhere, a futuristic wrestling arena emerges from another dimension, and series of quick cuts to our metal man and arena clearly build up the idea that this gentleman is being imbued with unparalleled power from the emergence of this high-tech ring.

This causes the man to pose and look threatening... and his poses are so powerful and his threatening aura so potent, that fire erupts from the will of his spirit alone.

Oh, and then there's that bitchin' sound track to accompany whatever the hell is going on. Those epic synths and that shredding guitar are unmatched (though all the N64 follow-ups have some fantastic music, too. Well, maybe not all.)  

God these were great times. 

While not often casually spoken of in the same breath as other all-time Sega Genesis classics like the Sonic series, Shinobi 3 is one of the system's best platforming action games. 

Gorgeous graphics and art direction, an excellent soundtrack and tight gameplay that, once you get a hang of, makes you feel like a true, untouchable ninja warrior, goes a long way to putting this near the top of anyone's "best of" list for the Genesis.

A deft mix of historic Japanese concepts mixed with a majorly-science-fiction edge gives the game a unique artistic status, and it's no apparent in the bonkers "Round 4" where your white-clad ninja hijacks (maybe?) a jet-powered surfboard and engages hostile hover bikes, power suits, and even mechs. 

And to accompany this we're given the excellent track called "Whirlwind."

Throughout the entire soundtrack of Shinobi 3, the composer was able to take advantage of the Genesis' infamously warble-y sound chip and deliver piece after piece of high-grade bad-assery, and "Whirlwind" is the epitome of them all.

​The cool-as-ice intro sets the scene while you try to grapple with the fact that a ninja is now riding a jet-surfboard-thing (and that if you dash, he pulls a wheelie, a fucking wheelie, on the surfboard. A surfboard!) and by the time the funky bass line and emotional main synth kick in, you're knee-deep in enemy forces and mechanized attackers. And still doing surf-wheelies. 

Part Top Gun "Mighty Wings," part Sega Genesis soundchip, all ultra-cool ninja bad ass mixed with sci-fi, and you've got a stand-out piece for one hell of a game. 

Come to think of it, Shinobi 3 has a pretty God damn great intro, so I guess that's on the list for An Introduction To Remember! 

For quite a while now, I've been wanting to create a type of article that discusses what I consider to be some of the coolest moments in video games (and maybe other media... we'll see!). Moments that left me breathless, excited, teary and more. 

Being in a majorZelda mood after helping one of my best buds conquer the original game (and then taking a plunge into Master Quest for the first time) I figured now was as good a time as any to kick off "Shatterpoint!," a series which discusses momentous moments that left a major impact on me.

Heralded by many as the best Zelda game of all time and one of (if not the) best video game of all time, The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time has certainly earned the moniker of "legend."

Featuring a lengthy campaign, perfect atmosphere, a beloved score, great graphics and a story not soon forgotten, Ocarina is (mostly) worthy of its praise.

And while I'd love to discuss many of the elements that make (or don't make) this game work so brilliantly, today I specifically want to focus on one particular moment: Ganon.

Something that really intrigued me as a youth was that each and every boss had a name card that appeared when they'd make their presence known within their lair. These cards had both a cool title along with their name, such as "Parasitic Armored Arachnid: Gohma" or "Giant Aquatic Amoeba: Morpho."

I thought this was so bad-ass. But the most bad-ass of all was when you finally got to face-off with Ganondorf in the future. A cruel, maniacal and power-hungry despot, I was not surprised at all for his title to be as intense as possible: "Great King of Evil." 

He wasn't just the King of Evil, no, he was the GREAT King of Evil. 

When you finally defeat him (and see blood, holy shit!) and escape his tower, you believe all is won. But it's not. Far from it. Out of the rubble erupts a raging, pupil-less eyed Ganondorf, who brazenly shows you that he still has the strength of the Triforce of Power.

Using it, he morphs into his true form: A towering, monstrous creature, whose lust for destruction knows no limits.

The sky dims, lightning strikes, and the source of all Hyrule's turmoil, creating two enormous roars a hideous battle cry into the bleak night.

And then his name appears.

"Ganon."

No title. No description. Just "Ganon."

It's as if the gloves were off and all pretense was dropped. And it's not even as though he needed a title; it's more like there was nothing else to say.

It had all led to this point, and now everything would come to an end.

After an entire game of being groomed to believe cool and descriptive boss titles would appear for every major encounter, to the point where you take them for granted ("Phantom Shadow Beast: Bongo Bongo," I mean, come on), for this concept to suddenly be tossed aside like this, it was immediately apparent how serious things had become.

This was an incredibly impactful moment for me, and left a lasting impression in terms of subtle story-telling.

This was a "Shatterpoint!"

While the art of the video game intro (or attract screen) is not exactly lost (like that of "Title Screens") it seems to be increasingly under-appreciated and under-utilized. 

I have so many fond memories of renting games from Blockbuster and watching the intros before dinner, letting my mouth water for the game (and yeah, the dinner, too, I suppose) before getting a chance to play. So many games have such incredible and efficient attract screens that do an awesome job of letting players know what the game is going to be like, often through exaggerated imagery, but, just like successful title screens, they were often perfect mood-setters. 

Because of that, I felt it was time to start up a new series on the blog dedicated to glorious intros and attract screens from my youth and beyond. And what better way to kick things off than with some gun-happy cowboys wiping out bandits in the wild west?

Sunset Riders is an excellent arcade side-scrolling shooter (with two superb ports to both the SNES and Genesis) where the players choose from an assortment of vigilantes/lawmen/bounty hunters (honestly, who knows?) in their quest to take out baddies on wanted posters. And if you didn't pick the pink-wearing bandito, Cormano, you're wrong.

This stellar intro sets the stage immediately, nailing the wild west atmosphere and general feel of the gameplay within the debuting seconds alone.

Opening with a shot of the cruel desert and the sound of a fateful wind, the camera pans to a stand-off, as a spurred-boot enters the frame.
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The bad guy draws, but is too slow, as Steve delivers a brutal shot that sends the criminal flying into the air. Next, we have Billy casually smoking a cigarette and lounging as he duel-wields his guns, eliminating lingering threats. 

Soon, Bob and god himself, Cormano (dat smile, tho) are shown delivering some cover fire and, just for the record, Cormano is just out in the open, with no cover. This man is a hero, ladies and gentlemen.

Lastly, we have the heroes on horseback, with a nice panning shot of their smug mugs, as the title of the game comes to life and the cowboys ride off into the sunset. Ya know, like sunset riders.​

Of course, what gives this scene extra power is the utterly fantastic score that accompanies it, with its perfect blend of spaghetti Western cliches, but with its own touch of Konami arcade action sensibilities. This style would continue throughout the game, producing some truly kick-ass pieces to accompany players while they brought law to the lawless.

Are there any intros you think I should cover next? Is there a more clever title than "An Introduction To Remember" out there? Let me know below! 

The Legend of Zelda for the NES is an experience that very few on the system offer. From the outset, players are thrust into an incredibly open and non-linear world, where secrets and dangers are around every corner. With little guidance, you and Link must work together to explore the world of Hyrule.

In a formula revisited by Nintendo's latest Hylian masterpiece, Breath of the Wild, most everything can be done in any order, and the joy of discovery is a constant thrill, whether it's finding the foreboding entrance to a labyrinth, or a casual Moblin hoarding some rupees under a bush. 

While so many of the game's peers focused on straightforward moment-to-moment action, Zelda carved its own path, fascinating and frustrating many in the process.

As we all know, that game was an enormous success and spawned countless highly-regarded sequels and masterpieces through the years, with many icons of the franchise being crafted in the very first outing.

Among green tunics, evil pigs, rupees and the Triforce, one of the most iconic elements was the fantastic soundtrack by Koji Kondo, which accompanied the player throughout their lengthy and often-confusing quest. 

Originally intended to be Ravel's Bolero, the world was this close to not having the incredibly recognizable Zelda theme before fate intervened through the magic of copyright laws, and Kondo was able to deliver a beloved theme and soundtrack that we're going to dissect and discuss below!

Editor's Note: for those who want to listen along, each song's title is a link to that particularly piece of music!

Immediately upon boot up, listeners are drawn into the game through an incredibly rich piece of music, using a familiar and nostalgia-inducing sound font, that puts the simpler themes of preceding games to shame. This dynamic piece is rich in variation and instrumentation, which is was an unbelievable rarity for its time.

The opening of the piece achieves a sense of grandeur while remaining serene as our first taste of the main motif takes shape. As the glorious title screen fades to night, the track transitions to a march as the familiar Zelda main theme takes shape for the first time. The density of the composition, along with the outstanding harmonies that Kondo was able to implement, establish this title theme on a pedestal that only a handful of the game's peers would be able to match.

Expertly composed, this outstanding piece created a tone for a world that players had never experienced before. It set a tone and established an atmosphere of a game that was unlike anything else on the system at the time. 

A song that will be heard many times, and quite frequently at that. Kondo goes for the feeling of dainty failure with a simple, music box-like sound, and it's strangely effective.

While nothing ground breaking, there's something calming about this little piece that manages to make you feel sorry for that little boy wearing the green who was killed repeatedly by the dreaded Peahats. 

One of the most famous pieces of music in all of video games, and certainly the most recognizable in the Zelda series, this slightly-modified Main Title is a straightforward march that accompanies all game play while in the overworld of Hyrule.

Triumphant, sweeping and boldly adventurous, it's not hard to understand how this piece came become so beloved. A fair amount of variation and complexity still exists, which helps dull the pain of hearing this on repeat for many hours.

This is simply one of those brilliant pieces of music, like the work of John Williams in Star Wars, that is somehow perfect, remaining fulfilling and enjoyable no matter how many times it's listened to. 

The brilliant opening fanfare sets the stage, for the harmony-laden main body of the track. Featuring ascending and descending takes on the motif and little musical flourishes, with countless moments of high adventure and danger, there could be no better accompaniment to the perilous rupee-hunting and Octorok slaying.

Brilliantly used as the core of the main theme for Ocarina of Time, ​this little jingle is also used by a similar item in Super Mario Bros. 3, the Warp Whistle. In Zelda, the Recorder is a surprisingly powerful item that allows Link to take advantage of Digdogger's sensitive ears (despite the fact that Digdogger is a giant eye ball surrounded by some kind of undulating plasma) and also sends a whirlwind to ensnare Link and send him to the entrances of all discovered dungeons (there is another use, too, but I'd hate to spoil it here!)

Incredibly simple in execution, it's astounding how infectious this jingle is, with its sweeping tone somehow packing an absolutely satisfying emotional impact. But it should come as no surprise, since Kondo would deliver an enormous amount of simple-but-satisfying jingles in not just this game, but in the upcoming Ocarina. 

Another iconic and simple masterpiece, the fanfare that places when Link acquires and item has been increasingly fleshed out through subsequent games in the series, but this is what they're all based on.

This doesn't shatter any standards, but it's hard not to grin at this triumphant piece. Especially if you've just acquired the Magical Rod. 

Perhaps the one piece that's more synonymous with the franchise than even the main theme, this jingle plays every time the player discovers one of the game's plentiful secrets or solves one of its puzzles. Once again, this was carried on to every subsequent game, but has seen very little innovation.

It's better that way, though, as this short collection of notes captures a sense of nostalgia and mystery in a perfectly concise package, and it has very few competitors in that realm.

A collection of descending notes that give the impression of swirling around a whirlpool, this is one of the weaker pieces on the soundtrack is the jingle for Link's death. While nothing is inherently mediocre about it, it lacks anything that stands out. This is a particularly glaring issues, since nearly every other piece of music in the game, from the smallest jingle to the engaging title music has some element that thematically sets it apart from other soundtracks of its era, giving them a decidedly unique "Zelda-ish" flavor. 

This would be rectified in later entries, however, as the enhanced version of this track, particularly in Ocarina, is excellent, but, then again, it's a stretch to call it "enhanced," since the newer version is such a massive departure structurally. 

A chilling piece of music, and one of my personal favorite dungeon themes in the series, "Labyrinth" is an exceptionally atmospheric piece that nails the ominous and threatening qualities of the underworld lairs that house the Triforce.

While the melody is simple enough, the performance is complex, creating numerous layers and an air of some Bach-like funereal themes with its organ-esque sounds.

When the players comes across one of the terrifying dungeon entrances on the overworld, and then decides to bravely enter, this song makes a perfect and most impactful impression. A superb juxtaposition against the comparatively cheery overworld theme, this dark, dank and haunting piece gives life to the creepy statues and repetitive interiors of these dreaded labyrinths.

Alas, there is but one negative about this piece, and it's the fact that, unlike the overworld theme, this underworld anthem can become grating, particularly when players are grappling with the similar rooms and frustrations of the eight labyrinths.

So while the song is an excellent atmospheric triumph, and still an overall heart-pounding piece to listen to, it does get long in the tooth if you've been stuck in a dungeon for far too long.

The most satisfying piece of the entire score, this glorious triumph is the perfect antithesis to the dreary music of the labyrinth.

When you finally best one of the game's bosses and enter the inner sanctum, you see the shard of the Triforce glowing against the bleakness of the underworld. Touching it, Link hoists it over his head and this triumphant fanfare erupts.

A grand take on the main motif, with unique harmonies and variations, the piece creates a whirlwind of emotion that's hard to put into words. 

Unfortunately, the theme for the final dungeon in the game is also the weakest. While "Labyrinth" could become grating, most of the dungeons were of a digestible length and, although wrought with frustration, were still able to be defeated without the music getting under your skin.

Unfortunately, "Death Mountain" is filled with the most annoying enemies in the game, and its size is unfathomably huge when compared to the eight lairs. 

You'll be hearing this song a lot, while also being increasingly frustrated.

This is a shame though, because on a contextual level, this piece makes perfect sense. A sort of proto-version of the eventual Ganon/dorf theme we'd get in future games, the composition and driving beat conjures an atmosphere of danger, evil and impending doom, which all fit perfectly.

Sadly, when coupled with the length of the dungeon, the difficulties within, and the short amount of time before the song loops, "Death Mountain" could conceivably leave a musically sour note.

When Ganon is finally decimated with the Silver Arrow, and the final Triforce is in your grasp, this joyful ditty plays.

Strangely, this pieces seems that it would eventually become part of the "Receive Item" jingle in future releases, but even in this original form, it fits the situation perfectly. 

While nowhere near as cathartic or triumphant as the "Triforce" fanfare, this still serves as a great and satisfying change of pace to the repetitive "Death Mountain" theme, and it still has a great element of relaxed victory, as if you can breathe a sigh of relief. 

When Princess Zelda is finally rescued, and the Triforce has been restored, this short but truly joyous jingle plays. It's strange to hear a theme for Zelda that isn't her famous lullaby, but what we do have still works well enough.

It's appropriately regal and rewarding, but the major downside is that it simply doesn't stand out as much as the other distinctly "Zelda-style" portions of the soundtrack, not unlike the death jingle. 

It's also strange that Kondo didn't attempt another, unique variation on the main theme a'la "Triforce," but oh well. 

Starting off as a take on the "Game Over" theme, and then slowly adding more instrumentation and flourishes, the "Ending Theme" transforms into a rather cute and jaunty piece that genuinely stands out from the rest of the soundtrack as unique, while summoning and atmosphere reminiscent of Super Mario Bros. 3 or its predecessors. 

While it's definitely unexpected and strange compared to the mostly-straight score of the game, there is something cathartic, relaxing and smile-inducing about this concluding piece.

While later titles would have sweeping suites and heroic outbursts, this fun little track just makes you want to smile and say "I somehow figured out what 'SPECTACLE ROCK IS THE ENTRANCE TO DEATH' meant."

The fact that the core of this music could have been "Bolero" sends a shiver down my spine, because this game's score is so chockfull of legendary compositions and beloved themes that the mere idea of them never existing due to a certain pieces of music being in the public domain is a terrifying thought. 

Each piece on this soundtrack is a perfect accompaniment to whatever the player is doing. They're rewarded for solving puzzles with a mysterious jingle, their encouraged to celebrate with a joyous fanfare upon acquiring a treasure, and they're emboldened to do battle and adventure with a triumphant overture. 

It'd be extremely difficult to replace these perfectly-fitting pieces with something else, making this soundtrack's contextual presence a marvel in the vein of peanut butter and jelly.

While plenty of Nintendo and third-party games for the NES have legendary scores that have created long-lasting legacies, very few of Zelda's immediate peers have such minuscule amount of tracks that somehow never become tiring or troublesome, despite the lengthy adventure.

While yes, it's been done before with the likes of Castlevania II, among others, Zelda stands apart with the sheer complexity of its title screen music, overworld theme and others. What it lacks in variety, it makes up for in sheer ear worm potential. 

Not only is nearly every piece enjoyable on its own due to structure and music, but they also manage to be incredibly catchy.

With no context to go by, Zelda's music is quite a few steps above some contemporaries, but doesn't quite reach the top of the mountain of the NES, mainly due to the comparably small size of the soundtrack as a whole. This doesn't hinder the enjoyment of listening to it purely as music, however.

Zelda's score is worthy of the title "legendary." Its legacy is undeniable, and the scope that Koji Kondo had in mind comes across beautifully, despite the technological limitations. 

While the soundtrack is on the short end, and does carry one or two comparable duds, the listenability and overall emotional impact and enjoyment further cements the original Zelda's place as a triumph, not just in terms of gameplay and design, but sonically.

Overall, a fantastic soundtrack that's capable of transporting the listener to the land of Hyrule, whether they know what that is or not.

To say that Zelda's first foray into the 3D space was monumental is an understatement. Ocarina of Time changed the playing field for action-adventure games, with its impressive story, puzzles, gameplay, music and, especially, its wonderful atmosphere and aesthetic.

From the peaceful-but-haunting Forest Temple, the depths of the Deku Tree, or in the dreamlike Kakariko Village, there's an exceptional atmosphere to the game that, even to this day, sets it apart from its peers and other Zelda titles. 

This atmosphere is nailed from the second the player fires up the game and is transported to the realm of Hyrule by the outstanding title screen.

The player is ushered in with the sound of hoof steps, with the vision of the moonlit night fading into day over a spacious field as Link, riding Epona, comes into frame. The logo for the game then fades into existence with a gorgeous, ethereal flame effect. With no SFX to accompany it, the visuals do the job on their own.

The rest of the title screen provides sweeping angles and shots of the at-the-time expansive Hyrule Field, tracking Link on his journey, before we are given a first-person send off into the mystery entrance to Kokiri Woods at the southern end of the field.

What ties everything together in crafting the perfectly executed title screen, however, is the gorgeous score. Curiously taking the recorder theme from the original Legend of Zelda (and the whistle theme from Super Mario Bros. 3) the idea, played by an ocarina, is expanded upon, and accompanied by a gentle piano with relaxing strings. Overall, this piece, along with the visuals, creates an at-once stirring and dreamlike world, the likes of which had never been seen before.

The holidays (more specifically, Christmas) are a special time of year for a lot of people.  Gift giving, beautiful lights, and delicious cookies are just a few reasons as to why, in case you actually needed convincing.  One of my favorite aspects of Christmas, though, are the movies.  They fill you with a comforting, warm feeling that helps give you a little beacon of optimism for the New Year ahead. The unofficial slogan, if you will, is “Peace on Earth and Good Will to Man.”  That does not apply to Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern in the Home Alone movies, though.  They receive neither peace nor good will from little Kevin McCallister.  One of my favorite Christmas movies has to be the sequel to Home Alone, Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. 

To me, it doesn’t get the recognition it truly deserves, so here are some reasons to prove why it just might top the first one.

​In order for a sequel to work it has to be a continuation of the original story while simultaneously be its own original new story   Like with most sequels, HA2 plays it pretty close to the first one (same director, composer, and writer), while at the same time it’s in a new setting.  Kevin is in a new situation and there are new ancillary characters with the main characters still in the movie.

​The first movie is a Christmas classic.  It had heart, Stooges-like humor, and an original plot, with 8 year old left home alone and force to grow up by fending for himself.  In HA2, he’s not at home anymore. No locks, no house phone, no neighbors; he’s on the streets of NYC by himself.  He made it through the whole movie without getting abducted, raped, OR murdered. Critically, though, the crooks were simply seeking lucrative robberies; now they're out for Kevin's blood. 

​There are few places on Earth as beautiful and damn near magical than Manhattan at Christmas time.  I strongly advise people that if you’re in the north east and are able, to make a day trip out of it and visit.  Some of the best Christmas movies have used this setting to their advantage like Elf and Miracle on 34th St. (1947). HA2 dedicated an entire montage to this fact, complete with a heartbreaking  shot of the Twin Towers.

​Love it or hate it, Christmas music can have a profound and lasting effect on us all.  The Home Alone films have utilized Christmas music perfectly, but I always loved the music in HA2.  It has the perfect mix of classic and more traditional songs like "Jingle Bell Rock" and the Johnny Mathis version of "It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas," along with refreshingly new and catchy Christmas songs by Darlene Love and Tom Petty, not to mention yet another incredible John Williams score.

​Enough said.  He’s in this film and if you’re a Tim Curry fan you’ll probably stop reading this list now and browse the other content on Joe’s fantastic blog.

​Harder hits make for harder laughs.  HA2 took the traps from the first movie and made them much more painful.  You could view this as Kevin punishing the Wet Bandits for not learning their lesson the first time.  This, in turn, made it so much funnier.  Daniel Stern getting electrocuted is still one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a John Hughes movie.

​I will admit that one of the sequel's detriments is its lack of heart compared to the first. Home Alone had the heart-wrenching subplot of "Old Man Marley."  In HA2, we just have Susan Boyle as a homeless lady.  This character felt kinda forced and there was seemingly nothing there, but if you rewatch it and see her as Susan Boyle, it gives her a lot more character.  She was staying in the attic of a concert hall.  Coincidence? You be the judge.

​In order to get away from the authorities after committing credit card fraud at The Plaza Hotel, Kevin uses a scene from the gangster movie he was watching to fool the concierge into thinking there’s a maniac with an automatic weapon in the room who isn’t taking hostages.  Watching this scene today and imagining him trying to pull a stunt like this in current day New York is stunning.  Not only would he become a felon on the no-fly list, but he'd be lucky to get out of the situation alive.

​Not since It’s a Wonderful Life has there been a more clear and beautiful example of good karma. When Kevin visits "Duncan's Toy Chest," he unknowingly meets the owner, E.F. Duncan, who rings him up.  After telling Kevin he donates a large portion of what he makes to a children’s hospital, the boy not only gives him $20, but eventually ends up saving every last donation from the Wet Bandits. 
In return, Mr. Duncan gives him and his family a literal truck load of gifts.

​When it comes sequels, HA2 is pretty good but, as far as sequels to a Christmas movie, it might be the best Christmas sequel ever made.  It’s definitely a somewhat niche genre of film, but can anyone name a better one?  The only one that can come close is Die Hard 2 but that’s debatable as to whether or not it’s actually a Christmas movie, and I’m not getting into that.

​One of the few downsides of Christmas movies is that you really only watch them at a certain time of year or else you look like a crazy person.  Halloween also has its own genre of movies, but slasher and horror films can be watched year round, even if they're more fun to watch on Halloween. 

There's something positive about the limited viewing window, though: watching a movie only once a year helps keep you from watching it too much, preserving its intangible holiday appeal. You can have a whole year go by so that, when you watch it again, it still feels fresh and remains something to look forward to. I know I’m probably in the minority, but Home Alone 2 is one of my favorite Christmas movies, so after reading my list, why not watch it again and maybe you’ll see why it means so much to me.