Believe it or not, there was a time in my life when everything just felt right. It was a time of great happiness, perhaps unparalleled in my personal history. At moments of great distress I like to close my eyes and reflect on those joyous nights. If I focus hard enough, I can recall the taste of bakery-fresh, multi-colored sprinkles cookies and Pepsi, the smell of Glade vanilla-scented candles, and the chills that ran down my spine as I rounded dimly-lit corners or proceeded through teleporters. I speak, of course, about the countless nights my friend Matt and I spent massacring online gamers in Quake.
Released in 1996, Quake was a Wolfenstein or DOOM fan’s dream. Huge, elaborate levels, wonderfully tenebrous and gothic-as-hell, the suspense of navigating through each episode was enough to make one’s skin crawl. Single-player mode was fun, but Multiplayer mode was where the Quake was transformed from a regular old anti-social hobby into pure obsession.
Now, before I totally geek out, I think it is imperative to state that I was not a computer nerd in high school. I was something of a chameleon. I could and did get along with all cliques. My friends and I drank and smoked pot and hated all our schoolmates equally, just like everybody else. I was not some kind of social outcast or loser who sought solace in the warm glowing glow of his computer monitor.
That said, let’s talk more about Quake. I’d go so far as to say it was the Dungeons & Dragons of the ’90s. Matt disagrees with my contention, preferring to compare Magic: The Gathering to Dungeons & Dragons. I guess it’s hard to argue with him on that one. Anyway, Quake was released a good two or three years before cable modems became prevalent, so Matt and I generally had to connect via dial-up to the dedicated server. On some nights, I would bring my Dell desktop over to Matt’s house and connect to him through a hub so that we could play head-to-head. The most popular multiplayer mode was called “deathmatch.” In deathmatches, the goal is to kill as many people as possible. Sometimes there were teams involved, but usually you just shot anything that moved. I’d say Matt and I were very comparable deathmatch players. We each had our favorite levels, which created a sort-of home-field advantage, but for the most part we were equals. My personal favorite style of multiplayer game was called “capture the flag.” It reminded me of Child’s Play 3, which always scared the shit out of me as a youth.
With Quake, losing oneself in the game was all about ambiance. Being up late…Sifl & Olly playing in the background…the dim lighting of Matt’s basement…the weird, crackling music of our chosen soundtrack. Maybe we couldn’t always agree on what level to play, but the one thing Matt and I always agreed on was music. Yeah, I guess it was pretty cool that the soundtrack was written by Trent Reznor. It was sinister as hell, but it wasn’t enough to keep our adrenaline pumping, especially not with all those blood curdling screams whenever a player died, or the awkward cum-guzzling sound that accompanied an underwater death. Our epinephrine levels craved something faster and heavier. At Matt’s suggestion, I purchased the Crystal Method CD Vegas. It turned out to be the perfect score for a game such as Quake.
There really was something magical about the combination of Quake Vegas. I’ve never liked techno music, and I still don’t. The big beats and fusion of rock and hip-hop seems like the complete opposite of that murky Trent Reznor soundtrack, but it worked perfectly. Like I said, good ambiance was paramount to a quality Quake session. “Trip Like I Do,” “Keep Hope Alive” and especially “Bad Stone” always seemed to fit together with seemingly any Quake level, and any style of gameplay. To say that Vegas made the experience would be lofty praise. Perhaps too lofty. But it worked oh-so-fucking well.
The switch from dial-up to cable connections saw the number of hours logged in deathmatches skyrocket. Late nights turned into early mornings. Twelve-packs of Pepsi turned into twenty-four packs. There was also the night Matt’s mom found a box overflowing with porn that his older brother’s best friend had bequeathed to Matt. That was pretty hilarious.
To make a long story short, the sequels to Quake all sucked and until today I haven’t listened to the Crystal Method in maybe eight years. I found a clean copy of Vegas on vinyl, and will be auctioning it off on eBay along with a copy of the very rare and very out-of-print Bright Eyes EP entitled, Every Day And Every Night. You can view (and bid) on my auctions by clicking here.
