With the recent cancellation of Silent Hills, I wanted to bring back a piece that I had written several years ago. Some minor changes have been made to ensure the piece was up-to-date.
When I was 14 years old, my friend Alex rented Silent Hill, the first of the now infamous Konami series. He invited me over that night, full well knowing that this game would appeal to my horror fanaticism. Little did he know that he was going to ignite a passion for the Silent Hill franchise that has yet to diminish. Also, little did he know that after turning the game off that night, the two of us were so scared that we sat back to back the whole night, steel baseball bats in hand, ready to fend off whatever creatures came our way.
Let me backtrack for a moment, if I might, to discuss my love of music. This is a passion that began when I was but a small child, perhaps three or four years old at the most. You see, I was able to play video games before I was actually able to fully read. As a matter of fact, the first time I read was when I was sitting with my mother on the couch, my father sitting on the floor a few feet away playing a game of Tetris, the music of Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” filling my ears.
These early days of video games — when their soundtracks consisted of not much more than two, perhaps three, melodies — are what I credit as the beginning of my love of music. To this day, I feel stirrings in my chest when I hear the overworld theme from The Legend Of Zelda. When the intro screen of Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest loads, I become slightly uneasy before I can even press “New Game.” And funny enough, over 25 years since its release date, my father and I can still belt out the level music to Karnov.
Although my musical tastes have long since evolved and grown into other avenues and territories, I still find myself paying close attention to a composer’s work when I play a video game. Music is what draws me in, envelops me, and sets the mood. And no video game composer better exemplifies the proper use of music in creating tension and fear than Akira Yamaoka and his work on the Silent Hill franchise.
Being that there are officially nine entries to the series (I’m leaving out the play novel and The Silent Hill Experience), I decided to focus this piece on the impact the soundtracks of the first two games of the series had upon me.
When I played Silent Hill 1, I can honestly say that my view of video games and their impact changed dramatically. Here was the first time that a survival horror game delivered the full package: a terrifying story, brilliantly executed graphics that embraced the limitations of the system hardware, and a soundtrack the likes of which had never been heard before. (And yes, I include Resident Evil in that statement.)
Instead of going down the Resident Evil symphony path, Yamaoka crafted sounds that seemed to come from some abandoned industrial factory, one that is full of the skeletal remains of machinery which creak, bend, and strain as the years float by. This grime, this dirtiness, served as a complement to the filth and graininess of the game.
The selections “My Heaven,” “Don’t Cry,” and “I’ll Kill You” are perfect examples of the cacophonous insanity that players were treated to during some of the more intense moments of the game. Tracks such as “Claw Finger,” “Fear Of The Dark,” and “Nothing Else” show that even during moments of respite, there is a constant unease bubbling under the surface, eager to break free.
Listening to the original soundtrack to prepare for this article, I constantly felt the need to scrub myself clean, to wash myself of the ichor that seems to permeate these 42 tracks. Believe it or not, I used to fall asleep to this music. I wish I would’ve had some foresight and written down my dreams (nightmares?), if only out of current interest.
Silent Hill 2 was able to up the ante for the series primarily due to its release on the Playstation 2, a major hardware upgrade from the Playstation 1. This meant that not only were graphics vastly improved, but also that the game supported much higher quality sound and music as well as 5.1 surround sound. To say that I took advantage of this is an understatement. Honestly, the only reason I purchased my first surround sound system was to hear Silent Hill 2 in all of its aural glory.
My love of the Silent Hill 2 music began even before the game was released. Rather, it began when the first trailer came out using “Theme For Laura” as the music. So entranced was I by this tune that I immediately found a bootleg MP3, burned it to disc, and proceeded to learn it on guitar. Yes, my parents were slightly nervous because of the joy I was getting out of such a terrifying, sadistic game but they learned to get over it. Hopefully.
After the game was released (and I had beaten it countless times), I found the soundtrack for sale at a local anime store. I immediately purchased it; the soundtrack did not leave my Discman for nearly three months. It drew me into its sublime, eerie beauty in a way that no other album had done before. I felt my heart yearn and ache during “White Noiz.” I shivered in fear during “Ashes And Ghosts.” I felt closure when the final chord of “Promise” faded out.
I could easily spend pages upon pages detailing my love for certain tracks and the beauty hidden within, but I dare not bore you readers any more. As it stands right now, when I search for “Silent Hill” in my iTunes library, 425 tracks come up. In terms of time we are looking at 16.3 hours. In terms of memory, around 1.27GB. I use this music for gentle meditation, study and research, background music, and of course, music during Halloween.
And though these tracks serve mainly as a reminder of the stories of the games, they also serve as markers of different eras of my life. As near and dear to me as some of the main characters of Silent Hill are, the most important character, the one that has been with me the longest, is the music.
