I originally wrote this for a website about three years ago and went looking for it as a reply to a 'games that changed your life' thread - but it's a bit long for a reply so I've updated it and posted it here instead…
It’s the sound, I think.
More than the sandy beaches and palm trees. More than the branching routes and agonising countdown. More, even, than the girl and the Ferrari.
It’s the sound that really makes OutRun special.
It’s fairly unlikely that I encountered Yu Suzuki’s iconic driving game 33 years ago but it was then, late in 1986, that the bright red and vaguely car shaped cabinets first arrived in Japanese arcades.
It's more likely, however, that a couple of years after that I would discovered it when my grandparents took me and my brother on holiday to Great Yarmouth, a popular seaside destination for people living, as we did, on the outskirts of London. This was largely thanks to its ‘Pleasure Beach’; an aging collection of roller coasters and other death-trap rides and attractions jutting out into The Wash.
I have vague memories of walking past cavernous arcades and hearing it above the fruit machines, the other kids, and the lesser games. OutRun wasn’t louder than Hang-On, R-Type, Pac Man, or Arkanoid - but every sound effect and every piece of music was totemic, everything emitted from those headrest mounted speakers was a siren call across a sea of noise, an irresistible demand for unspent pocket money to be dashed against its sandy yet unforgiving shores.
It’s fairly unlikely that I encountered Yu Suzuki’s iconic driving game 33 years ago but it was then, late in 1986, that the bright red and vaguely car shaped cabinets first arrived in Japanese arcades.
It's more likely, however, that a couple of years after that I would discovered it when my grandparents took me and my brother on holiday to Great Yarmouth, a popular seaside destination for people living, as we did, on the outskirts of London. This was largely thanks to its ‘Pleasure Beach’; an aging collection of roller coasters and other death-trap rides and attractions jutting out into The Wash.
I have vague memories of walking past cavernous arcades and hearing it above the fruit machines, the other kids, and the lesser games. OutRun wasn’t louder than Hang-On, R-Type, Pac Man, or Arkanoid - but every sound effect and every piece of music was totemic, everything emitted from those headrest mounted speakers was a siren call across a sea of noise, an irresistible demand for unspent pocket money to be dashed against its sandy yet unforgiving shores.
I would have made my way across the tacky floored room, avoiding eye contact with the bigger kids and ignoring games that would previously have had my full attention, all the time a silent chant would have repeated in my head: “Please don't be taken, please don't be taken, please…"
The game's iconic credit tone, a high pitched fanfare heralding my backsides arrival in its well-worn seat, would have trumpeted a welcome. Fittingly, my first true interaction, as is everyone's, is to select the music that will accompany your blast through the game’s pixelated vistas.
Magical Sound Shower, Splash Wave, or Passing Breeze? Arranged left to right and chosen with the steering wheel, selection confirmed with a press of the peddle, a rev of the engine.
The game's iconic credit tone, a high pitched fanfare heralding my backsides arrival in its well-worn seat, would have trumpeted a welcome. Fittingly, my first true interaction, as is everyone's, is to select the music that will accompany your blast through the game’s pixelated vistas.
Magical Sound Shower, Splash Wave, or Passing Breeze? Arranged left to right and chosen with the steering wheel, selection confirmed with a press of the peddle, a rev of the engine.
Hard left and floor it, Magical Sound Shower. Every. Single. Time.
And it starts. A crowd cheers, the starter counts down. 3 – Fidget in the seat. 2 – Check the gear is in the Lo position. 1 – Adjust your foot on the accelerator.
Go.
A squeal of tires. Watch the speedo 150, 160, 170, 180kph, knock the gear lever down to Hi, another squeal lets you know you missed the sweet spot.
Sweep around that first easy left and you’re away, transported to a faraway coastal ribbon of tarmac. You, the girl, the car, and the road. What else could you ever want?
Magical Sound Shower is a slow building tune. It was the ringtone of my Siemens c25e, it’s the ringtone of my Nexus 2, and on these, and every phone in between, I’ve had to edit out the first minute or so to ensure it begins at the recognisable bit.
But in the game, when you’re easing through those first corners, the long intro reflects the anticipation of what’s to come, it leads you down that wide road and it bursts into life just as you clear the first tricky corner. ‘Congratulations’, it seems to say, ‘now let’s really get going!’
But in the game, when you’re easing through those first corners, the long intro reflects the anticipation of what’s to come, it leads you down that wide road and it bursts into life just as you clear the first tricky corner. ‘Congratulations’, it seems to say, ‘now let’s really get going!’
OutRun isn’t a race. After decades of playing the game on various formats it wasn’t until I read an interview with Yu Suzuki two or three years ago (the exact source eludes me) that the truth of this really solidified in my mind.
Unlike almost every other game of its type OutRun isn’t about going faster than anyone else or arriving anywhere first and winning a medal.
OutRun is about going as fast as you can, as far as you can, for as long as you can. It’s not a racing game, Mr Suzuki declared, it’s a driving game.
And what a drive it is. Mountains flash by to be replaced by fields of wheat, stone structures bridge the road before trees, their tops enshrouded in mist, take their place. You’ll blast through deserts and vineyards, visit desolate towns and coastal villages. Each of the game’s 15 levels has its own personality and each is wonderfully realised in Sega’s then ground breaking Super Scaler graphics engine.
The only thing stopping you seeing them all is time.
The only thing stopping you seeing them all is time.
Today, time limits are seen as indicative of poor design. Put a countdown clock on-screen and the modern game consumer will roll their eyes and move along. You may as well have 3 lives and no save points.
But OutRun’s clock was the enemy, as irrepressible as it should be, immovable and unfeeling, its sole purpose, as with that of any good video game adversary, was to end your game.
But OutRun’s clock was the enemy, as irrepressible as it should be, immovable and unfeeling, its sole purpose, as with that of any good video game adversary, was to end your game.
You didn’t die in OutRun, you simply stopped. No more road, no more speed, no more wind in your hair. The music changed to a calm, almost melancholic ballad, the map shows you how far you came, and how far you still had to go.
My hand would have dug aground in my pocket for another heavy, silver, 50p coin.
The iconic credit fanfare would have heralded my decision to try again.
Hard left and floor it: Magical Sound Shower.
3… Every
2… Single
2… Single
1… Time
Go!
