GTA V – the healthy way to embrace gratuitous violence.

GTA-V

One of the main motivations for making my computer 4K capable was to play Grand Theft Auto V. Sure, it had gotten great reviews on the consoles, of course it did, but I had other motivations. Escapism is a necessity for your sanity, and indulging in violence when there are no consequences is a fun way to unwind. There are other games that allow us to project and enact violent desires and fantasies, but the GTA games add another enticing layer, its fiction closely mimics actual reality, and violent crimes committed in the name of theft are fun, and more than anything, suspending reality allows crime to pay, and pay very well.

All of the GTA games are superb, but my excitement at the prospect of playing GTA V reminded me of playing the best of the series, and, in my opinion, the best game ever, Grand Theft Auto Vice City, and that made me consider its legacy. The combination of its branding, the promise of its premise and the specific cultural nostalgia that constructed and informed Vice City’s narrative are what first drew you in. But what makes it the best? It firmly established the GTA brand as a cultural phenomenon, to the point, that even now, over ten years on, there’s something appealing about departing to Vice City. Recalling driving down Washington Beach in a Lambo, with the sun setting as ‘More Than This’ by Roxy Music plays on the radio still stirs the emotions.

Why? It fulfils a materialistic dream, many of which are based upon on idealising cultural references which we aspire, but mostly fail, to emulate. This means the success of the GTA series has transcended the references they use and used. Now the franchise has become absorbed into mainstream culture and is idealised because it provides one of the few accessible guaranteed routes we have to hedonistic escapism. Vice City’s ability to offer vicariousness means it now sits alongside the references and cogs of aspiration we find synonymous with the glamour of 80’s escapism it embodied so successfully; the Miami Viceness of its aesthetic, the 80’s kitsch style and garish excess, the music of era – when pop music was at its height, you know, it was total cheese, but it was a cheese with flavour, hand made with care and skill, like a rich Brie – the use of clichéd movie references everyone knows, or the tantalizing sleaziness of drug dealer chic. Better yet Vice City only arrived at this lofty status because it didn’t take its ability to imbue our individual cultural nostalgias seriously.

Now that it’s 2015 most sensible folk don’t take the argument that playing GTA and other games of its ilk encourages violent behaviour seriously, but we should, because the opposite is true. Gaming, particularly games that require us to commit murderous or violent acts, helps to stop us from tipping over the edge. To paraphrase Rust Cohle from True Detective ‘we’ve evolved too well, we’ve become self-aware’. Our nature is inclined towards the natural selection model, yet we expend a significant amount of energy repressing and or overriding our innate impulses and urges. These urges and impulses are mostly banal, say ‘I want a Twix right now’ and are easy to repress or the consequences are diminished if we submit to them. However, we still need to find outlets that can satiate the urges that civilization’s ethical constructs are incapable of quenching.

That’s why each new edition of the GTA series comes with fewer limitations on what you can do. Even better it perpetually encourages you to indulge in something, or try it. At the start you’re overwhelmed with choice; explore the vast terrain, watch a preposterous surrealistic movie of Freudian analysis in French and Spanish, play darts, tennis, search for nuclear waste, talk to odd characters, run over wildlife in a sports car, jump off skyscrapers, drive recklessly on purpose, take a hit on the bong whilst sitting on the sofa, watch cartoons fused with sexual innuendo, shoot a hipster in the face because he/she took a selfie, play the stock market, pick up a prostitute, go for a therapy session, as well as committing petty robberies and doing good deeds.

Rockstar isn’t motivated by any altruistic attempt to make the world safer, but as it needs to keep adding these innovations to stop the format from going stale, it does so in a roundabout way. The best of the new additions was not only controlling one protagonist, but three, and being able to switch between them and intertwining their fortunes into altering the story mode’s ending. During certain heists you can choose when to switch between characters, in others you need to at the right times if you want to be successful. Providing multiple options of how the heists are carried out was another superb feature, as is giving each character a bespoke special ability.

Both Michael and Franklin are stock characters, clichés of clichés. Trevor, on the other hand, is a culmination of multiple facets of human excess and degradation; he’s a tragically self-loathing, myopic, ruthless, sociopathic lunatic and even better whilst playing as him you feel less guilty for doing the things he might.

GTA V does have its own specific moral compass, even if it’s shaded towards a disingenuously selective populist form anti-capitalism usually assumed by hypocrites, a position that benefits the game’s dialogue and plot. Ultimately you get to murder those who exploit others, but only after they’ve exploited you, so their deaths feel justified. These characters are based upon the famous people who run behemoth corporations, such as Apple, Windows or Facebook. You know who they are; they’re insincerely and sickeningly earnest, pathetically entangling their self-worth in the success of their company’s products and piously justifying it with the belief that they’re making people’s lives better, but underneath it all they’re just ruthless, heartless bastards. And you know this because the story mode in GTA V forces you to become one of them to ram home that point.

I have few gripes with GTA V. Playing it was such a blast, that I might start playing the story mode again. But it does have flaws, the controls aren’t ideal, but it’s difficult to think of a way they could be. Shooting and controlling the camera will always be easier with a mouse and keyboard, while driving will always be easier with a controller. Perfecting the controls for a game that’s fluctuates between playing on foot or in a vehicle, two different gaming formats, is difficult enough. One that requires shooting and driving, often at the same time, is extremely difficult. Trying to steer your car and shoot a moving target at the same time using a controller is just too slow and cumbersome. I’ve resorted to a compromise of holding down the accelerator trigger on my controller but using the mouse to aim, which meant I couldn’t steer the car.

Any other issues I have are minor and likely to be vanquished by the inevitable technological progresses of the near future. The AI of the game’s population can still result in comically weird spasms. I still can’t figure out the infuriatingly nebulous motorway network around the airport – surely it can’t be like that around LAX? My biggest irritation ironically infuses the game’s appeal – the police are annoyingly persistent and the public are quick to grass on you if you rile them up. I’d imagine this was introduced to make the game more realistic and challenging, but cleverly it also into impinges on the sense of implied freedom and escape that gaming in this world should give you, and in turn it fuels your desire to rampage and kill at the sheer injustice of it. And it’s not just the police either – a biker gang taking some shots at me sufficiently irritated me into a killing spree. When a redneck told me to fuck off I snapped. Though I confess this was due, in part, to me still not having gotten over the ending to Easy Rider, as my handiwork in the video below shows:

The best thing about GTA is how it wields sarcasm, either through character dialogue, the character traits themselves, who they’re based upon, or the conversations and whacky social commentaries found on the radio stations. The GTA series is incessant in taking aim at contemporary forms of materialism and capitalism, ideological freedoms we’ve become so beholden to and reliant upon. Playing it makes us realise, as all good fiction and entertainment should, that its extremes come too close to the reality of what is quite frankly a very bizarre and violent world in which we live. Take these gobshites who created that ungodly mess in Paris last Friday. I strongly suspect they were a humourless bunch who had no joy in their lives. All they had was an ideology that prevented them from doing what they wanted to and made them resent others who are free to indulge in hedonistic acts. They’re a perfect example that it’s more gratifying and effective to purge and channel any pent up hatred, irritation or disillusionment through an artistic or a creative endeavour that we’d consider entertainment, particularly the kind that we can manipulate into visually depicting versions of our own whims and fantasies.

So I have a solution – I think Rockstar should create a GTA game where you control a character and or various members of a terrorist cell that attempts to commit atrocities and create a world that eschews literature, free speech, and multiple forms of progressive modernity and hedonism. The subject should still be subject to sarcasm and belittlement, say GTA meets Four Lions (the Chris Morris film), and once you succeed in creating a caliphate the game would reveal how bleak and depressing that world would be to live in with no mission to distract you.

GTA V is one hell of a technical achievement and the GTV series is already widely popular, but neither of these things are its greatest achievement. That the world would be a safer more adjusted place if everyone embraced their impulses and played GTA V, is.

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Song Of The Day – Grey Cut Out (Version) by Sandwell District

From the album ‘Feed-Forward’ (2010)

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Song Of The Day – Old Dollar Mamie by Inmates of Louisiana & Mississippi’s state penitentiaries

From the album ‘Negro Prison Blues and Songs from Louisiana and Mississippi’ (2007)

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Essential Listening: Sleaford Mods – Divide and Exit (2014) & Key Markets (2015)

sleaford mods header

There’s that annoying occurrence where mainstream attention invariably corrupts artistic purity. It slowly assimilates its intent and tone into safer spheres. Once it’s commoditised it’s then more likely to be sold, well, that’s the theory anyway.

This partly explains the decline of The Sex Pistols. Their sound became synonymous in the creation of Punk’s legend as a mainstream antidote, but only because one of its underlying principles was to ‘not give a fucking shit’. In an effort to find the consistency required to satiate cultural tourism and those who wanted an authentic experience this attitude was bastardised for professionalism. The pressure to be better than they really were, or needed to be, destroyed the band’s method of catharsis. Getting on stage was a release, turning it into a job swiped away the confidence they derived from performing. There were other factors, primarily, the decadence that comes with consistent access to excess.

Knowing very little about The Sleaford Mods I was worried that something similar might beset them, but the release of “Key Markets” and a bit of research, after the last year’s critically acclaimed “Divide and Exit”, quelled any concerns.

In retrospect it was a silly to think the Mods might change. These lads are in their forties, they’ve been in the music business a while now, and listening to the lyrics it’s clear that any idealism or naivety they had about the industry or just life in general has long since evaporated. Plus, why would they change when what they’re saying, and the way they’re saying it, is likely to chime with what people see and feel about much of modern Britain?

Whether these fellas are just, just making music because they can, because it’s better than doing nothing, better than being on the dole, of not thinking about stuff, that getting old is a drag, or because the thought of working in a call centre, an office, or Tesco, is so fucking soul destroying, is their business. What’s important is that they’re doing it this way, without a lyrical or compositional disconnect between them and the listener. All of its constituent parts will resonate; Andrew Fearn’s beats and drum sequences are derivative of the punk and post-punk baselines you’ve heard and liked before, while Jason Williamson rants and swears profusely down the mic with his own East Midlands twang.

But this is more than some riffs, beats and samples and a random collection of thoughts and observations thrown together on top. And it’s also wrong to categorise the Mods as just a rebelling against the state, or Thatcherite capitalism, or the rampant sense of self-entitlement that’s been fomented for generations now, they’re mirroring the absurdities and inconsistencies of modern culture, particularly the ones we’re all responsible for creating and maintaining. This is political satire at its finest. It’s John Cooper Clarke, already aghast at the state of things, with a few pints in him, who’s finally pushed over the edge by the sight of some dickhead wearing a £250 pair of designer trainers, taking pictures of urban decay and “scroungers” with an iPhone because ‘it looks edgy’. It’s the music of consciousness, how justice can be found in ideas, you know, the things that actually matter.

This stream of consciousness delivery, energised by hurried Punk templates, isn’t usual, because it isn’t easy to pull off. There are rhymes, of course, but they never come at the expense of Williamson’s attempt to get a message across. His verbal bullets veer from comedic interludes ‘I just wanked in your toilet’, self-depreciation, to personal experience and wider cultural commentaries ‘the lonely life that is Tory’, often in a single verse. Take the start of ‘Tied Up In Nottz’, is there a more evocative opening line to a song than ‘The smell of piss is so strong it smells like decent bacon’? The following lines fizzle from one visual vignette to another, depicting a cacophony of sights and sensations that could, and probably do, occur in any generic city or town centre – ‘Kevin’s getting footloose on the overspill/Under the piss station/two pints destroyer, on the cobbled floor/No amount of whatever is gonna chirp the chip up/It’s the final countdown, my fucking Journey’. ‘Tied up in Nottz’ best reflects our general unhappiness and that this makes us reach for means of futile escape. The freneticism of the imagery is reminiscent of how needlessly fast we seem to live. We’re bombarded continuously with choice, by advertising and technological advances, and in a fear of being left behind (of what, by what?) we consign ourselves to a self-involved bubble just to keep ‘our’ place, often barely managing to do so.

Williamson also uses his personal irritations with cultural signatures of mediocrity ‘St. George’s flag twat’ to fuel his anger at our inability to do anything about them. ‘On Cunt Make it Up’ he scornfully compares the cynicism of those profiting from a ‘shit singer studying the band’s dinner’, a ‘Circus band, ran by circus man’ lowering the bar of popular culture’s musical fashions and trends to an identikit morass, just to make money ‘and you always wannabee the same, posy shit, leather jacket’ to a form of resentment that exposure to this kind of fraudulence or deceit evokes in its worst, ugliest extreme ‘an old codger with one leg sitting in his prefab/hating men, hating the state/they sent the poor cunt to war mate. You’re him, you’re fucking bleak, little worm, tryna suck the juice out of a tuna tin’.

This theme is explored with more depth on ‘In Quiet Streets’. It seeks to reveal the root of many common White Van Man, UKIP voting, Daily Mail reader prejudices. It juxtaposes tragicomic allegories of the majority’s destructive self-serving apathies towards politics, culture and social change ‘But in the old days you had to lead a group of men up a hill/And got’em shot by locals mate/Not now, now money murders/We put our souls in Nursery for a day/Pick’em up after work, take ‘em home/Try ‘n get ‘em in bed tucked up before ten o’clock’ and how this unsympathetic attitude is used to marginalise the poor, who are then demonised and manipulated to help impose political doctrines, ‘The rulers don’t care it’s still the 70’s/and they laugh at our ugly double denim/we are the wooden horses on wooden race courses at fairs/the top prize is damaged organs and nobody cares’.

Like ‘In Quiet Streets’ certain songs home in on an overarching theme. Screaming ‘god save the queen, she aint no human being’ had shock value, but it’s more effective to attack one of the ludicrous results of her immense, perpetual tax payer funded privilege; ‘The Corgi, is always warm at night’. Miniature prize bred dogs are all the rage right now, they’re commodities like handbags or smartphones, but them being this well treated, and by something that justifies its existence through tradition, or widely speaking, wealth, is especially poignant when a political ideology is exacerbating the disparity between the rich and the poor, ‘it’s a war you bastards, slash and despair’ and there’s tens of thousands of Syrian immigrants streaming into Western Europe with literally fuck all but the clothes they’re wearing. ‘Middle men’ is a diatribe against London’s concentration of wealth as a politicised venture, in an effort to afford the excesses of political class culture as safe a distance from the realities of actual culture as possible.

While the political commentary is incessant throughout both albums, a lot of comedic scorn is aimed at the music industry, and it’s thoroughly deserved. ‘Bronx in a Six’ manages to combine an all-out assault on (what I assume is) a specific case of sad try-hard hypster materialism, finding it synonymous with a style of cliquish, boring commercial music coverage that’s all too prevalent right now ‘All gone quiet on the wanker front/Gary Cooper’s on the glue cause he stuck to his guns/Radio edit, oh it’s so nice/Lauren Laverne keeps playing Tumbling Dice/just like you with ya maharishi shoulder bag/walking the strip like you own the fucking path’.

Musings of this ilk reflect many of my own opinions; that ‘cunts’ have no taste in general, how there are many more of them than there are of us (which is how White Van Men feel about immigrants and benefit claimants, right?) and that this schism emboldens frauds and chancers like Simon Cowell to further our descent into cultural and artistic bankruptcy.

But this is ‘Liveable Shit, you’ll put up with it’, right? The caustic bitterness and resentment that the Mods display for cynicism and how easy it is to sell crap music with little thought put into it ‘no understanding of what it means to write these tunes/on the highway of fucking artistry’, suggests not, and I like that, for a number of reasons. For one people need telling, and because above all else it means the Sleaford Mods, as they are, aren’t finished yet.

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Song Of The Day – Nobody But You by Lou Reed & John Cale

From the album ‘Songs For Drella’ (1990)

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