That‘s about it. In the original Jet Set Radio, the player had five or six things to think about at any moment. Early on, there were the mechanics to worry about. Then there was a bit of an exploration element. Then there was the goal of the stage — which usually involved finding, accessing, and spraying graffiti on set locations. (The spraying itself was a change of pace, as it involved standing still and entering complex thumbstick gestures — possibly in the midst of an otherwise-chaotic scene.) Then there were the police to worry about. Then there was the strategy of which tags to save for last, to make them easiest to spray on the go while avoiding the cops. Then there were the Graffiti Souls to find and collect — the doing of which was really helpful in teaching the player how the levels were put together. There was the whole performance-scoring mechanic, which encouraged you to complete every level in style, on top of everything else asked of you. Then there was the timer.

The player always had something to think about; it was all about trial-and-error, as one learned how the game thought and how it wanted the player to think — namely, with a fast and ordered chaos. The game was a rush. And if you missed something, you could go back in and play around later.

JSRF reminds me a bit of what JSR is like when it’s beaten; one big city, that you can freely skate around and explore. No danger. No stress. Whatever Graffiti Souls you’ve missed, you now can sort out how to collect. In JSR, that was perhaps the best part of the game — yet part of the reason why that freedom was so rewarding was that I had to earn it. I was fed one piece of the game at a time, and at the end I got to enjoy how everything fit together. Also, the level design was terrific.

The level design in JSRF isn’t as interesting. Beyond that, though, the game… everything’s compartmentalized now. I never have to think. I just wander around through this city, and the game places task after task before me. “Do this”, it says. So I do it. Then I wander. “Now do this”, it tells me. So I do that. Then I wander. “Now you must knock down all of these police” it says. “Now look at this — find a way up to this Graffiti Soul.”

Hell. I…

Did I ever have to fight the police in the first game? They were pretty dangerous. That was kind of the idea, I thought. It was all about running from the cops. They kept the pressure on. Now the only interaction I have is the occasional skit where the game fences me into an arena and I have to defeat a certain number of policemen or tanks or what-have-you to continue.

Now. Come to think of it — since the police aren’t a constant problem, why is the graffiti system so simplified? All one must do now is hit the right trigger, and the graffiti appears. No stopping; no effort. Were the game more action-packed, to the point where it was dangerous to stand still for even a moment, this tradeoff would be helpful. So far, however, that just ain’t the case. Again, all of the game’s elements are now broken up. There’s no timer. There’s no danger. I’m free to wander and spray as I wish. Again, all of the danger is partitioned into these silly skits in between game areas.

Perhaps it is unfair for me to compare this game to its predecessor, as it is clear that it attempts a different dynamic — yet exactly what dynamic is that? It has become a standard exploration-collection platformer, only with even more frustrating wonky controls than the original Jet Set Radio. The only things which seem to really set it apart are its visual and aural style. And even that isn’t up to the standard set by the first game.

The visuals are polished; they’re sleek, and ever-so-slightly more Western in style. Yet although interesting, they lack the quirky charm that so characterized JSR. Although still impressive, they feel kind of bland in comparison. Likewise, the soundtrack — well. I’ll get to Cibo Matto in a moment. I’m not going to get into the Latch Brothers’ contributions. Hideki Naganuma must have had an off day when he wrote the music to this game. There are a few excellent tracks (“The Concept of Love”, “Like a Butterfly” (is that its name?)), yet others seem built out of pieces of familiar tracks from the first game or just… don’t have as much power to them as what he contributed before. There’s a lack of energy here.

As for “Birthday Cake”: I like Cibo Matto. I’m really fond of them. I like this album (Viva! La Woman). I like this song. You all are right to criticize the use of this song in this game. Do not, however, let it taint your concept of Cibo Matto. They are very good.

Not only is this perhaps the least appropriate song to choose for the game; it also got mangled along the way. First, someone at Sega decided to censor it; two phrases were edited out (“I don’t give a flying fuck though!”; “You made the war with the Vietnamese.”), making the song play like a gravel driveway. Then — I don’t know what happened with the compression or the EQ. I guess someone tried to make the song sound “fuller” by scrunching all of the levels together. It just sounds awful, though. It’s hard to listen to.

Yes, the song is shrill in its natural state — yet it is charming as well! It is funny! That has been effectively removed; all that remains is noise.

And again: wow, what a bad choice of a song, anyway. Cibo Matto was perfect. Just not this song.

So. There that is. The game is not awful. It is just mediocre, from what I have seen. As I have said elsewhere, however, I think I could better tolerate an all-out failure. Instead, this game feels like a compromise for the benefit of everyone who didn’t get the original Jet Set Radio. The fallacy there is: those people? They’re not going to get it. Jet Set Radio, on its own power, ain’t a mass-appeal concept. You’re playing to the wrong crowd. If you want to bring people in, you convert them through social engineering. You make them see how hip you are (perhaps through smart marketing and PR). You don’t change, or you’ve wasted everything.

Ah me. My foot is asleep.