Stereotypes and the death of the five-year plan

I am going to shamelessly link you to a feature I wrote for my news production module, as my blog's layout refuses to cooperate with block quotes:

Brunel News: Professional slackers - a career in gaming

Ha, proof of me doing some actual work for once. Thanks for reading.

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Fan review: Panic! At The Karaoke Bar

Panic! At The Disco performed at the HMV Forum in Kentish Town, London on the 21st of November. To be honest, it was not great.

I titled this post "Fan review" because I have been listening to Panic for close to seven years and this was the first time I ever saw them, so there is no possible way I could pretend my opinions are completely unbiased. But hey, isn't that what reviewers do - try to back up their own opinions with evidence?

And ha, have I got evidence. Imagine standing in the second row with more than enough space to breathe and move around and not even feeling tired after the concert. Imagine texting a friend in the middle of a song. Imagine the crowd not chanting for an encore, instead starting to move towards the doors after the supposed last song. Worrying thoughts, aren't they?

The night started out promising enough. I waited outside in the cold for around seven hours with some wonderful people, and was very impressed with the venue. The old-timey theatre setup fit Panic like a glove, a sort of reminder of their very first tour, pompous and dramatic. At this point, the crowd was still buzzing, happy to be finally let in and anxious to be entertained. I was smack in the middle of the second row, and the girl in front of me was short enough for it to feel like first row without the added bonus of a metal railing digging into my ribs.

I'm not very much into opening acts. Actually, I'm not into opening acts at all. I usually think they're a terrible idea, and nothing is more painful than watching a relatively unknown band try and fail to warm up a crowd who's just there to see whoever it is that they paid to see. New Politics, Panic's opening act, was yet another no-name band I'd never heard of before and was not too interested in even getting to know. Boy, was I wrong.

New Politics delivered, hands down, the most impressive and energetic opening performance I have ever seen in my life, and I have seen quite a lot. It was plain to see that they were loving every minute of it, every single person in the crowd. By the third or fourth song, when the vocalist climbed up on top of the audience, singing half a song standing upright on what can only be described as a wobbling pile of teenage girls, I was completely sold. This was a band who was incredibly grateful to be there that night, and was committed to giving us everything they had. I wish I could say the same for Panic! At The Disco.

The minute they stepped on stage, I felt like something was missing. Not even a meager "Hello, London!" until a good couple of songs into the set. I completely understand that over the course of a tour, bands tire out and get progressively more and more used to being on stage, but it is never good if the crowd feels like they're just part of a nightly routine. It was much like watching a concert on television. I felt detached from the band, like they weren't quite present. Even when we did get something out of them, a "Fuck, it's nice to see you" or a "God, you're amazing", it was with the singer's back to us with a water bottle in hand. After the explosive, immersive performance of New Politics, this was, simply put, a huge letdown.

But there's still the music, right? Yeah, no. I've been trying to tell myself it was just because of my unfortunate placement in the crowd (everyone knows the first few rows are the worst when it comes to sound), but I could not hear much over the instruments. I may have yelled "no shit" back to the band when they said we were singing louder than they were. What made this exponentially worse was the charming, yet tone-deaf gentleman behind me screaming the lyrics to every song in my ear in a British accent, a situation that started out pretty hilarious and ended in me discreetly shuffling away out of earshot. Even so, I could see the vocalist's lips move, but only picked up a word here and a melody there, which was a shame, because I know they are usually quite enjoyable live. I have nothing against singing along, but I felt like I'd paid to hear a backing track instead of the whole band, hence the title of this entry.

The setlist itself was... surprising. Heavy on the band's third album, it didn't please me much personally, and it seemed like the rest of the audience was much more excited to hear old classics and songs from the new, fourth album than lukewarm fillers, too. The third album, Vices and Virtues, is a controversial one to begin with, their first after the band split in two, and, in my opinion, much too similar to the first one to add any real variety to the setlist. I found myself pining for the slower, more relaxed atmosphere of Pretty. Odd., their second album, to break up the constant barrage of synth pop and electric guitars, but the whole set featured only a single song from that album.

I'm not saying there was no good to be found in that performance. There was a single song that made me burst into tears simply because of how overwhelming everything was at that moment, and I still got to see one of my favourite bands live, even if they weren't quite what I expected. If you think about all the negatives I've listed above, most of them have little to do with the band itself. I'm sure they'll manage to impress me next time - as a fan, I'd like to think that that night they were victims of unfortunate circumstances.

This is the part where I'd normally add photos, but I have none. Another bad sign.

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In which I try to fit all my thoughts into one post

A coursemate of mine blogged about the shared passion that brings the gaming community together, and I got to thinking.

Games journalism, and, to a certain extent, journalism in general, is definitely not something people get into for money. Hell, the last time I flicked through a university guide, those with a journalism degree were among the worst paid graduates in the whole of Britain. (If I had a pound for every bitter joke I've heard from underpaid games journalists...) It's also not exactly the best choice of stepping stone if you're aspiring to do something else later - the reality is, unfortunately, that people who work in the games industry are still often seen as nerds who just don't want to grow up and get a real job. Although this is slowly changing, the amount of discouraging feedback I've already gotten from lecturers, teachers, relatives and so forth is ridiculous, and I'm not even close to graduating yet.

However, without these hardships, the incredible, immense love everyone involved demonstrates for their craft wouldn't be as evident in the industry as it is now. Personally, this is what has always drawn me to games journalism - gaming journalists are gamers themselves, they are their own audience. There is an amazing degree of interaction between professionals, amateurs and readers, and that's something you rarely see in other fields. On the internet and in conventions, more often than not it is a matter of gamers meeting other gamers, not of journalists mingling with customers. Of course, this is a sweeping generalization, but I have yet to come across a quality publication that gives off a different impression.

Another factor that contributes to this is that the industry is still young, so there are a lot of players in the field who simply do it as a hobby. Both of my all-time favourite podcasts are done on a completely voluntary basis, but they are still absolutely committed to providing the highest possible quality entertainment. When I started to read my favourite magazine around ten years ago, I don't think they even had a proper office. They're now one of the biggest players in Finnish games journalism and have learned so much, but the drive and passion that was present a decade ago hasn't diminished one bit. And god, the things you can find on the internet. Message boards, blogs, YouTube channels...The number of games journalists who've worked their way up from the depths of the web is quite impressive and, for me, these success stories are a huge inspiration. To be willing to put so much effort into something without getting much back requires determination and affection for what you're doing.

This is actually something a Finnish podcast I listened to recently discussed in depth. The sweat and blood one needs to put into their work is completely disproportionate to the results one gets in such a competitive industry full of people who love it just as much as you do, and that is why you need to be absolutely sure you want to do it. Their message was basically "If you're looking for praise or pay, do something more constructive", and I have to say I completely agree. I'm not saying that games journalism is a completely thankless job, and I'm sure that's not what they meant either - it's just a fact that it's nature calls for absolute devotion. I'm quite sure that's why you regularly see people switching from games, be it journalism or production, to so-called greener fields: putting everything into something really tires you out. In a way, love for your job is thus both a blessing and a curse - it makes for a magnificent experience, but really cranks up what is required of you.

I notice I'm sort of starting to go off on a tangent here due to the sort of stream of consciousness style I wrote this entry in, so I'll just finish up by saying that despite, and first and foremost, BECAUSE of everything I talked about in this entry, games and gaming journalism are something that has stuck with me throughout almost two decades of waning and changing interests. It's very hard not to look up to people who work so hard to be able to do what they enjoy the most. And while I'm still far away from where my idols are right now, I'd like to think I have, or will eventually develop, what it takes to do the same. I, too, love this industry and everyone in it, and even though that alone may not be enough, it's a decent starting point.

To somehow sum up this sprawling, confusing mess of an entry, I thought it would be fitting to quote the slogan of the aforementioned Finnish magazine: "For the love of gaming."

(P.S. Day 17: The games journalist I talked about last time still hasn't unfollowed me on Twitter. This is going better than expected. I have also made direct contact with others and haven't spontaneously combusted as of yet. Wow.)

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Oh, you actually want to hear what I have to say?

We as students and aspiring journalists are urged by lecturers and mentors to create and maintain a positive online presence in social media. In addition to harrassing guest speakers and past and future employers, effective networking can also be done online - there's Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, blogging sites... And all of these host a cavalcade of more or less famous journalists and other media professionals, within reach of anyone with a smartphone and something clever to say.

Perhaps surprisingly, this makes me feel incredibly uneasy. Does retweeting people I admire make me seem like a desperate fangirl? Do I look like I'm trying too hard or think too much of myself when I try and contact them? But what if I don't? Am I missing out on something? Will I never get my name out there if I don't do it? So many stupid questions, no answers.

I guess what they say is true: it is so much easier to hide behind an anonymous username and do what you want online without having to think about ruining your own image. Before creating a new Twitter account using my real name and face, I was the queen of obnoxious attention-whoring. For every fifteen messages I barraged my idols with, I may have gotten a single reply if I got lucky, but man, did I send a lot. No one thinks anything of a nameless 17 year old girl behaving like a hopeless wannabe, but it really isn't the best public image someone trying to get into an actual industry can establish.

Another problem I've recently faced is when I actually do get some attention. Yesterday I noticed that my new Twitter account had gained a few more followers. Among them was a pretty well-known Finnish games journalism freelancer and podcast host I'd followed a few days earlier. After checking if he follows all of his followers just for the sake of courtesy and confirming that this was indeed not the case, all I could think of was "how" and "why". There I was, on his list of people he follows, along with some of the biggest names of Finnish gaming journalism. I still don't know why. I know it should make me happy that I'd managed to say something smart enough to make him follow me, but instead I feel somehow anxious. (God, do I hope he doesn't read this. The link's on my Twitter. Damn. If you are, I'm sorry for freaking out, haha.)

This situation is pretty much an exact replay of something that happened at a video game expo last year. The whole staff of my favourite magazine was there, and it was the first time I met them despite having read their magazine for the best part of ten years. When I walked around their stall, one of them approached me: "Hey, are you Johanna?" For a second, I actually didn't know what to say. Who, me? Yeah, I guess? Apparently I comment on their Facebook site often enough to actually make them remember me without ever actually meeting in person. Again, this should be a good thing, but what was running through my head was "Have I said something stupid? What did I say that was dumb enough to make him remember me, oh my god, what did I do?"

I realize how incredibly stupid this might sound to more confident and experienced people, but this is a real problem for me. I look up to these people so much that I feel I won't ever play in the same league as them, and don't know how to deal with it when I do actually get some credit. Like I said, it wasn't always like this. I think I need to find a balance between my identities as an anonymous social media superhero and meek journalism student, and learn to believe in myself a little more without overdoing it.

Wow, I really have my work cut out for me for the coming year.

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Five out of five in exchange for a collector's edition

I recently attended a lecture dealing with the British Press Complaints Commission's editorial code of practice for journalists. It lists a range of all sorts of more or less obvious ethical dos and don'ts that should be honoured to protect the rights of the individual as well as the public. The last two clauses of the editorial code have to do with paying people, such as witnesses or criminals, to obtain information. But what about paying journalists to alter their views?

Of course, this question is touched upon in the very first clause of the code, which deals with accuracy:

i) The Press must take care not to publish inaccurate, misleading or distorted information, including pictures.

However, bribery is not addressed directly in the PCC's code. Is it ethically sound to accept any form of bribery from people one is professionally associated with, even if one is certain it will not affect their own views? Can one ever be certain? I'd like to have a brief monologue on these questions, using examples from the area of journalism I'm best acquainted with: video game journalism. Be aware that I'm writing this from a consumer's viewpoint - not a seasoned professional's. This is, for the most part, how gamers see the industry, although I cannot claim to represent everyone's opinions.

It is general knowledge that people who write reviews are bribed, successfully or not. Although it's commonplace in music and film journalism, the video game industry in particular is driven on such cut-throat competition that one unfavorable opinion from the right person may well cause a significant drop in sales in certain markets. What kind of gamer dares to spend 50 quid on a game Mr. Famous Game Reviewer hated? 

The popular online review aggregator Metacritic draws together reviews from multiple sources and gives each game a color-coded average score - anything below 75 out of 100 gets a yellow score card instead of the green one awarded to those with better scores. Only the worst of the worst have to carry their red score card with shame. It's a simple and effective way of categorizing games into the good, the mediocre and the bad without necessarily even having to think about the numbers. Think about it - if you were a games developer, would you risk being categorized as so-so with a myriad of other, possibly much worse games or try and squeeze a few more points out of friendly reviewers to get a 76 and that coveted green stamp of quality?

These little quirks of the gaming market have led to a situation in which what some would call bribery, video game professionals call press kits:

As seen in the above video by IGN, one of the most well-known gaming websites, developers spend ridiculous amounts of money on trying to impress the press and the public even before the game is out. Press kits haven't consisted of just a bunch of leaflets and the game in a long time - instead, they're sending out mini TVs in the shape of a batarang, and the media is eating it up. Just think about how much free publicity the game featured in this video, Arkham Origins, gets for this, positive or negative. Heck, even I am falling for it right now, using them as an example. Of course, we can never know if getting early Christmas presents will make reviewers like the game itself any better, but it certainly wouldn't be a surprise, and definitely not the first time it has happened. It might be that it reflects favorably in reviews in an unconscious way - a journalist might not deliberately tack on a few extra points for an impressive press kit, but their excitement over it or other similar factors may sway their opinion slightly in one way or another.

This, of course, is just one form of bribery prevalent in the industry. Another one, although less common know in times of economic hardship in the industry than in, say, the early 2000s, is the practice of organizing almost comically luxurious press events. I've heard journalists ramble on about "better times" multiple times in podcasts and columns, with mentions of lavish parties and tons of freebies. The Finnish gaming magazine Pelaaja uploaded almost an hour's worth of video of their former editor-in-chief rummaging through the press goodies he'd collected from events over the years. I'm not implying that this has to do with the quality of the publication itself in this case, as Pelaaja is very respected both in Finland as well as Europe as a whole, but it makes our case very clear - handing out rose-coloured glasses to journalists is common practice in the industry. 

Any gamer with any insight into how the industry works will most likely be very aware of the bribery, and in some cases even oppression, that goes on behind the scenes. This is both a blessing and a problem - how can we trust anyone if developers are this shameless in wooing journalists? Who's to blame for bias in reviews, the perhaps unwitting journalist or the one doing the bribing? There have been many cases where games with actual merit have been blamed for paying for favourable reviews, and it is a favourite defense of those who don't like a critically acclaimed game and can't think of anything better to say. One could say that bribery has, in a way, instilled a sort of poisonous doubt in the minds of gamers that hurts both developers and journalists alike. Taking reviews with a pinch of salt is always healthy, but in cases where gamers don't really know who or what to believe, industry professionals should probably look in the mirror. Is a box full of novelty toys worth giving up one's professional integrity in the eyes of the public?

These issues and questions can be pondered from a variety of viewpoints and broadened to deal with the press in general. Enjoying the privileges that come with certain occupations is not a crime in itself, but constant personal reflection is incredibly important for a practicing journalist. Is what I'm doing affecting my professional worth? Will it be reflected in what I write down? Should it? If it does, how does it affect my readers? 

Keep asking yourself these questions, journos. I know I will once I get there.

(Edit: The day after posting this, I had an ethics lecture that dealt with bribery. Funny.)

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