February 28, 2016

Draft Three

I remember when I met Dallin Frank, my best friend. The memory immerses me in a pool of nostalgia—not overwhelming like the clichéd wave, but a subtle nuance, the waters of a floodplain rising, gradually, after a gentle rain.

Three years ago, I discovered an announcement that Zelda Reorchestrated had disbanded—ZREO, a fellowship of Legend of Zelda enthusiasts and musicians that reproduced tracks from the games’ soundtracks with higher quality orchestral instruments. This stunned me. Only a few months prior, ZREO had released Twilight Symphony, a masterful, three-disc album depicting a cinematic view of The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. They gave no reason for their abrupt dissolution.

After reading the post, I released the breath I had been holding. Affected by the classic symptoms of denial, I read the entire article twice more, incapable of reconciling the gravity of the news.

I owe many things to Zelda Reorchestrated. They inspired me to become a musician and composer. They reintroduced me to the Legend of Zelda franchise, whose characters, quotes, and stories continue to inspire me in countless ways. But most importantly, they led me to the most influential people in my life, people who have quite literally defined who I am and how I view the world.

In the comment section, I found a hundred and seven people echoing my varied, tempestuous emotions. But one comment held an allure that continues to astound me:

“ZREO team, let me know if you are willing pass the site on to others. If not, I'd like to find people to create a Zelda site similar to this one. Anyone out there who wants to just respond to this comment.”

Despite my introversion, despite my aversion to posting online in general, despite the simple fact that I was a dreadful composer without any training, I broke out of my comfort zone. I replied.

After a few emails, Dallin and I became associates, then contemporaries. Three years later, I proudly call him a true friend—although we have never met in person.

In a strange twist of events, I find myself staring at that comment once again. I reimagine the desolation left in ZREO’s wake, my excitement about joining a new group, the apprehension about meeting with others to coordinate such a massive project. A pool of nostalgia rises around me, and I feel a strange, contented melancholy.

I am lost in a memory.

Forgotten in time.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draft Two

I remember when I met Dallin Frank, my best friend. The memory immerses me in a pool of nostalgia—not a wave like I so often hear described, rather an unmistakably subtle nuance, like the waters of a floodplain rising, gradually, after a gentle rain.

Three years ago, I happened upon an online notice that Zelda Reorchestrated was being disbanded—ZREO, a fellowship of Zelda-gamers and musicians that took tracks from the games’ soundtracks and rearranged them with higher quality orchestral instruments. This caught me by surprise. They had only recently released Twilight Symphony, a stellar, three-disc album of music dedicated solely to the Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess soundtrack. Although ZREO did not provide a reason for the dissolution of the group, I inferred that it may have been influenced by licensing entanglements encountered during the production of Twilight Symphony.

After reading the post, I released the breath I had been holding. Affected by the classic symptoms of denial, I read the entire article twice more, incapable of reconciling the gravity of the news.

I owe many things to Zelda Reorchestrated. They inspired me to become a musician and composer. They reintroduced me to the Legend of Zelda franchise, whose characters, quotes, and stories continue to inspire me in countless ways. But most importantly, they led me to the most influential people in my life, people who have quite literally defined who I am and how I view the world.

In the Disqus comment section below the post, I found a hundred and seven people echoing my tempestuous emotions:

“You'll always be my Legendary Heroes. <3”
“WHY? Why does the site have to shut down?”
“The old tales of the internet will forever speak of a legend... The legend of ZREO.”

One comment pulled me in, though, in a way that continues to astound me. “ZREO team, let me know if you are willing pass the site on to others. If not, I'd like to find people to create a Zelda site similar to this one. Anyone out there who wants to just respond to this comment.” Despite my introversion, despite my aversion to posting online, despite the simple fact that I was a terrible composer with no training… Somehow I broke out of my comfort zone and replied.

After a few emails, Dallin and I became associates, then contemporaries. Three years later, I proudly call him one of my three true friends—even though we have never met in person because he hails from California.

In a strange twist of events, I find myself staring at that comment once again, reimagining the desolation left in ZREO’s wake, my excitement about joining a new group, the apprehension about meeting with others, coordinating such a massive project, questioning my skill and sanity. A pool of nostalgia rises up around me, and I feel a strange, contented melancholy.

I am lost in a memory, forgotten in time.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draft One

As I think back to the moment when I met him, I am immersed in a pool of nostalgia. I have heard many people describe nostalgia in terms of waves, but that feels too sudden, too forced. This was unmistakably subtle, like the waters of a floodplain gradually rising after a gentle rain.

Three years ago, I stumbled upon an online notice that Zelda Reorchestrated (ZREO)—a group that took tracks from The Legend of Zelda video games and resample them with higher quality orchestral sounds—was being discontinued. They did not provide a reason, but I presumed that it was due in part to some licensing problems they had recently experienced with their latest album, Twilight Symphony. I owe many things to Zelda Reorchestrated: they inspired me to become a musician and composer, helped reintroduce me to the Legend of Zelda franchise (whose characters, quotes, and stories have inspired me in countless ways), and led me to some of the most influential people in my life.

In the comments below the post, I found a hundred people wishing a good farewell and explaining ZREO's role in their lives. Then I found one unique comment that drew me in. A request for musicians and composers to contact him to create a new Zelda music website and organization.

As a budding composer myself, what else could I do but send him an email?

It has been three full years since I met my best friend, and in a strange twist of events I find myself staring at that comment once again, reimagining my sadness over losing ZREO; my excitement about being a part of a new group; my apprehension about meeting with others, coordinating a project of that magnitude with them, questioning my own compositional skill (and with good reason: I had had no formal training at that point).

I am lost in a memory, forgotten in time. A pool of nostalgia rises up around me, through me, and I feel a strange, contented melancholy.