PixelVixen707

Amidst the hurrah over the toy drum kit and the karaoke mic and the setlist, Rock Band slips a subversive feature under the noses of every young boy who got it for Christmas: it makes you play with girls. Try the solo tour or the Quickplay, and check out your backing band: odds are one, even two women will back you on the stage. They’re rocking big hair and leather jackets, or schoolgirl skirts and purple streaked bangs - but however they dressed, they’re ready to kill it. Are you?

Much as I loved the boy-centric, lunkheaded brute-rock of Guitar Hero II - I played Johnny Napalm, not Judy Nails - I’ve come to love Rock Band more, for its gauzy inclusiveness: you’ll get none of the caged dancers and cheesy cheesecake of Guitar Hero III. Of course, Guitar Hero has long had a reputation as a boy game. Even sex-blog-gal Bonnie Ruberg - loves ya, Bonnie - fell into the trap of thinking girls don’t play Guitar Hero - because girls don’t like guitar.

First off: Marnie Stern. Bonnie Raitt. Kaki King. Kristin Hersh. Mary Halvorson. Susan Tedeschi. Charlotte Hatherley. P. J. frakking Harvey. An all-girls mix for Rock Band would start with the Donnas and end with Sleater-Kinney and it would shear your ears from your head and make you scream, “Yes, ma’am.” Sorry, boys: the electric guitar is about so much more than your penis.

Rock Band’s selling points are its new drums and vocals. Everyone will find their favorite instrument, but for my money, the drums are a step forward and the mic, a step back. What should be a fun karaoke game becomes punishing on Expert mode, where you have to conform to every pitch and phrase in the original song. By contrast, the drums pull off a neat trick of actually teaching you drums, and a few stabs at Hard give me a new appreciation for even the worst indie band skinbanger.

But personally, I’ll take the axe. Never mind that it’s not as vicious or shreddy as Guitar Hero III. Forget that macho meathead rock essentially prevails. The essence of the game remains the same: you’re playing a meaningful form of Tetris, that gently rachets up the difficulty to create the classic sense of “flow.” It’s so basic, and so perfect – and the whole time, the crowd cheers and sings along.

Rock Band isn’t a rock instrument simulator: it’s a rock experience simulator. It creates a democratic fantasy – unheard of in RL – where every race, creed and sex can share the stage. And it grafts that fantasy onto a game that, in a medium choked with 20-minute cut-scenes and overwrought FPS dramas, is almost retro in its directness. But what really makes it fun? When you beat this game, it treats you like a fuck-ing rock star!

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