by Kyle Carpenter
Rocksmith represents an achievement, a pinnacle in game design. The recently released “guitar game” published by Ubisoft is designed for the use of genuine guitars rather than plastic facsimiles. Rocksmith actually teaches its players how to play the guitar, offering a unique take on tablature that makes sure that once you can play a song flawlessly on expert, you can play that song flawlessly . It is the realization of a dream that was perhaps most clearly experienced when Guitar Hero began to fly off the shelves: that maybe one day games wouldn’t just be “playing” guitar; maybe one day they would be playing guitar .
Rocksmith is also, then, an excellent case study for asking the question: what can we learn from games? That question is often asked as a matter of design: what can we learn about how this game is put together? That is a crucial question, and one that needs to be asked (over and over). Right now, though, I’m asking the question straight-forwardly: how much can a game teach us? If Rocksmith is a pinnacle, what are its limits?
Striking a Chord: Three Different Experiences of Rocksmith
We here at Medium Difficulty are not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. Consequently, fellow contributor Nico Dicecco and I share-bought the eighty dollar package (which includes system patch cord) with an agreement to share it roughly equally. Nico and I have similar backgrounds: we both play guitar (Nico’s better than I am), and we both play video games. These two factors are crucial for using Rocksmith.
One of the design problems of the game is the one that I feel that they have addressed most successfully: there is a lot of information that needs to be communicated visually in order for someone to be able to navigate the fretboard of a guitar. Guitar Hero presents only five buttons, effectively; there are, counting to the 15 th fret of a guitar, the equivalent of ninety buttons that one may have to “press.” (ninety-six, counting open strings). The design team solved this issue by presenting an abstract fretboard and having color coded strings as the “variable,” that bit of colorful information floating inevitably towards the bottom of the screen. The result is an admirable combination of complex information and readable screen information. However, it presupposes some degree of fluency both in the instrument (knowing where the frets are on the fly) and game visual design (reading the necessarily cluttered screen). I am literate in both, as is Nico. We both like Rocksmith.
My girlfriend, on the other hand, doesn’t. She plays guitar, though admittedly, not in the way Rocksmith teaches. She likes folky, finger-picked songs, and while she can play some complex tunes, her left hand rarely leaves the far end of the guitar neck; no “Guitar God” wanking for her. She also doesn’t play video games, and in those few times I coax her into trying one, I watch her struggle with the game, missing its (what are for me) obvious cues. “Try climbing the wall,” I scream. “For God’s sake, the camera’s pointed right at it!” She simply doesn’t recognize the visual cues I have become so accustomed to, is essentially lost in them. Consequently, she struggles to keep up with the constant flow of information in Rocksmith, saying that she’d rather “learn by ear instead.” It’s just not her medium.
Curious to see how other backgrounds fared, I invited MD editor-in-chief Karl Parakenings over to give it a try. Karl knows games (obviously), but has little to no experience with the guitar (he has recently, adorably, picked up the ukelele). Watching him play was enlightening, because it helped me see the things Rocksmith was not teaching: how to hold a pick, for instance. As he struggled to hit the heavy rhythm of Queens of the Stone Age’s “Go With the Flow,” I noticed he was holding the pick perched between the pads of his forefinger and thumb, as if he was trying to keep it away from his palm. “Not like that,” I told him. “Hold your hand more like you’re holding your dick, and grip the pick between your curled finger and your thumb.” This piece of (wholly inappropriate) advice worked wonders, and he began to hit the sixteenth notes more reliably. The game didn’t teach him that, though. I had to identify his problem and help him with it, outside of the game. A few similar tips, and he was picking up tunes pretty quickly, but there is a gap between seeing what you’re supposed to be playing, and knowing how to play it.
The Limits of Learning
It may be that one possibility to Rocksmith is that it will get people to start learning more than it can teach, hitting up the internet to figure out just how to get that steady rhythm, or using the game as a launching point for a lifetime of playing the guitar. Certainly, this possibility is more pronounced than in Guitar Hero or Rock Band. However, I want to think critically about what games can teach. In order to do that, I am going to step outside the game for a moment.
At this year’s Modern Languages Convention (MLA: the largest Humanities convention in North America, where scholars from all over the continent present their studies), I attended a panel based on the possibilities of using games as a teaching tool. One group of researchers, led by Steven L. Thorne of Portland State University , examined the use of language in MMORPGs, suggesting that this peculiarly social medium would be an excellent way for language teachers to engage students and teach them a foreign vocabulary. They based this study on the complexity of language used in World of Warcraft, showing that while grammatical constructions in game instructions and such were simple and direct, operating at a primary grade level, the “flavour” text and character interactions showed a high degree of verbal proficiency. Citing the proliferation of fan fictions, wikis, and other game-world related ephemera, they suggested that games had a potential for drawing people into a language, that they could be a powerful incentive to learn.
I wonder if they’ve read the same fan fictions I have.
What struck me in this talk, in which they showed their obviously well-funded research, is that they set their measurements for “successful learning” quite low. Language is fundamental to learning, certainly, but it is only really a basic requirement. Learning to manipulate words is to thinking as walking is to running – they’re related, and the one depends on the other, but the latter does not spring fully formed from the former; we still need to figure out how to run, and we still need to figure out how to think.
This is where I feel Rocksmith is instructive: as a learning tool, this “guitar game” is perhaps unparalleled in design, a genuine way to learn how to hit notes in a sequential order. However, there is nothing in the game that will teach someone why those notes sound good together, or how to think musically. It provides a basis for technical skill, but not the critical tools for understanding.
I really believe that Rocksmith represents a genuine achievement in game design, and offers some real possibilities – but it also leaves me with some nagging questions: can a game design only teach “technical” skills? Is it possible to foster genuine understanding within the confines of design, or is it necessary (at some point) to put down the controller and walk away? Does the game have to end for learning to continue?
What strikes me, even as I download the “Black Keys” DLC set in Rocksmith, is that at some point I will have to pack up my guitar and leave, so that I can figure out how to really play — without the game.
Unfortunately, there’s no DLC for that.
