Soapbox – Music is no creepier and sadder than Zelda: Majora’s Mask
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I didn’t play Majora’s Mask when it first came out, and thank goodness I didn’t, I probably would have stopped playing video games right then and there. I mean, I used to have nightmares about him wind sound effects in Ocarina of Time (in my defense, they are creepy); I don’t know how he would have handled the existential dread and constant threat of death that pervades Majora’s Mask.
But now that I’m an adult, and I’m very brave, I’ve completed Majora’s Mask – thank you, thank you, I’m a hero – and the music, I have to say, is one of my favorite Zelda soundtracks. Despite that, I will hardly ever listen to him, because I am guaranteed to be nervous for the rest of the day.
It all starts with the Clock Town theme, which is also the theme of the title screen; According to the general narrative device of “time,” each day grows faster and more frantic. May not even notice (at least I didn’t; I said I was brave, not observant), but instead I feel a general sense of anxiety and tension on the Final Day, when there is so much to do and literally so little time.
The soundtrack as a whole is replete with sinister horns, cymbal clashes, strange dynamics and dissonant noises of all kinds, representing the unrest at the heart of the game’s story: two boys, Link and the Skull Kid, fighting with their identity and don’t know where they belong. Majora’s Theme, which plays as soon as you meet the Skull Kid, sets the overall ~ tone ~ of the game’s music: a slow, haunting, and tense dirge, but with a core of melancholy. Like jarring music in general, it seems you need fixation – which is precisely what you should do.
This baffling music is, of course, balanced by the Song of Healing, a soft melody that acts like a balm to your ears, just as it is supposed to. It’s the knot that holds Majora’s Mask together – Link plays it to fix a lot of things, but largely uses it to let people know that it’s okay for everything to be a bit broken too.
The Song of Healing is incredibly melancholic, because the game is, too: even in its brightest moments, the message remains one of finding the strength to carry on. The Song of Healing tells us this with its painful, bittersweet sound: it is a song of acceptance that change is heartbreaking, but necessary. Healing is not making the pain go away, but learning to live with pain in the heart.
The Majora’s Mask soundtrack reminds me of the Japanese art of kintsugi, which is about fixing the broken pottery with gold, making the “broken” piece even more beautiful than before by highlighting its flaws and its history. Termina needs to be saved, but many of her problems existed long before the moon began to collapse, and it’s Link’s job to fix those cracks before he can even think of saving them from a much bigger threat.
Likewise, the songs feel like they’ve been broken and reassembled; like a warped bench, it’s supposed to make you feel uncomfortable. The game is the same: with a time limit of one year, they were forced to reuse many of Ocarina’s assets to save effort, and the result is something a little messy, extremely strange and even more beautiful.
But if Finish at the beginning doesn’t break, and Finish at the end is broken, but joined again, then my favorite pieces are the ones in the middle, where everything is in tatters. And none of them are more emblematic of that fragmented state than the Elegy of the Void, which reaches the height of the tension in the game: right after Link has unlocked the Deku Mask, the Zora Mask, and the Goron Mask, all of them. which allow him to change his shape.
The Elegy of Emptiness is a funeral song, suitable for a melody that allows Link to create lifeless statues of those who have died to help him. It is taught to you by a boss who turns out not to be evil at all, he’s just cursed. He tells Link to believe in his friends and forgive failure, and provides him with the Elegy to summon “a soldier who has no heart.” The text refers to the statues left as “shells”, as if Link himself was shedding his skin.
When you learn the Elegy of the Void, everything is true sad. A lot of people you’ve met are dead. You have witnessed loneliness, heartbreak, loss and pain. You know what you have to do, summon the four giants, but you have seen so much misery that it is difficult to move on. Everything is broken, but you have all the pieces, and the only thing you can do now is put them back together.
But that nihilism and exhaustion translates perfectly into the Elegy of the Void. It’s the absolute nadir of the game’s story, and as a result, it’s easily the creepiest of all the songs … and yet despite the misery, rough horns, and awkward strings, there’s that delicate piano of background, and the resolution of it almost sounds comforting. If this song could tell you a story, it would be one of moving on, taking the first step, and picking up the pieces, even if you don’t want to.
Looking back at Ocarina of Time, which took twice as long to make as Majora’s Mask, the music is primarily grand, overwhelming, and heroic; very appropriate for an epic adventure straight out of a fairy tale, with good against bad. (I still think Temple of Time is creepy, but it could just be me.)
Ocarina follows the journey of a very typical hero, but Majora’s Mask is a story about a nobody who failed over and over again. It has been abandoned by its fairy guide. For most of the game, he is not fighting a “bad boy”; the main antagonist is just a lonely boy who becomes a little a little crazy with power, but no evil. And above all, this Link has not saved the world; in fact, he only manages to save a small town in the end, and according to the Zelda Encyclopedia, it actually ends disappears after Link leaves:
“While the hero’s pure heart allows the world of Termina to momentarily delight in his salvation, as soon as he leaves, that world ceases to exist.”
You can’t really make the point that “everything is useless” any stronger than that, huh?
The greatest strength of the Zelda series has always been its music; After all, there’s a reason everyone knows the iconic Fairy Fountain, but great music doesn’t always mean it’s fun to listen to. Majora’s Mask achieves its goal of completely scaring you by making you wish you were listening to just about anything else.
If you want to read more about Majora’s Mask music from a real musician, you should definitely check it out. Jake Butineau’s breakdown of why the soundtrack is so great. And if you’d like to read more of our VGM Fest features, you can find them all here, including interviews with the composers of Minecraft, Hades, Celeste, and Trip!
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