⏰ Why Biden’s Nickname Should be ❞Peeping Tom❞ After THIS...

Is Biden Turning on His Own People? [WSW Logo]( [devider] Below is an important message from one of our highly valued sponsors. Please read it carefully as they have some special information to share with you. [devider] The scores for videogames like Street Fighter or Halo might not be uppermost in the minds of those playing them; but they can manipulate our emotions in surprising ways, writes Arwa Haider. W When we're playing a videogame, we're also dancing to its tune: catchy or haunting melodies; audio clues that spur us to quicken our pace; triumphant notes to confirm our success. When we hear this music outside gameplay, it can prove unusually moving. The first time I caught the London Video Game Orchestra in concert, I found myself hollering for my favourite characters during the Street Fighter II medley (Yoko Shimomura's exhilarating 1990s soundtrack, specially arranged here by Mark Choi). I also joined a surreal singalong, as LVGO conductor James Keirle swept the audience into a classic console start-up theme: "Se-ga!" It felt like a five-second hymn: nostalgic and weirdly rapturous. More like this: - The forgotten pioneers of electronic music - How the first pop star blazed a trail - An album that defined the 20th Century "SFII was honestly one of the most enjoyable arrangements I've done," enthuses classically trained musician, composer and life-long gamer Choi. "The individual themes are pretty short but intensely memorable, and irrevocably intertwined with their characters and the stages on which they fight. When themes get so deeply embedded into our psyche like this, it's impossible not to be moved when hearing them again." The power of videogames lies in the fact that you actually become the protagonist of the story; although the story itself may have been predefined, you control how and when it unfolds – Mark Choi Choi adds that while there are many parallels between videogame and movie soundtracks (such as title sequences, recurring character motifs, and narrative cut-scenes), gaming's non-linear, participatory nature means that the music strikes a potent chord in us: "The power of videogames lies in the fact that you actually become the protagonist of the story; although the story itself may have been predefined, you control how and when it unfolds," he says. "It's precisely this power – that you've been given to interact directly with the experience – that makes videogames stand apart and continues to excite me as an artist." The upcoming Prom is the latest in a line of concerts that includes Video Games Live, a tour with different orchestras (Credit: Getty Images) The upcoming Prom is the latest in a line of concerts that includes Video Games Live, a tour with different orchestras (Credit: Getty Images) Videogame music really does play our emotions. Its impact and increasing sophistication has inspired a growing number of academic studies (in a field sometimes tagged "ludomusicology"); in their 2006 essay The Role of Music in Videogames, Sean M Zehnder and Scott D Lipscomb noted the multi-functionality of gaming soundtracks; they "enhance a sense of immersion, cue narrative or plot changes, act as an emotional signifier, enhance the sense of aesthetic continuity, and cultivate the thematic unity of a video game." Ontario-based academic and filmmaker Karen Collins is associate professor at the University of Waterloo, and her excellent book Game Sound (2008) explores the history, theory and practice of videogame music and sound design. As Collins observes, the gamer is not a passive listener, but can actively trigger music in the game, as well as subconsciously reacting to it; she writes that "Mood induction and physiological responses are typically experienced most obviously when the player's character is at significant risk of peril, as in the chaotic and fast boss music… sound works to control or manipulate the player's emotions, guiding responses to the game." She points out that silence is additionally used to powerful effect, whether heightening tension, or when the player is inactive (a musical fade that she describes as the "boredom switch"), prompting us to finish the task so that the game can progress. Videogame music is a global expression, both in its international studio collaborations and audience reach. Earlier this year, the Poland-based Game Music Festival presented a London concert, including a Polish big band performing the boisterously jazzy, Latin-inspired grooves of much-loved adventure Cuphead (2017), composed by Canadian artist Kristoffer Madigan. The concert finale focused on LA-based Brit composer Gareth Coker's enchanting (and devastatingly beautiful) award-winning scores for the games Ori and the Blind Forest (2015) and Ori and the Will of the Wisps (2020). Coker originally studied composition at the Royal Academy of Music, and later lived in Japan; his musical range is expansive, including scores for film and TV – but his love of videogames runs especially deep. "Growing up, I have the fondest memories of playing videogames with my parents," he explains. "Those memories I've created with my own family, I'd like to be able to give to someone else." For the Ori games, Coker spent several years with the development team, creating music that feels distinctly attuned to the title character/player role (a child-like forest spirit), and supernatural surrounds. "I respond heavily to visuals when I'm working on a game; then I can really get inside creating a soundworld for them," he says. "The visuals in Ori allow me to create that tapestry with the music, because we're asking people to expand their imaginations. The LVGO's repertoire includes pieces from Pokemon, Halo, Final Fantasy, The Legend of Zelda and Assassin's Creed 4 (Credit: Rancho Dass) The LVGO's repertoire includes pieces from Pokemon, Halo, Final Fantasy, The Legend of Zelda and Assassin's Creed 4 (Credit: Rancho Dass) "When you're playing a game, you're an active participant, so your brain has to handle a lot more. So how you write game music is fundamentally different, and the best games understand that you can't pile on everything, unless you've built up to that moment. When you're moving through Ori's environment, the music doesn't change all the time, because that's too much for the brain to deal with. Every musical cue is placed for a reason. There is a melody in Ori, but it's quite withdrawn and gentle, until it absolutely needs to take over." This sensitive touch can yield a mighty emotional punch, as anybody who has encountered the Ori games and music can attest; they've also inspired numerous online "reaction videos" (with gamers invariably in tears by the ending). "I'm insanely lucky, because now we have sites like Twitch and YouTube, I get to see other people reacting to my work, in the way I remember reacting myself," smiles Coker. "It's kind of addictive; you get a real-time visceral reaction." Spectrum of emotions Coker's varied soundtracks seem to summon a spectrum of emotions, whether it's his music for the Minecraft Mythology series ("It's like a jukebox, designed to transport the player to that time and place; it gives the brain room to build," he says), or his contributions to the latest instalment of a role-playing blockbuster, Halo Infinite (2021). "While Halo is an action score, it's not wham-bam-in-your-face for hours on end; it's very precise and measured, much like the main protagonist, Master Chief; nothing fazes him on the battlefield," says Coker. "Combat music is designed to make you feel like you really are a very powerful soldier; Halo is very rhythmic and groove-based, which is designed to make you feel confident when you walk through the environment. In the final level of the game, I basically had carte blanche to do what I want. We ended up using a Bulgarian choir and a ton of synths, over-processing traditional folk music to make it sound really otherworldly; it created quite a distinct sound for a new faction, the Endless." We're looking to transport people to a time and place, and you cannot do that if you're clapping every five minutes, because the immersion spell is broken – Gareth Coker Coker mentions that he'd like to see more classical concerts present long-form videogame symphonies, and engage gamers and non-gamers alike. "If you get it right, you'll leave the audience with something much more profound," he says. "We're looking to transport people to a time and place, and you cannot do that if you're clapping every five minutes, because the immersion spell is broken." Each hotly anticipated videogame brings its own soundworld; the recent samurai adventure Trek To Yomi blends monochrome visuals with a heavily atmospheric score by Cody Matthew Johnson and Yoko Honda. The imminent new Cuphead game, The Delicious Last Course, promises fresh bops from composer Kristoffer Madigan, who tells BBC Culture: "While it retains much of the exciting, uptempo big band stylings from the original Cuphead, we have explored many styles and sounds new to the Inkwell Isles… my biggest inspirations were the early film scores of Max Steiner and Erich Korngold, as well as Disney's Leigh Harline and Frank Churchill." This summer, videogame music also makes it to the BBC Proms, for the first time ever. From 8-Bit to Infinity on 1 August presents orchestral and electronic themes, including Shimomura's classic Kingdom Hearts and the European premiere of Hildur Guonadottir and Sam Slater's Battlefield 2042 – suite 14. As conductor/arranger Robert Ames says: "Videogame music has been on the cutting edge since its inception. Those early consoles were very basic compared to the technology we have now, and composers were really pushing them to the limit. I think that spirit is still very much part of videogame composing now." Composer Gareth Coker has created award-winning scores for games including Ori and the Will of the Wisps (Credit: Moon Studios) Composer Gareth Coker has created award-winning scores for games including Ori and the Will of the Wisps (Credit: Moon Studios) The mega-hit computer game franchise The Last of Us, Part 2 of which is released this week, is part of a wave of pop culture imagining a green and lush end-of-days, writes Al Horner. T The Last of Us may have been a zombie horror survival game, about a duo traversing a post-apocalyptic US overrun with cannibalistic creatures, but its most memorable moments weren’t daring escapes from zombie hordes, nor explosive shoot-outs with hostile human survivors. Instead, the greatest draw of the 2013 best-seller – lauded as one of the greatest video games of all time – was its quiet story beats, and one quiet story beat in particular. More like this: - How gaming became a form of meditation - Why does cinema ignore climate change? - The comfort of dystopian stories Ellie and Joel, the game’s protagonists, grizzled after an arduous, life-threatening trek in search of a cure to a pandemic that’s wiped out 60% of the planet, are climbing through an abandoned bus depot when they spot it: a wild giraffe grazing on acacia. In the distance, other giraffes roam through what used to be an inner-city baseball field, a symbol of how nature has reclaimed urban space in humanity’s absence. Acoustic guitar melodies stir. Ellie and Joel stop to caress the animal, looking out over a world rendered unrecognisable. It’s a moment of beauty amidst brutality; mankind may have been near-wiped out, but nature has carried on. Computer game The Last of Us Part 2 continues the story of two people battling for survival in a verdant post-apocalyptic world (Credit: Sony) Computer game The Last of Us Part 2 continues the story of two people battling for survival in a verdant post-apocalyptic world (Credit: Sony) In the seven years leading up to The Last of Us Part II, the game’s long-awaited sequel, released on Playstation 4 this Friday, imagery like this has begun to spread through pop culture. Dawn of the Planet of The Apes, A Quiet Place, Bird Box, Annihilation and What Still Remains are just some of the films and TV shows to have reflected on the idea of human extinction through the lens of nature, sending survivors on explorations of areas overrun by wildlife. Books like Ling Ma’s Severance have set up narratives in empty, post-pandemic cities now draped in moss and bursting with biodiversity. Even Avengers: Endgame toyed with the idea of how the world’s ecosystem would benefit from the destruction of mankind: one bright side to Thanos wiping out half of Earth’s population, Captain America tells Black Widow, is that whales now swim again in the Hudson river. Apocalyptic movies used to take place in smouldering landscapes, full of smoky greys and scorched skies. Now they take place in luscious green spaces, where wildlife has thrived as humanity has floundered. Why is that? There’s a fear that we’re not in control of our environment anymore. This is a visualisation of how we’ve made a mistake – Mark Digby Mark Digby has a theory. Digby is the art designer behind Alex Garland’s acclaimed Annihilation, a brilliant 2018 science-fiction thriller in which Natalie Portman plays a scientist investigating a mysterious, mutating natural environment that threatens to consume the entire planet. He sees this visual trend in popular culture as a manifestation of our fear of climate change. “I think we’ve hit a point where our arrogance has been called into check and we’re realising there are forces greater than what we can control: namely, nature and science,” he explains. “There’s a fear that we’re not in control of our environment anymore. This is a visualisation of how we’ve made a mistake, and now we’re anticipating the consequences.” “There’s definitely been a wave of films over the last decade that are exploring that aesthetic and this idea, of nature and apocalypse interlocking,” agrees Charles Spano, co-writer of 2019 Netflix sci-fi IO: Last on Earth, about a young girl alone on a crumbling planet. In that film, nature is described as being “reborn” in humanity’s absence: animals and flora are seen adapting and finding new ways to survive and thrive after mankind abandons the Earth for a new settlement in the stars. The movie concludes in an unnamed, abandoned city centre in which nature has erupted around its former concrete structures. “People making films, whether it’s a little art film or The Avengers, are looking at the world and this undeniable, looming devastation. I think that seeps into our storytelling. That’s where I think this visual concept comes from, and why we’re seeing nature and beauty become a part of apocalyptic stories more and more now.” The book that started it all Spano, a “huge fan” of The Last of Us, looked to the same source that the game’s creator Neil Druckmann did for inspiration: a 2008 book titled The World Without Us, by journalist Alan Weisman. “An editor asked me to write a piece about what would happen if humanity just left in the blink of an eye,” Weisman tells BBC Culture. What he thought might be a story about “a world resembling an empty lot, with cockroaches scuttling across it” quickly became a story instead about how nature would respond if there were no one to oversee cities, nuclear plants, forests and more. “It was way too big for an article and became a book about places in the world like Chernobyl where, without humans there, nature was rushing in, and what we could extrapolate from that.” The 2018 science fiction thriller Annihilation imagined a mysterious, mutating natural environment threatening to consume the entire planet (Credit: Alamy) The 2018 science fiction thriller Annihilation imagined a mysterious, mutating natural environment threatening to consume the entire planet (Credit: Alamy) A lot of the research from The World Without Us informs the worlds of The Last of Us, IO and other ‘nature-apocalypse’ pop culture. In Weisman’s book, he discovers that without human intervention, houses would be eaten from the inside out by mould, seedlings and small organisms, gnawing away at timber. Without the man-operated mechanisms pumping water out of the New York subway system, it would flood in a matter of days, submerging streets. Tree roots would push up and eventually burst through asphalt, turning roads into strange, uneven terrain. Rusted cars would become incubators for wildlife, while fauna would sprout from every pavement crack and broken window, transforming the look of entire cities. I never thought of The World Without Us as an apocalyptic book, because the world doesn’t get destroyed, it gets restored – Alan Weisman All of these visual touches are present in The Last of Us, as acknowledged by Druckmann in a 2013 making-of documentary. “The World Without Us describes in detail how much fighting on a daily basis we have to do to fight nature back, and once you stop doing that, how quickly nature will reclaim that space,” he says in the film. “Pretty soon you have vegetation growing everywhere and once you have vegetation, concrete breaks pretty easily.” This led to “wonderful concept art”, as lead game designer Jacob Minkoff puts it, of animals who’ve escaped from a zoo and bred over 20 years, inhabiting the land – all ideas rooted in Weisman’s research. Weisman finds it ironic his work has seemingly become the basis for a lot of apocalyptic fiction. “I never thought of The World Without Us as an apocalyptic book, because the world doesn’t get destroyed – it gets restored,” he laughs. He curiously hadn’t heard about The Last of Us before I called, or any of the other films or pop culture titles seemingly indebted to his work (“I’m not on social media! I have to spend enough time looking into a glowing rectangle for my work”) but emails back a few days later to say he’d looked at a Last of Us clip online and decided it was “something very original and creative.” What do these stories achieve? With The Last of Us Part II finally here, an HBO television series adaptation of the game in the works from Chernobyl creator Craig Mazin and more films and pop culture coming out of the woodwork with a similar aesthetic, what’s clear is that the notion of a post-apocalyptic world is being reimagined in a fundamental way. This reimagining also feels unexpectedly pertinent right now, in light of the media coverage of nature creeping back into our public spaces during lockdown, with coyotes spotted on the San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge and wild boar wandering Barcelona’s famous Las Ramblas. Sci-fi IO: Last on Earth is one of a number of apocalyptic works to have taken aesthetic inspiration from Alan Weisman’s non-fiction book The World Without Us (Credit: Alamy) Sci-fi IO: Last on Earth is one of a number of apocalyptic works to have taken aesthetic inspiration from Alan Weisman’s non-fiction book The World Without Us (Credit: Alamy) The rise of the ‘beautiful apocalypse’ narrative could have a resoundingly positive effect and be a useful tool in inspiring our generation to tackle climate change, says Weisman. “I hope these movies and video games plant a seed in people,” he explains, suggesting that gamers might be “learning something meaningful as they play.” The implication in these tales juxtaposing human extinction with verdant visuals is that the only thing stopping the world from flourishing are its carbon-polluting inhabitants – us. It’s a moral that those who watch and play such movies and video games might unconsciously take on board, shaping our own attitudes towards the environment and the responsibility we share in protecting it. Looked at another way, of course, these stories could be seen as profoundly tragic: the worst possible thing that could happen to mankind, they warn, could be the best possible thing to happen to the place we call home. But whether you find the concept of an abundant but barely-populated planet devastating or strangely comforting or both, it’s a good bet that it will only become more prominent in pop culture as our anxiety around our failure to control the climate crisis grows. In other words – we haven’t seen the last of the look of The Last of Us. Meanwhile, the LVGO's next London concert (11 June) rewinds Choi's Street Fighter II medley, and adds a vocal level to the show, with community choir Ready Singer One. "We're all nerds and gamers to some extent, so RS1 is a safe, empowering space to be creative and explore our favourite universes together," says founder Elisabeth Swedlund. "Singing about so many diverse characters and challenges is, each time, an immersive experience. Because the themes are much more varied than in pop repertoire – we're pirates, sailors, AI! – the experience of being in a choir is much richer. Their set list includes the exuberantly jazzy Jump Up Super Star from Super Mario Odyssey (composed by Naoto Kubo, 2017). "The piece has a variety of 'Easter Eggs', both in the words and in the music," says Swedlund. "There's a moment where we sing an exclamative "woo-oh!", and we very much feel like Super Mario bouncing around!" Videogame music offers an infinite playlist: transcendent and transformative, resonating way beyond game over. Dear Reader, I did not consent. You did not consent. But on March 9th, 2022, Joe Biden did something that will solidify his legacy as the greatest ‘Peeping Tom’ in history. A despicable act that could give him direct access to you... Your neighbors... And your children. Whether you are a Democrat or Republican — if you aren’t sick after seeing the details of [this disturbing order](... The new ‘gentle’ video games are absorbing, beautiful and silly – and, says Kate Spicer, they can help keep us calm in a crisis. O Outside my window the streets are quiet, the world is weird, the future uncertain. Conspiracy theorists are bombarding my social media feed, and everyone is an armchair expert on the pandemic. But for now I am okay, because I am a moose. The game called Everything has been out for a while now. Occasionally I click on a thought bubble and the counterculture philosopher Alan Watts tells me something; sometimes I cease to be a moose and choose to be a solar system or a single-cell organism instead. I move around this game of infinite possibility, not doing much, occasionally communicating with other things with barks or tinkles. I’ve never been much of a gamer, but in recent weeks Everything – and its sister game, Mountain (equally pointless, if not more so) – have been, well, everything to me. Absorbing, still, deep, silly, beautiful, with a chorus of odd but satisfying sounds – both have calmed me and made me forget the lunacy and drama of life online and in lockdown. More like this: - Isolation inspiration - Culture in quarantine - What makes a cult classic? Everything was a game that divided the gamer community when it came out: ‘Joyfully expansive’ or ‘garbage’. For someone like me, though, it was an escape from the turbulence of work pressure and paranoia into an exquisite form of boredom. I gave it to my nephew and niece. They told me, sagely, more experienced in these things: “It’s for relaxing before bedtime because it doesn’t make you excited.” When the programmer Brie Code wrote a manifesto for her new games company, Tru Luv, she could not have known quite how presciently one line would describe our lives today. “We gaze with horrified fascination into our phones, we are all overwhelmed with shock...” Her goal for the Toronto-based business was to create games that are an antidote to the adrenalised, goal-driven, fight-or-flight content that has dominated the gaming industry since its genesis 50 years ago. Provocatively, she says: “The multitudes of white masculine gamers who dominate the games industry have made experiences that are relevant to them but not to most people.” In 2018, Tru Luv’s first game hit the market, a phone app called #selfcare. In it the ‘player’ is stuck in bed interacting with various rituals designed to de-stress. #selfcare looked and felt like a game but it went, really, nowhere. There are no monsters to kill, only cats to stroke, and simple but satisfying tasks to complete. The game #selfcare, created by Tru Luv, is an antidote to adrenalised gaming content The game #selfcare, created by Tru Luv, is an antidote to adrenalised gaming content “Rumpled to smooth, tangled to loose, messy to tidy. We designed an app that was a calm space to escape to inside your phone,” says Tru Luv’s Eve Thomas. “The way to keep people at that sweet spot of engagement has been the same. Social media, gambling, games – they all follow a design card of rising tension so that the stress response is triggered. Life is stressful enough. Yet we turn to our phones or tech to escape and find more of the same.” SoundSelf takes the player on an ‘inward journey’ that will instil a deeper quality of stillness – Robin Arnott Video games are already huge business. According to the Entertainment Retailers Association (ERA), the games industry in the UK was more valuable than the music and film industry combined in 2019. When the lockdown started in March, the gaming platform Steam reported its highest ever number of concurrent users logged on at once. But when life is a fight-or-flight nightmare, aren’t these computer games a bit of a busman’s holiday? Code says the stress imperative in so many games and online activities is off-putting: “Capitalising on fear by continuing to make games that drive this fear is a short-term strategy. Agitating young men’s fear makes money. It’s the coward’s choice, and it’s a boring choice. We don’t need artificial stress to create engaging experiences. Love and insight can create nourishing and compelling experiences.” The creators of SoundSelf aim to guide a person into a ‘state of transcendence’ The creators of SoundSelf aim to guide a person into a ‘state of transcendence’ Code spent the first eight years of her career working as a high-level programmer in the mainstream gaming industry, latterly at Ubisoft, a French video game company with 16,000 employees worldwide. Code directed blockbuster games like Assassin’s Creed, and was successful, but something bugged her about gaming. “With fight-or-flight, your sympathetic nervous system kicks in and releases adrenaline followed by dopamine. If you like games like this, it’s probably because adrenaline and dopamine are very enjoyable. Pupils dilate, your heart beats faster, your airways open up, and you feel exhilarated. You feel alive. You feel powerful. But not everyone likes these kinds of games. I don’t. My friends don’t.” Inward journey Andromeda Entertainment’s SoundSelf is launching later this month. Eight years in the making by company founder, Robin Arnott, the game tracks the experience of religious ceremonies, psychedelics, chanting, meditation and hypnosis. SoundSelf takes the player, he says, “on an ‘inward journey’ that will instil a deeper quality of stillness. I saw how games could guide a person into a state of transcendence. You only have to look at kids staring blankly at screens to see how entrancing the medium is – it’s just that generally the trance is used to engender one very narrow band of psychological states, when we can use it to catalyse anything a human is capable of feeling. For half a century, the industry has created one kind of game for one kind of person. Why is it that 90% target cortisol (stress) response?” Animal Crossing features calming, gentle music and serene water sounds Animal Crossing features calming, gentle music and serene water sounds There are of course exceptions to the fight-or-flight imperative in gaming, and they are not unsuccessful. There are the gentle world-building games, where players escape into alternative realities of their own creation like The Sims and Minecraft. The simulation game Animal Crossing has players as a solitary human on an island full of cute, saucer-eyed animals. All there is to do is bumble about, fishing, chopping wood, finding Easter eggs and picking fruit. Its latest issue, Animal Crossing: New Horizons, came out towards the end of March, around the time much of the world went into lockdown, and swiftly outsold all previous iterations of the game, five since it launched in 2001. The New York Times called it “the Game for the Coronavirus Moment”. And it wasn’t kids playing it. Rhianna Pratchett is an award-winning writer of the narrative element of games. “Animal Crossing is big on my Twitter feed, so many people are playing it,” she tells BBC Culture. “It came at just the right time, it has calming, gentle music, the sound of waves breaking on the shore. It’s serene, peaceful, creative and addictive.” She namechecks another slow and gentle simulation game, Stardew Valley. “It’s just farming and visiting neighbours.” But it was a game so massive that Elon Musk had it programmed into the monitors of his Tesla cars, prompting images of sleek executives harvesting parsnips while they wait for their car to charge. Lost Words Beyond the Page is an artful puzzle and fantasy game, created by Rhianna Pratchett Lost Words Beyond the Page is an artful puzzle and fantasy game, created by Rhianna Pratchett Slow, calm gaming isn’t radical or new, but, says Pratchett, “because of the way games are reported by the mainstream media, it’s a very samey narrative; the entire industry is demonised like rock ‘n’ roll, video nasties and, indeed, the novel were. For the last five or so years the independent games companies have been thriving, and because they have no shareholders they’ve been creating all kinds of smaller games with far more emotional and reflective narratives.” Pratchett’s latest project, Lost Words: Beyond the Page, is a painterly puzzle and fantasy game, “about a girl who writes stories to escape stress in her real life. I wrote it around the seven stages of grief. It’s not super-hard, again it’s soothing, it’s gentle, it’s beautiful.” Pratchett, controversially for some, reinvented Tomb Raider’s Lara Croft for a more sensitive generation. “I made her a bit more human. Gave her vulnerability and a backstory. She gets upset at killing a deer; is traumatised when she takes a human life. I allowed her to show emotion.” Pratchett got, she says, “some pushback at the time by people who felt [Lara] shedding tears – because people are dying – was a weakness.” With 20 years writing for and about the gaming industry, Pratchett says she isn’t against the “exciting and adrenalised” big-selling games. “I like playing them, they hit different spots in my brain. They do seem to skew towards men but many women do enjoy them, and it’s a myth to say women don’t.” Soothing game Everything has been described as ‘joyfully expansive’ Soothing game Everything has been described as ‘joyfully expansive’ She says she enjoys many different types of games, from the nastiest to the sweetest, but one thing she has always liked, “is going off on side missions. Like in Far Cry 4, which is set in Tibet, when you can [unlock] elephants and just go trundling through this lush valley. In Assassin’s Creed there are cats you can pet. In some games you can just find a beautiful high spot where you can sit and chill out and look at the view. There’s always been that content. There’s a Twitter account called ‘Can You Pet the Dog’.” Both Everything and Mountain are intentionally, absolutely, beautifully pointless – David O’Reilly Everything and Mountain were created by an Irish artist and animator called David O’Reilly, who lives in East LA with his cat, Bel. “They exist in the game category, but do they fill every version of the word ‘game’? For some, the word ‘game’ implies goal, and both Everything and Mountain are intentionally, absolutely, beautifully pointless.” He compares his ‘games’ to the difference between pop music and ambient music; Kylie and Brian Eno. He doesn’t have a problem with big commercial games, and he likes newcomers Dreams and Knights and Bikes for the quality of their “textured worlds”. “What I always really liked in games were the things the audience don’t notice: the background things, the changing weather, or how the trees, grass and water are described. Sometimes I’d kill all the monsters and then just explore the place. I prefer to think of it in terms of play. In a game, you have to do something. With play, there’s no point to it, you can’t fail.” Micromanagement has always existed. But remote work has birthed a new swathe of helicopter bosses, and workers are suffering. R Rarely does an hour go by without Alison, a software engineer, hearing from her line manager. “If she sees my Slack status has been switched to ‘away’, then I can bet within the next half an hour there’ll be an email in my inbox checking how I’m getting on with a project,” says the 24-year-old, based in Bristol, UK. “We’re all required to attend a morning meeting every day where we’re asked for updates on what we’re working on – even though they’re often long-term pieces of work that hardly change from one day to the next.” The micromanagement wasn’t nearly so bad when the team were based in a physical office, says Alison. But since the pandemic, the healthcare provider she works for took the decision to turn many of its technical roles permanently remote. “Even though we were busier than ever during Covid-19, which is when we went remote for the first time, my manager doesn’t seem to believe any of us are capable of getting our work done without her constant input. It’s infuriating.” Micromanagement isn’t a new phenomenon, of course; there have always been bosses who keep close tabs on their staff. But as the increase in workers performing their roles remotely has fuelled insecurities in some managers, experts say the pandemic has birthed a new swathe of remote helicopter bosses: think helicopter parents, who hover over their children and constantly monitor them, but for the workplace. A July 2020 study in the Harvard Business Review, which surveyed more than 1,200 people across 24 different countries, showed that a fifth of remote workers felt their supervisor was constantly evaluating their work, and one-third agreed their supervisors “expressed a lack of confidence in their work skills”. They weren’t imagining things: the same study showed 38% of managers felt workers simply weren’t as productive at home, and 40% had low confidence in their ability to manage remotely. Even now, many managers are struggling to lead remote teams using the traditional tools they once relied on. These remote micromanagers bombard staff with constant check-ins and calls, unnecessary Zoom meetings or overly detailed instructions. And experts say it’s doing significant damage to their employees. Remote workers who feel micromanaged by their boss are less engaged, less motivated and less capable than ever before. Remote micromanagers have driven some employees to go to great lengths to keep their status lights as 'active' (Credit: Getty Images) Remote micromanagers have driven some employees to go to great lengths to keep their status lights as 'active' (Credit: Getty Images) ‘We all want control’ Two leadership styles have increased since the switch to remote work, explains Katleen De Stobbeleir, professor of leadership and coaching at Vlerick Business School, Belgium. Neither, unfortunately, is positive. In one style, managers disconnect or even forget about their staff working from home, leading workers to feel isolated or alienated; the other style is the polar opposite: micromanagers. “They’re constantly checking up on employees, and even pushing them to come back to the office,” says De Stobbeleir. They may book endless video conferences, insist on being included on every email or deliver ultra-prescriptive project briefs that give no room for creativity or independence. There are clear reasons for the increase in this type of overzealous supervision, believes Arielle Sadan, a New York City-based executive and leadership coach. “Micromanagement has always been an issue that’s primarily rooted in a lack of trust between a manager and their team,” she says. “When we’re in a remote environment, and a manager doesn’t have direct physical oversight of what their employees are doing, then that mistrust gets amplified,” she says. “We all want control, and for managers that aren’t able to see their employees, that can feel like an even more acute need.” The spike in reliance on digital platforms and tools can make it easier for managers to peek over an employee’s virtual shoulder, too. Status indicators that show whether employees are in front of their computers can become a crutch for micromanagers, for instance. And for some employers, remote micromanagement goes one step further with the implementation of worker surveillance methods. A July 2022 survey from market-intelligence firm International Data Corporation showed about 68% of North American employers with at least 500 employees use some form of employee-monitoring software. Another September 2021 survey of 1,250 US employers from Digital.com showed that of those who said they used monitoring software, nearly 90% of them fired workers as a result. We all want control, and for managers that aren’t able to see their employees, that can feel like an even more acute need – Arielle Sadan Workers are feeling pressure. Alison says she’s ended up searching for ways to keep her Slack status as ‘active’ while she takes a coffee break, for instance, just to keep her boss off her back. Some employees are even investing in tools such as ‘mouse jigglers’, which keep their statuses active, in order to avoid productivity tracking. Less engaged, less capable Of course, micromanagement isn’t always malicious by nature – De Stobbeleir underscores that some of these helicopter bosses are simply trying to reach out regularly to ensure a remote worker feels supported and connected. Similarly, most people like a little bit of structure and oversight from their manager, says Sadan (though the amount of “handholding” each employee needs certainly differs, especially among age and seniority, she points out). Yet regardless of a manager’s intention, experts say results of micromanagement are nearly always negative – for everyone. Attrition is, of course, a major concern – something particularly worrying to firms right now, as they’re still struggling to retain staff, in an ongoing swell of worker quits. “Micromanagement is a behaviour born out of bad management to a certain extent, and lack of wanting to relinquish control,” says Mark Williams, managing director for EMEA at WorkJam, which develops digital tools to improve productivity, and regularly works with companies whose staff accuse them of micromanagement. The consequence is that “the employee feels undervalued, that their ideas and thoughts are not taken seriously. They become disconnected from the company and the brand”. In an era of remote work, this becomes amplified, as employees are already physically disconnected from a company and colleagues, and micromanagement only increases this sense of disengagement. Hovering bosses can stunt their employees' growth both in the short- and long term, keeping them from developing key skills to grow (Credit: Getty Images) Hovering bosses can stunt their employees' growth both in the short- and long term, keeping them from developing key skills to grow (Credit: Getty Images) Ultimately, this can result in an uptick in resignations. Micromanagement is easier to navigate in an in-person setting, explains Sadan, as there are less intrusive ways for managers to keep an eye on a project’s progress, such as strolling over for a quick chat which could be “interpreted as just being very supportive”. But in a remote setting, where micromanagement takes the form of constant emails or calls, the impact on relationships can be more significant. It creates “more frustrations and more anxiety in employees, and less motivation,” she says. “Ultimately, you'll see … disengagement and eventually people will leave.” But there are also longer-term effects that can follow employees throughout their careers. When workers stick it out in micromanagerial organisations, say experts, they’re less likely to end up capable in the long run. Micromanaged employees can end up without the initiative to carry out tasks independently, step outside their comfort zones and develop resilience in the face of adversity, explains Sadan. “An employee that doesn't learn the skills of being creative, to think critically and have the confidence to try something out will only want to do what feels comfortable,” she says. “So, their growth in the organisation is going to be more stunted.” Micromanagers themselves end up with a big increase in their workload, too, points out De Stobbeleir. “Very often we see these leaders are very stressed, and very often feel they're doing work that others should be doing. As a result, they're not focused enough on strategy as they're stuck in operations, rather than thinking in the long term – which is very important in turbulent times.” Learning to trust As remote work has changed the workplace, this shift has left managers scrambling find new ways of interacting with their teams, such as how to assess good performance when they can’t physically see work happening in front of them. It’s a learning curve, says De Stobbeleir – and although the effects of micromanagement can be detrimental for workers, managers may also be struggling and coping in the best way they know how right now. On the upside, De Stobbeleir believes as remote and hybrid work becomes the norm, helicopter bosses will likely settle down as they learn how to develop more trust with employees based off-site. Alison is hoping that’s the case. In the meantime, she’s attending the daily Zoom meetings and responding to the constant emails as politely as she can. She’s keeping up hope that, at some point, her manager will realise she’s more than capable of doing her job without constantly hovering over her shoulder. For now, it’s a waiting game. Then you might as well never stand for the national anthem again. That’s why I am urging you to get the details of this order and take action before it’s too late. [Click here for the shocking details.]( Regards, Jim Rickards, Editor, Paradigm Press [devider] [WSW footer logo]( [devider] You are receiving this e-mail because you have expressed an interest in the Financial Education niche on one of our landing pages or sign-up forms on our website. If you {EMAIL} received this e-mail in error and would like to report spam, simply send an email to abuse@wallstreetwizardry.com. You’ll receive a response within 24 hours. Email sent by Finance and Investing Traffic, LLC, owner and operator of Wall Street Wizardry. This ad is sent on behalf of Paradigm Press, LLC, at 808 St. Paul Street, Baltimore MD 21202. 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