Ian

Murder, Death, Kill

The moment has nearly arrived, when the release of GTA4 sees a whole generation of young men taking the day off work to pump virtual lead into virtual passers-by. When I finished San Andreas I decided, after three console versions and two top-down PC originals, I was officially GTA-ed out. But recently, my Uzi trigger-finger has been twitching, in anticipation of the next installment in the series. I turned my attention to the already owned, but previously ignored PSP games - Liberty City Stories and its Vice City counterpart.

The PSP isn't the best console to go on a crime-spree with - the awkward analogue nub and fewer buttons at your disposal make mowing down pensioners and murdering prostitutes a touch more tricky. Despite the slight limitations, I soon found the Grand Theft Auto feeling was back! The reckless driving, the hideously violent baseball bat attacks on people who annoy me, the regular use and subsequent murder of prozzers. It's like how my life would be, if only those do-gooders down the cop shop would let me. Giving it the Boyz n the Hood attitude on the streets of San Andreas is still the series highlight for me - as a white suburban male, it was naturally my dream to perform an inner-city drive-by whilst listening to NWA.

Hopefully we'll see some classic choons finally given the Rockstar treatment. I'm awaiting the day I make my escape from the fuzz with the power chords of Steppenwolf's "Born To Be Wild" blaring from the car radio. Finishing off a rival gangland boss with a switchblade to the tune of Orange Juice's "Rip It Up" would be fun. GTA is nothing if not a pop-culture potpourri, and creating your own custom soundtracks on the original Xbox versions felt great. If only you could get the piss-taking adverts in there somewhere. I clearly remember watching the morning sun rise over a scuzzy Liberty City as Keith Moon's drums kicked off "Baba O'Riley". "Don't cry, don't raise your eye, It's only teenage wasteland...", yeah, belt it out, Daltrey. Townshend's chords came crashing in, and another day of crime and murder began. With a glint in my eye and a gun in my hand, I'd got it in mind to get paid. Paid in full.

It's like Nena sang, as we raced recklessly through the streets of Vice City:

"99 Luftballons
Auf ihrem weg zum horizont
Hielt man fuer UFOs aus dem all"....

Hopefully those lyrics turn out to mean something significant in German, otherwise I'll look a right tit ending a piece like this.