Once you're ready to start the game, you're put in a club where some lunkhead shoulder checks you to show off. Next thing you know, you're throwing down with him. Win, and you catch the eye of a Def Jam exec huddled in the club's private area. From there you earn a sort of bodyguard status, which means you'll be called on to dole out punishment when the paparazzi won't stay off Ludacris' tail, or if some psycho fan keeps stalking Mike Jones. Once you layeth the smacketh down, you earn the trust of the hip-hop artists you're protecting. That leads the Def Jam exec to put you in charge of securing talent. So then you get in fights with people over who will sign Sean Paul, or you fight to get Young Jeezy out of terrible contract so he'll consider joining your team. One night, maybe you have to choose between a fight to earn Ghostface Killah's respect and a fight to get Big Boi to sign with your label. Soon enough, you're not just fighting to make ducats for Def Jam, your making your own bank by managing artists, releasing their albums, setting up their marketing budgets, bailing them out of jail when things go down, or just giving them 500 bucks because they ask you for it. It's not rocket science, but at least there's some believability.
The system does break down on two accounts, though. First, when trying to sign an artist (like, say, Sean Paul), sometimes you'll have to fight another artist (like, say, Redman) -- which is just weird. We have a feeling Redman has better things to do than jujitsu a record producer. But who are we to judge? Another breakdown is the entire financial system. You can add bucks to marketing an album, or to getting it played on the radio, but it doesn't seem to matter. You end up with so much money that you have way more capital than you can spend. So when one of your clients wants to throw a party on your dime, or wants you to fund the making a videogame, it's all chump change. No risk, all reward.
Now, with storyline mostly sorted, the series' biggest weakness is the fighting itself -- which, we'll concede, is a big deal for a fighting game. Problems start when you find that the amount of moves in your arsenal feels way too limited. Two quick attacks, two bigger attacks, grab and throw, four grab-and-slam maneuvers, six right analog attacks, and defend high and low. There's more than enough there to beat the crap out of new and old Gs alike, but you'll occasionally come up against a brawler who has your number (Redman, in particular, gave us fits). With the limited set of moves, adjustments are tough to make. Plus, the right analog -- which controls grabbing and throwing opponents -- is about as responsive as a stretch Hummer's steering. As the game is overly throwcentric, the busted right analog means you'll be on the receiving end of a lot of long tosses. Many times you'll try for a grab two or three times before your character will take notice, which results in you being popped by two or three jabs, or your opponent grabbing your collar so he can launch you across the room.
The reason throwing is so important: The gorgeous environments are alive. As the bass drops, so do your surroundings. Everything starts out looking sterling (this game stylistically rivals the brilliant NBA Street Homecourt), but the background music breaks the environment apart. Fissures appear in buildings, windows break, fireplaces erupt, all to the beat. One fighting arena is a gas station, where throwing your opponent into a broken fuel pump will blast them across the screen (and inflict serious damage). On a rooftop, a helicopter's tail swings down every eight count, so if you throw your opponent at the right time, they get swatted. And if the beats aren't timed to carve your opponent in two, you can hold a trigger and remix the song yourself -- by spinning the analog sticks like turntables.
Music -- as it should -- plays a big part in Icon, not just by deteriorating your surroundings, but by giving a boost to your brawler. If you play as Big Boi versus Method Man, you get a boost if Big Boi's song is spinning in the background. But give Meth enough time and he can change the song to his own by using the analog stick turntables. It all looks sort of silly -- a grown man picks up another grown man, throws him into, say, a fireplace, stands there mixing on the air turntables, then sort of throws an invisible fistful of energy at the thrown opponent so that the opponent is consumed in flames for a few seconds. Ahh, videogames.
We should mention that the cloth physics in the game are very cool -- in part because the clothing options are plentiful. You can sport a blazer, camouflage pants, white dress shoes and sunglasses, or a do-rag, shorts, tank top and Timberlands. The mixing and matching is endless, and no matter how much blood gets on your $1,500 shirt or how many rips it suffers, the dry cleaners and tailors fix it up real nice for your next battle -- free of charge.
One of the game's coolest bonuses is being able to play your own tracks in the game (though this only works on the 360). You can spin Linda Ronstadt and watch the background ease into breakage, or you can pop in the Stanton Warriors and see the joint get shredded in 30 seconds. It's a shame uploading music doesn't work in the story mode (you can play your music, but it doesn't give you a boost and can't be turned off), but in the versus game it works just fine.
Lastly, we want to give big kudos to EA for allowing the dropping of N- and F-bombs -- the restriction-free language serves the audience, and there's no point in sugarcoating the culture. Big ups. Plus, playing through the game will skyrocket your hip-hop vernacular. We have no idea what Mike Jones is saying half the time and we don't care -- its genius!
This one's fun, no doubt about it, and the way the beats bang the environment is a must-see. But its lack of fighting depth definitely keeps it on the casual tip.
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