In the mid-90s, a Japanese prog rock star, an American visual artist, and their small team of collaborators made a colorful cartoon hip hop rhythm game that looked and played (and kicked! and punched!) like nothing else on the market. Initially dismissed by some as a curiosity, PaRappa the Rapper was a hit with players that would eventually sell millions of copies, receive two sequels, and inspire entire genres into being. And for author Mike Sholars, PaRappa left a lasting impact.
Featuring exclusive interviews with creators Masaya Matsuura and Rodney Greenblat, original voice cast member Saundra Williams, and a medley of sharp game critics and music experts, Sholars’ PaRappa the Rapper is equal parts recap, remix, and recollection.
Sholars uses his love of hip hop and gaming to celebrate PaRappa‘s unprecedented mechanics, art, humor, cultural specificity, and uplifting themes as he pairs energetic game history with personal memoir to explain how a game about a rapping dog helped him feel seen when he needed it the most. Funny, informative, and sincere, Sholars’ book is a heartfelt reminder why we all gotta believe.
I never got past Chop Chop Master Onion while playing PaRappa the Rapper on a Playstation demo disc as a kid. But it wasn't for lack of trying. Still, almost 25 years later, this game left an indelible impression on my concept of what a video game could be in the wild frontier of CD-ROM gaming. Mike Sholars touches upon this, the game's hip-hop culture, the creation of the game and his personal feelings about the game in this book. Maybe the most humorous of the Boss Fight Books yet, Sholars' footnotes are a hilarious delight and the writing is smooth and easily digestible. The most resonating parts of the book are his thoughts on racial representation in popular media and he has plenty to say about it both personally and universally. All in all, a great edition to the Boss Fight canon.
Boss Fight Books publishes books about video games, yes, but the hook in each BFB title is the personal connection between a book’s author and the game about which they’re writing. Mike Sholars’ PARAPPA THE RAPPER is a beautiful synthesis of these two ingredients.
Early on, Mike takes us on a trip down memory lane by recalling a demo disc—remember those? Yeah, discs, very funny—that was the introduction to PaRappa for many players. Yes, including me. I never played the full version, but like Mike, that demo was my favorite attraction on the disc. The author does a fantastic job of breaking down how the game works, as well as how and why we should consider it an antecedent of later rhythm games such as Guitar Hero and Rock Band. I especially enjoyed learning about the game’s sandbox-style play, which lets you customize your own beats. I don’t remember hearing or reading about that aspect of the game back in the ‘90s, and Mike’s interview with the game’s co-creator sheds light on why.
Regarding the personal connection between author and game, PARAPPA explores how and why Mike sees himself in the titular character. The book is at once a powerful story of the importance of representation in video games, and that of artistic expression through video games—for creators, yes, but for us, the players, who make them our own over weeks, months, sometimes years of repeated play. It’s also hilarious, with—and I say this at the risk of understating my point—the wittiest use of footnotes in the history of time and space. I lost times of the times Mike made me laugh out loud, which was nearly as often as he made me think.
Entertaining, moving, and introspective, PARAPPA THE RAPPER is a marvelous addition to Boss Fight’s library of stories exploring why we love the games we play.
I'm not going to lie and say I thought Parappa was a good game. When it came out, I thought it looked terrible and didn't understand the concept at all. Not to mention, it was incredibly short. Watching a video of it's gameplay now at 42 years old, I still think it looks terrible, but as a player of ddr, I now have a much greater appreciation of what it accomplished, far ahead of anything even remotely close to it.
This book, in my opinion, is much better than the game. The author shared his own life story, and how the game affected him, while adding a great deal of insights, positive "take-aways", and interesting interview topics throughout his writing. Well worth the read.
A book about being a Brown kid and playing a weird game about a rapping dog, how that game changed an industry, and how it was created. Great, interesting, and at times beautiful. There are parts of this book most people I know won't give a damn about, but there are other parts that I want every single person I've ever met to read, to help them understand me more, understand video games more, and understand themselves more. I gotta believe.
As a long-time fan of Boss Fight Books (I’ve read all of them, and reviewed most of them), I can say confidently that if you’re a fan too, then Mike Sholars’s Pa Rappa the Rapper will keep you a fan.
Pa Rappa the Rapper does what my favorite Boss Fight Books do, and that’s to not focus too heavily on the development of the subject game and instead use the game as a catalyst for examinations of history, culture, and as a platform for the author to get a bit personal and introspective. On that note, this book taught me that Mike has crapped his pants on several continents. Yes, he was incontinent on continents. Heh.
With any book where the author is willing to get personal, I feel obligated to find a good life lesson and carry it forward. It’s my way of saying thank you for being vulnerable. With Pa Rappa the Rapper, Mike opened my eyes to the idea that subcultures, perhaps especially marginalized subcultures (for context, Mike is not white), might “draft” non-human cartoon and video game characters into their own races, not out of some desire to claim the characters as their own but as a way to see their underrepresented selves in media. And this drafting isn’t intentional, necessarily, but rather a point of course for a pop-culture landscape that leans away from marginalized people too often. For example, Mike has always seen Max Goof (of A Goofy Movie) as black. I, a white guy, never really considered the character’s race. And I think that’s Mike’s point: why would a white guy need to see race when so much of the default is my own race…or maybe that’s not what Mike was trying to say at all, but he got me thinking, and I thank him for that. Thank you, Mike!
This was a fantastically written book covering the history of 'music games' and of course the development of the game itself. Personal highlights for me were the personal touch of the author's life experience around the game and what it meant to them personally, and of course the interviews with the people involved in the game's development were fascinating.
I was personally shocked how little I really knew about the game and everything it had to offer. I will for sure keep an eye out for the author in the future, will read more Boss Fight Books, and will surely revisit Parappa in the future and hopefully he can help me believe in myself just a little more.
Wonderfully thoughtful and comprehensive deep dive into the original Parappa game that touches on the entire series and cultural relevance of the game and its characters. Personal insights from the author prevents the book from straying into dry territory.
As a long-time fan of Boss Fight Books (I’ve read all of them, and reviewed most of them), I can say confidently that if you’re a fan too, then Mike Sholars’s Pa Rappa the Rapper will keep you a fan.
Pa Rappa the Rapper does what my favorite Boss Fight Books do, and that’s to not focus too heavily on the development of the subject game and instead use the game as a catalyst for examinations of history, culture, and as a platform for the author to get a bit personal and introspective. On that note, this book taught me that Mike has crapped his pants on several continents. Yes, he was incontinent on continents. Heh.
With any book where the author is willing to get personal, I feel obligated to find a good life lesson and carry it forward. It’s my way of saying thank you for being vulnerable. With Pa Rappa the Rapper, Mike opened my eyes to the idea that subcultures, perhaps especially marginalized subcultures (for context, Mike is not white), might “draft” non-human cartoon and video game characters into their own races, not out of some desire to claim the characters as their own but as a way to see their underrepresented selves in media. And this drafting isn’t intentional, necessarily, but rather a point of course for a pop-culture landscape that leans away from marginalized people too often. For example, Mike has always seen Max Goof (of A Goofy Movie) as black. I, a white guy, never really considered the character’s race. And I think that’s Mike’s point: why would a white guy need to see race when so much of the default is my own race…or maybe that’s not what Mike was trying to say at all, but he got me thinking, and I thank him for that. Thank you, Mike!
what an enjoyable book. I did not know the game but the way he spoke of it and its important for finding representation as a person of color was really intersting. The writing was clear and personal and the aspects of race and identity through a video game was worth the time to read.
This was a great balance of critical analysis of the game, behind the scenes history of the making of, and autobiography and discourse of how the author experienced the game.
What a great book!! Loved it very much. Thought provoking, reflective, inspiring, nostalgic, smart and had me laughing a lot. I loved hearing Mike’s unique voice come through on the page, and I’m excited for what’s next from him!
Note: I received an ARC of this book via NetGalley in return for an honest review.
A deceptively broad book for one so short. Taking the cartoon dog game (or more likely, its demo disc) you might remember from childhood as a cultural artefact, Mike Scholars uses it to explore everything from the mechanics of rhythm action games to the purpose and value of representation in media. All while providing a forensic rundown of the game's actual contents.
This sort of monograph on a single cultural item is increasingly popular (there are series covering everything from albums to Doctor Who episodes), but the art is not always there, and I've read some that have lacked cohesion and others that have felt overly specific. This, though, is an exemplar of how to do it.