One hand clapping rhythm games series#
Far in the distance, a series of tall, sharp structures stand erect. Windy clouds wisp above against an otherwise pale blue sky. You sing to activate a staircase, revealing a beaming golden sun with a halo of rays decorating its edges. The protagonist strides across purple sands, darker violet rocks. Your character enters a tunnel not altogether out of place in a submarine – and then emerges into a breathtaking vista that, again, reminded me of Journey in its ability to navigate so many kinds of places in such a short while. The dank and dingy cavern is complete with dripping water, haggard rocks, and a singular beam of light pining in from above. You are dropped from the ground above, deep into a dark, cavernous underground. Soon you are overtaken by the aforementioned massive blob monster. Again, this tension builds by virtue of atmospheric context. In alleyways, the music loses its light-hearted, carefree adventure tones and sharpens into darker more dramatic music. All of their eyes – dozens, maybe hundreds – all hungrily peer at you.
Singing lifts objects, builds bridges, and eventually solves increasingly complex audio puzzles.Īs you set off on your journey into this unknown land, you pass buildings with ghostly black figures pressed up against windows. It immediately becomes clear that singing (or humming or whistling) manipulates objects in the game world. The character animations match up your inputs almost precisely: it sings when you sing, its mouth opens and it tilts its head back. Your character is pink with big, dopey eyes – almost like a cartoon ghost – donned with a green scarf around its neck. Unless you’re a streamer, a microphone isn’t always (or even usually) an essential to playing games. I can’t think of the surprise I would have felt during this first moment if I hadn’t already been streaming with my microphone connected. The game instructs you to sing at your lowest comfortable range, which then calibrates which notes the game will request from you. Its at this point that the game mechanics make themselves known. A singular street lamp breaks the illusion, like a beacon that implies to you, “hey, this way is forward.”
It feels like a melancholy city that recently experienced rainfall. The dim palette of blues and greys in the background nicely blends between your character and the world. Your character then emerges from a kind of energy cloud, enshrouded in pastel colors that breeze by you, lighting the sky with peach, pink, and orange wind. The contrast between your innocent looking character and this uncanny monstrosity inspires a brief moment of dread about what’s to come. This blob monster runs past, reminding me of the climax to Inside. This peaceful introduction of your character is met with something rather disturbing: a massive blob with a million legs. Atmosphere acts in context as a narrator. What is this world? Who is this character? In some sense, as a player, you aren’t worried about answering those questions because the raw novelty and beauty are captivating. You are dropped into a world swirling with atmosphere and intrigue, something deeply reminiscent of how Journey brings you through a staggeringly beautiful, mostly peaceful, and at all times mysterious world. One Hand Clapping combines unexpected gameplay mechanics, lore, and surprisingly silent storytelling.
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