Sound Design at Edinburgh Napier University

Category: Video games

  • Designed Serendipity: Andy Martin on Creativity, Listening, and the Art of Surprise

    Andy Martin

    What does creativity sound like?

    For Andy Martin, Senior Sound Designer at Sucker Punch Productions, the answer is unlikely to be found in a carefully documented workflow or a rigid production methodology. Throughout his guest lecture at Edinburgh Napier University, Martin repeatedly returned to a very different idea. The most interesting sounds often emerge when designers deliberately place themselves in situations where they can be surprised.

    Martin refers to this philosophy as “designed serendipity”, a concept he credits largely to his mentor Randy Thom. The phrase initially appears contradictory. Serendipity implies chance, accident, and unexpected discovery. Design suggests planning and intention. Yet Martin’s career demonstrates how these ideas can work together. Creativity, in this view, is not about waiting for inspiration to appear. It is about constructing conditions in which unexpected discoveries become more likely. The designer cannot control what will be found, though they can shape the circumstances that make finding it possible.

    This perspective challenges many popular assumptions about creative work. Students often imagine that successful practitioners possess a hidden method, a reliable sequence of steps capable of transforming ordinary material into extraordinary results. Martin openly questioned this way of thinking. Asked about his workflow, he admitted that he does not really have one. Certainly, there are habits that reappear from project to project, though he remains wary of turning them into rules. Every game presents different creative challenges. Every project requires different forms of thinking. More importantly, repeating the same process too faithfully risks producing the same results. Creativity depends upon remaining open to possibilities that lie beyond familiar routines.

    The origins of this philosophy can be traced back to Martin’s time at Skywalker Sound, where he worked alongside Randy Thom. Looking back, he describes the experience as one of the most important periods of his professional development. Yet the lessons he absorbed were not primarily technical. What fascinated him was Thom’s approach to listening and organisation. Rather than treating sounds simply as recordings of physical events, Thom often approached them through their emotional qualities. His personal library contained sounds catalogued not only according to source, but also according to feeling. Recordings could be associated with loneliness, tension, aggression, calmness, mystery, or wonder. The objective was not to identify what a sound was. The objective was to understand what a sound might do.

    This distinction may appear subtle, though it reveals a fundamentally different way of thinking about audio. Conventional cataloguing systems encourage designers to search for sounds according to source categories. A door slam is stored alongside other door slams. A dog bark sits among other dog barks. Thom’s approach encouraged a different question. What emotional qualities does this sound possess? What might happen if it were combined with something unexpected? A sound recorded in one context could become something entirely different in another. A bird call might contribute to a creature vocalisation. A machine hum might become atmospheric tension. The process begins not with certainty, but with curiosity.

    For Martin, this lesson became foundational. Creativity ceased to be a matter of finding the correct answer and became an exercise in constructing opportunities for discovery. Throughout the lecture, he repeatedly returned to the importance of experimentation. Some of the most successful sounds emerge from combinations that nobody could have predicted at the outset. The designer’s task is not necessarily to know where the process will end. The designer’s task is to remain attentive enough to recognise valuable discoveries when they occur.

    Curiosity therefore becomes more than a personality trait. It becomes a professional practice. Martin encouraged students to seek out unfamiliar experiences, explore unexpected places, and deliberately disrupt habitual routines. One piece of advice that particularly resonated with him was deceptively simple. If you walk the same route every day, occasionally take a different street. If there is a shop you have passed a hundred times without entering, go inside and see what is there. The purpose is not efficiency. The purpose is exposure. Creative people often benefit from encountering situations they did not expect. Novel experiences generate new observations, new questions, and new possibilities for connection.

    Listening occupies a particularly important place within this philosophy. During the development of Infamous: Second Son, Martin became fascinated by a deceptively simple question: what makes Seattle sound like Seattle? At first glance, the answer appears straightforward. Record traffic, crowds, construction activity, public transport, and environmental ambience. Yet Martin quickly discovered that acoustic identity operates at a much more detailed level. Cities possess distinctive sonic signatures that emerge from countless small elements working together. Particular bird species occupy particular environments. Certain sounds appear more frequently at specific times of day. Weather influences behaviour. Geography influences acoustics. Local infrastructure contributes characteristic textures. Many of these details pass unnoticed by casual listeners, though collectively they contribute to a powerful sense of place.

    Birds became especially important. Martin described spending significant time listening to and recording bird activity, paying close attention to how different calls contributed to the atmosphere of specific environments. A city heard at dawn feels different from the same city heard in the afternoon. Seasonal changes alter acoustic behaviour. Even subtle variations in bird populations can influence how a place is perceived. Most players may never consciously identify these details while exploring a virtual environment, though they contribute to an overall impression that the world feels convincing. Authenticity often emerges not from a single spectacular detail but from the accumulation of many small observations.

    What matters, however, is not strict realism. Throughout the lecture, Martin repeatedly emphasised what he referred to as “the feels”. A sound does not necessarily need to reproduce reality perfectly. It needs to produce an emotional response that feels appropriate to the experience being created. Sound design therefore occupies an interesting position between documentation and interpretation. The goal is not simply to record reality. The goal is to understand which aspects of reality contribute most effectively to a desired emotional experience. A city can feel alive, lonely, welcoming, dangerous, or mysterious depending upon how listeners are encouraged to interpret what they hear.

    This emphasis on interpretation helps explain Martin’s enthusiasm for recording. Like many professional sound designers, he regularly uses commercial sound libraries. Yet he repeatedly stressed the value of gathering material personally. Recording is not simply a way of collecting assets. It is a way of discovering possibilities. The act of listening often becomes just as important as the recordings themselves.

    One of the most memorable examples emerged from his work on Infamous: Second Son. One of the game’s superpowers involved manipulating video and television signals, creating an unusual design challenge. How does a fictional power based upon digital transmission actually sound? Rather than beginning with familiar science-fiction conventions, Martin started exploring the electromagnetic world hidden within everyday electronic devices. This led him towards one of his favourite recording tools: a telephone pickup microphone designed to capture electromagnetic activity rather than airborne sound.

    The results reveal a hidden acoustic world that most people never realise exists. Televisions emit fluctuating tones. Computer monitors generate complex electronic textures. Power supplies buzz, pulse, and whine. Fluorescent lights produce unexpected patterns of activity. Arcade machines reveal layers of sonic behaviour completely absent from ordinary listening. Through the telephone pickup microphone, familiar objects become strange again. The recordings frequently bear little resemblance to the devices that produced them. Ordinary electronics become sources of futuristic energy, abstract textures, and unusual sonic gestures.

    More importantly, these recordings illustrate Martin’s broader philosophy. Creativity often emerges when attention is directed towards places that others overlook. The sounds themselves are valuable, though the deeper lesson concerns perspective. A designer who remains curious about the world continually discovers new material. Inspiration rarely appears as a mysterious force descending from nowhere. More often, it emerges from paying close attention to phenomena that already exist around us.

    Play occupies an equally important role within this process. Martin repeatedly described sound design as an activity that retains a fundamentally playful character even within highly professional production environments. His studio contains a constantly evolving collection of objects, materials, and devices that may one day prove useful. Springs, wires, bottles, sheets of metal, broken electronics, improvised resonators, and unusual recording tools coexist alongside more conventional equipment. Some objects are kept for specific projects. Others remain simply because they are interesting. The distinction between experimentation and work often becomes difficult to identify.

    This attitude reflects a deeper commitment to exploration. Play creates opportunities for accidental discoveries. A sound recorded for one purpose may become useful elsewhere. An object collected years earlier may suddenly solve a completely unrelated problem. Maintaining an environment that encourages experimentation therefore becomes part of the creative process itself. Rather than waiting for inspiration to arrive, Martin actively cultivates situations in which surprising ideas can emerge.

    Questions of creativity ultimately led Martin towards a broader discussion about the nature of sound design itself. One of the most thought-provoking moments in the lecture emerged when he distinguished between sound effects design and sound design. The difference may initially appear semantic, though it reveals an important shift in emphasis. Sound effects design concerns the creation of individual sounds. Sound design concerns the shaping of experience. A sound effect may be technically impressive, though successful sound design depends upon how sounds influence perception, attention, and interpretation.

    This distinction becomes especially important within interactive media. Players do not simply observe events. They participate within them. Sound therefore contributes not only to atmosphere but also to understanding. Audio can communicate danger, reward exploration, reinforce character identity, or guide attention towards important information. Decisions about timing, context, implementation, and interaction become just as significant as the sounds themselves. Technical skill remains essential, though it ultimately serves a broader creative objective.

    Martin’s discussion of feedback reinforced this perspective. Throughout development, he regularly seeks responses from people outside the immediate audio team. Interestingly, he rarely focuses on technical details during these conversations. Rather than asking whether a sound is realistic or well produced, he prefers to understand how people feel. Does a sequence feel exciting? Does a character feel powerful? Does an environment feel believable? Such questions reveal far more about the success of a design than detailed discussions of frequency content or signal processing. Emotional responses often provide the clearest indication of whether creative intentions have been achieved.

    Looking back across the lecture, what emerges most clearly is a conception of creativity rooted in curiosity. Martin’s stories ranged from bird recording and urban listening to electromagnetic microphones and emotional cataloguing systems. Yet beneath these diverse examples lies a remarkably consistent philosophy. Creative practice depends upon remaining receptive to possibilities that have not yet been imagined. New ideas often emerge from unexpected encounters, unusual observations, and playful experiments rather than from rigid adherence to predetermined plans.

    Perhaps this is why the concept of designed serendipity feels so compelling. Creativity is frequently described as a search for answers. Martin presents something closer to a search for opportunities. The role of the designer is not simply to know what to do next. It is to create circumstances in which new possibilities can reveal themselves.

    A different route through the city. A strange sound hidden inside a fluorescent light. A bird call heard at the right moment. A forgotten object waiting on a studio shelf.

    Sometimes the most valuable discoveries are not the ones we set out to find.

  • Why Do the Sounds of Don’t Starve Feel So Alive? Matthew Marteinsson on Experimentation, Voice, and Play

    Matthew Marteinsson

    Many games strive for realism. They aim to reproduce the sound of the world as accurately as possible, carefully modelling spaces, materials, physics, and behaviours so that players feel immersed in a believable environment. Don’t Starve takes a rather different approach. Its world is filled with living scarecrows, walking trees, giant spiders, impossible creatures, and surreal landscapes that seem to have escaped from the pages of a dark storybook. Very little about it appears realistic in any conventional sense. Yet despite this, the game feels remarkably alive.

    Matthew Marteinsson’s guest lecture explored how that happened. Although the talk covered specific technical systems, recording techniques, production challenges, and implementation details, a broader idea repeatedly emerged beneath them. The sounds of Don’t Starve do not feel convincing because they imitate reality. They feel convincing because they remain connected to physical performance, playful experimentation, and a constant willingness to explore unexpected possibilities.

    During the early development of Don’t Starve, Marteinsson was effectively the sole audio designer working alongside two composers, with no dedicated audio programmer and no substantial audio department behind him. Development moved rapidly, content changed constantly, and there was little opportunity for elaborate production pipelines. Rather than treating these limitations as obstacles, the team repeatedly used them as opportunities to find simpler and more creative solutions. Constraints were not merely something to overcome. They actively shaped the character of the game’s sound world.

    The game’s character voices provide an excellent example. Traditional voice acting would have required large quantities of dialogue recording, scheduling actors, and continuously updating content as the game evolved. Such an approach was difficult to reconcile with the speed at which the project was being developed. Yet the characters still needed personality, emotional expression, and identities that players could immediately distinguish. Instead of using spoken language, Marteinsson turned to musical instruments. Inspired partly by the adults in Peanuts cartoons and partly by Peter and the Wolf, where different instruments represent different characters, each character in Don’t Starvereceived its own instrumental voice. Wilson’s distinctive muted trumpet became the starting point, with subsequent characters developing from their own carefully chosen instrumental identities. What began as a practical solution ultimately became one of the most recognisable features of the game.

    Human vocal performance appeared repeatedly as a creative tool throughout the lecture. Many memorable sounds originated not from extensive libraries or complex synthesis chains but from experimentation with the voice itself. The spiders, for example, were largely built from Marteinsson’s own vocal performances combined with processing. The Gobbler, one of the game’s most beloved creatures, began with attempts to gather suitable turkey recordings. After examining the animation, however, he found himself instinctively making a strange vocal sound that immediately felt more appropriate than any authentic turkey call. The library recordings were discarded and the vocal performance became the creature. As he noted, the deliberately exaggerated human performance communicated personality far more effectively than realism alone could have achieved.

    Realism and believability emerged as distinct ideas within Marteinsson’s approach to sound design. A perfectly accurate turkey recording might have sounded more realistic, though it may not have felt more alive. The Gobbler succeeds precisely because it occupies an unusual space between animal, caricature, and performance. Players are not simply hearing a creature. They are hearing a performance of a creature. The sound communicates character as much as biology.

    Personality often seemed more important than realism throughout the lecture. Many of the creatures in Don’t Starveexist within a visual world that is intentionally exaggerated, stylised, and slightly absurd. Conventional fantasy sound design might have felt strangely out of place. Marteinsson instead described grounding many creatures in a “weird reality”, where recognisable physical behaviours remain present but become filtered through performance, humour, and experimentation. Human vocalisations proved especially valuable in this regard. Audiences are extraordinarily sensitive to nuances in human expression. Even heavily processed vocal sounds can communicate intention, emotion, vulnerability, aggression, or curiosity in ways that are difficult to achieve through purely synthetic or animal-based recordings.

    Environmental audio presented an equally interesting challenge. Procedurally generated worlds create difficulties that traditional environmental sound design rarely encounters. Designers cannot assume where players will travel or which environments they will encounter. Marteinsson described a system that continuously examines the terrain surrounding the player, identifies the dominant biome types within the immediate area, and dynamically blends the corresponding ambiences. Grasslands, forests, marshes, and other environments continuously mix together according to what the player is actually seeing at that moment. Rather than creating a fixed soundtrack for a predetermined world, the system responds to the world being generated in real time.

    What makes this system particularly interesting is that the underlying idea remains remarkably simple. Players should hear the world they are looking at. Technical sophistication only becomes valuable when it strengthens the player’s experience. Systems matter not because they are complex but because they help players understand the world around them. Throughout the lecture, Marteinsson repeatedly demonstrated a preference for elegant solutions that serve a clear experiential purpose.

    The broader design philosophy became especially clear during the discussion following the lecture. Marteinsson argued that game audio should generally perform one of two functions: it should either build the world or inform the player. If a sound accomplishes neither, its value becomes questionable. Such a statement sounds straightforward, though it carries considerable implications for design practice. Many games accumulate audio over time, layering additional sounds onto already crowded mixes. The result can be confusion rather than clarity. Marteinsson instead advocates careful consideration of why a sound exists and what purpose it serves. Sound is not decoration. It is communication.

    Small details often became surprisingly important within this design philosophy. During the lecture, he discussed how player feedback during early access revealed complaints about a particular pickup sound. Some players even requested a dedicated option to disable it. Rather than immediately changing the sound itself, Marteinsson investigated further and discovered that the underlying issue was simply that the sound was mixed too loudly. Once its level was adjusted, the complaints disappeared. The lesson was not that players were wrong. Rather, it highlighted the importance of identifying the underlying problem rather than accepting proposed solutions at face value. Players are often very effective at identifying areas where something feels wrong. Determining why it feels wrong remains part of the designer’s responsibility.

    Recording sessions often sounded closer to scientific experiments than conventional sound production. Music boxes, improvised instruments, jelly, pudding, toys, unusual household objects, mines, and novelty items discovered in shops all found their way into Marteinsson’s recording collection. A music box originally intended for composing melodies eventually became the basis for the unsettling sounds associated with the Shadow Hand. A visit to a local mining museum produced unique underground ambience recordings for the game’s cave systems. Strange objects were collected not because a specific project required them, but because they might become useful in the future.

    Playfulness often appeared not as a break from the work but as part of the work itself. Making strange noises while watching an animation, experimenting with unusual objects, collecting sounds without a specific purpose in mind, or exploring unexpected combinations of recordings all reflect a willingness to follow curiosity wherever it leads. Listening to these stories, it became increasingly clear that creativity often depends upon creating opportunities for surprise. The value of an unusual object or recording does not necessarily become apparent immediately. A sound designer may encounter something intriguing, record it, store it away, and only discover its purpose years later.

    Technical decisions rarely appeared separate from creative ones during the lecture. Recording techniques, implementation systems, middleware, debugging tools, and production constraints were all discussed in detail. Yet none of these elements were treated as separate from creativity itself. Debug tools existed to facilitate experimentation. Procedural systems existed to strengthen immersion. Recording techniques existed to discover new forms of expression. Technology remained important throughout the talk, though it rarely appeared as the primary source of innovation.

    Reflections on game development brought many of the lecture’s themes together. Marteinsson acknowledged the challenges facing the industry, including long hours, instability, and periods of significant uncertainty. Yet his reflections consistently returned to enthusiasm, curiosity, and the joy of creating experiences that players genuinely care about. That optimism felt closely connected to the ideas that had surfaced throughout the lecture. The sounds of Don’t Starve emerged not from a search for perfection but from a willingness to experiment, adapt, collaborate, and occasionally embrace absurd ideas simply to see where they might lead.

    Perhaps that helps explain why the world of Don’t Starve feels so distinctive. Its sounds rarely seem trapped by expectations about what things ought to sound like. A spider may begin as a human vocal performance. A terrifying shadow creature may emerge from a modified music box. An iconic turkey may owe more to an impulsive noise made while watching an animation than to any field recording. Throughout the lecture, Marteinsson repeatedly demonstrated that memorable sound design often emerges when curiosity is allowed to guide the process.

    Rather than attempting to recreate reality exactly, Don’t Starve constructs a world that feels alive through performance, experimentation, and play. Many of the sounds discussed during the lecture began as accidents, improvisations, constraints, or strange ideas that simply seemed worth exploring. What emerged from that process was not merely a collection of sound effects but a coherent sonic world. Listening to the lecture, it became difficult to separate the sound of Don’t Starve from the spirit in which it was created. Both are defined by curiosity.

    In doing so, Marteinsson offered a useful reminder that some of the most memorable sounds are not discovered by following established rules. They emerge when designers remain willing to ask a simple question: what happens if we try this?

  • Creating Sounds for Things We Cannot See: Kenny Young on VR, Music, and Guiding Attention

    Kenny Young

    Many forms of media depend upon controlling attention. Films decide where audiences look through editing, framing, and camera movement. Theatre guides attention through staging and movement. Conventional games frequently do something similar through interface design, visual effects, or camera behaviour. Important information rarely appears entirely by accident. Designers often decide where attention should go long before audiences realise those decisions are being made. Most of this guidance becomes invisible precisely when it works well. Players rarely stop to think about how often games quietly redirect their attention from one place towards another. Experiences simply feel natural. Objectives appear at appropriate moments, important events seem difficult to miss, and information arrives when required.

    Kenny Young’s guest lecture explored what happens once some of these assumptions begin disappearing. Virtual reality introduces a relatively simple change that gradually creates much larger consequences. Players control the camera continuously. Looking left means physically turning left. Looking upwards requires physically raising the head. Looking away from something important may simply mean missing it altogether. Initially this sounds like a relatively minor alteration, though the consequences begin spreading surprisingly far once control over attention starts shifting away from designers themselves.

    Imagine hearing something important happening behind you in a conventional game. Designers possess numerous methods for ensuring that players notice it. Cameras may shift automatically, indicators can appear around the screen, and control may even be briefly interrupted. Decades of game design have produced increasingly sophisticated methods for solving these problems. Virtual reality complicates many of these solutions. Fixed interface elements become intrusive, large overlays can weaken immersion, and information existing outside the player’s field of view can remain entirely unnoticed. Questions therefore begin emerging around how players discover important information once designers can no longer simply place it directly in front of them.

    Young suggested that sound changes role at precisely this point. Human vision behaves selectively. We actively choose where to direct our eyes and ignore much surrounding information. Hearing functions rather differently. Sounds continue arriving whether or not we intentionally seek them out. A player may choose not to look towards something important, though hearing something nearby can still trigger an immediate response. Sound therefore begins moving away from a supporting role attached to visible events and towards something more active.

    Players do not simply hear sounds in games. They gradually learn them. Initially a sound may exist only as another event occurring within a larger environment. Yet repeated exposure slowly changes its role. Through familiarity, sounds begin accumulating meaning. This process often happens without players consciously noticing it. A sound that initially appears neutral gradually becomes linked with expectations, actions, and outcomes. Eventually hearing the sound no longer involves interpreting something unfamiliar. Players instead recognise patterns they have already learned.

    Young discussed the familiar alert sound from Metal Gear Solid as an example. During early encounters players hear a brief cue alongside visual information, though repeated exposure gradually changes the relationship. Eventually players stop hearing the sound as a sound effect at all. Instead, it begins behaving almost like language.

    Language may not be entirely the right word, though the comparison becomes useful. Words themselves do not naturally contain meaning. People gradually learn relationships between sounds and ideas through repeated experience until recognition becomes almost immediate. Something similar begins happening within games. A short musical cue or brief sound effect acquires meaning through use rather than explanation. Players are not consciously translating sounds each time they hear them. Recognition simply becomes increasingly automatic.

    Nobody pauses a game to explain that a particular sound means danger. Players learn these relationships through repeated experience. Over time certain sounds become linked with expectations, actions, and outcomes until responses begin occurring almost automatically. Listening changes in subtle ways once these associations form. Players stop consciously analysing what they hear, as attention begins shifting before deliberate thought catches up. Sound therefore becomes something more than feedback occurring after an event. It starts creating expectations about what might happen next.

    Music introduces another layer to these learned relationships. Discussions around game music frequently focus on emotion, atmosphere, and immersion. Players may notice tension increasing during combat, emotional themes returning around familiar characters, or changing musical textures supporting movement through a world. Young explored another possibility entirely. Under certain conditions, music may also begin operating as information.

    Much of his work on Tethered explored whether these kinds of relationships could be developed within virtual reality environments. Strategy games already involve unusually large amounts of simultaneous information. Resources require management, environments continue changing, threats emerge unexpectedly, and events occur across multiple locations at once. Conventional interfaces frequently solve these problems visually. Players monitor maps, indicators, menus, and notifications distributed around the screen. Translating these expectations into VR introduced a more difficult question. How can players remain aware of a world once they can comfortably see only part of it at any given moment?

    Rather than functioning purely as atmosphere or emotional support, musical phrases could gradually become learned signals recognised through repeated interaction. Certain sounds became associated with changing conditions, important events, or emerging situations. Initially these sounds carried little meaning beyond existing as recognisable musical gestures. Over time something rather different happened. Players were not simply listening to music accompanying a world. They were gradually learning the world itself.

    Listening consequently begins developing an unusual relationship with navigation. Physical landmarks help people orient themselves within real environments, though players may also begin constructing sonic landmarks. Certain sounds become associated with places, behaviours, or changing conditions. Listening therefore starts becoming part of understanding how a world behaves. Particular musical phrases began functioning almost like landmarks within an environment. Certain combinations of sounds became associated with emerging threats or opportunities requiring attention. Over time players could respond before consciously thinking about what had changed. Listening therefore became intertwined with understanding the behaviour of the world itself.

    Examples such as these begin shifting the discussion slightly. Rather than asking whether music sounds appropriate or emotionally effective, another question begins appearing. How do people learn sonic environments? Under what circumstances do sounds stop behaving like sounds and begin behaving more like information? Underlying processes of this kind may already exist across many forms of game audio, even if virtual reality makes them easier to recognise.

    Extending these ideas into working systems introduced additional challenges. Sounds needed to remain distinctive while fitting comfortably alongside underlying music. Delays had to remain short enough that players still connected events with their causes, while multiple simultaneous events could create confusion or dissonance. Initial solutions often resolved one issue only to reveal another elsewhere. Technical constraints, musical decisions, and player behaviour continually interacted throughout development. Creative work therefore emerged less as a process of executing perfect ideas and more as a continual process of adjustment.

    Running throughout the lecture was a broader observation concerning the role of sound itself. Discussions surrounding game audio frequently emphasise realism, emotion, and atmosphere. These remain important concerns, though Young’s work suggested something slightly different. Once familiar methods for directing attention become less reliable, sound begins taking on responsibilities traditionally associated with cameras and interfaces.

    Virtual reality may therefore reveal something that has existed quietly within games for much longer. Sound has rarely functioned only as decoration or atmosphere. It has also shaped where players look, what they notice, and how they organise experiences around them.

    Perhaps the more interesting question is not whether sound helps players understand virtual worlds. It may instead involve asking how much of our experience has always depended upon sound guiding us in ways we barely notice. Once designers lose many familiar methods for directing attention, sound begins moving from the background towards the centre of interaction itself.

  • Creating Sounds for Worlds That Refuse to Sit Still: Malin Arvidsson on Game Audio and Interactive Design

    Sound in games often feels invisible when it is working well. Players notice visual worlds immediately. Landscapes stretch into the distance, characters move through environments, and stories unfold through action and dialogue. Sound tends to arrive more quietly. Footsteps simply seem to belong beneath a character, background ambiences appear to exist naturally around us, and a creature’s voice feels inseparable from its personality. Everything seems to fit together so naturally that the work behind these experiences often disappears from view.

    Yet creating sound for games involves a challenge that differs fundamentally from many other forms of media. Film and television unfold through fixed sequences of events. A sound designer working on a film knows exactly when a door opens, when dialogue occurs, when music begins, and when tension rises. Audiences experience those moments in the same order every time. Games behave rather differently. Players stop unexpectedly, move in different directions, repeat actions endlessly, ignore objectives, or spend long periods interacting with things designers never anticipated would receive much attention. Some players rush directly through environments while others investigate every possible corner of a world. A sound designer may know what can happen inside a game, though cannot always know what will happen, when it will happen, or how often particular experiences will occur. Sound therefore cannot simply be attached permanently to images and left alone. It must continue adapting long after the designer has stepped away.

    During an online guest lecture, Malin Arvidsson explored this challenge through reflections on her own experiences working across game audio. Throughout projects involving children’s games, procedural systems, and large-scale interactive worlds, a recurring idea gradually emerged. Game audio frequently involves building systems rather than constructing isolated sounds. Designers create frameworks, relationships, and behaviours that continue operating within worlds that remain unpredictable.

    Arvidsson described discovering games somewhat unexpectedly. Having decided at an early age that she wanted to work with sound, she initially pursued sound engineering and recording work before later encountering opportunities in game production. Games had not necessarily appeared to be an obvious destination at the time. Film and television perhaps felt more visible as career directions, while game audio remained relatively unfamiliar. Yet after joining Audio Interactive and working on early projects, games gradually became something much larger than a temporary opportunity. Part of this attraction appeared to emerge from constant change. Technologies evolve rapidly, development processes shift, while projects rarely require exactly the same approaches twice. Many creative fields involve continual learning, though games introduce an additional layer of complexity through their combination of artistic decisions and technical systems. Sound designers are often required to think simultaneously about recording, editing, implementation, behaviour, memory, interaction, and player experience.

    Some of the earliest examples discussed during the lecture illustrated how dramatically workflows have changed over time. While working on Action Man: Jungle Storm, implementation tools remained extremely limited compared with contemporary systems. There were no dedicated audio middleware environments, no simple methods for previewing sounds directly within gameplay, and no convenient ways of rapidly testing ideas. Implementation frequently involved manually replaying sections of gameplay while attempting to synchronise sounds externally. Looking back, the process appears cumbersome and time-consuming. Yet despite those limitations, hearing newly created sounds finally appearing inside the game still produced a strong sense of satisfaction.

    Later projects introduced another challenge as assumptions taken from linear media no longer translated effectively into interactive environments. Arvidsson described work on Republic: The Revolution, where large numbers of character animations required accompanying sounds. Initial approaches appeared straightforward enough. Individual animations were paired with carefully designed sounds in much the same way they might be within film production. Footsteps, movements, and interactions each received specific audio elements designed to support visual actions. Problems quickly appeared once these sounds entered gameplay. Memory limitations immediately became one issue, with thousands of individual files consuming valuable resources. Yet another issue proved equally important. Players repeatedly encountered exactly the same actions throughout long periods of gameplay. A movement animation viewed once might feel entirely convincing, though hearing precisely the same sound attached to the same movement hundreds of times gradually became distracting rather than believable.

    This problem reveals something broader about realism itself. Human beings often tolerate variation without noticing it consciously, while exact repetition becomes highly noticeable. Everyday experiences rarely unfold identically from one moment to another. Footsteps change subtly according to movement, surfaces, speed, and context. Someone walking across gravel rarely produces exactly the same sound twice. Objects interact slightly differently each time they collide, while environmental sounds fluctuate continuously. We generally ignore these small differences, though their absence can become surprisingly noticeable. Once a sound begins repeating with complete consistency, attention gradually shifts away from the world itself and towards the system generating it. Perfect consistency can therefore begin feeling less realistic than controlled variation.

    Solutions required a different form of thinking. Rather than attaching one sound permanently to one action, sounds became collections of possibilities. Footsteps could exist within larger groups of variations, different surfaces could trigger different responses, and small adjustments in pitch, timing, and volume could introduce subtle differences between repetitions. Players no longer heard identical events replaying endlessly. Instead, they experienced systems capable of producing varied outcomes.

    Arvidsson reflected on this through an observation extending beyond the immediate technical problem. She noted that changing sounds can sometimes create the impression that animations themselves are changing. Sound was therefore no longer simply accompanying visual information. It had begun influencing how visual information itself was interpreted.

    Repetition emerged again through examples involving dialogue. While working on Evil Genius, background conversations between characters introduced similar difficulties. Real dialogue becomes recognisable very quickly once repeated frequently, though replacing speech with meaningless placeholder sounds created worlds that felt strangely artificial. The eventual solution involved constructing thousands of vocal recordings using invented forms of structured nonsense speech. Colleagues recorded large collections of vocal performances resembling language without becoming meaningful dialogue. The purpose was not literal realism. Players were not expected to understand these conversations or extract semantic meaning from them. Instead, the objective involved creating evidence that activity continued occurring around the player. Worlds rarely feel alive merely through visual detail alone. People often listen for small signals suggesting that environments continue existing independently of their own actions. Background conversations, distant movement, as well as changing environmental activity all contribute to the impression that spaces continue functioning whether or not the player directly observes them.

    Memory constraints returned in a different form during discussion of LittleBigPlanet. Storage restrictions within the PSP version introduced significant constraints compared with larger console releases. Some reductions remained relatively straightforward. Numbers of variations could be lowered and certain content could be simplified, though environmental soundscapes proved more difficult. Long ambient recordings consumed considerable amounts of memory, while straightforward looping solutions introduced repetition problems of their own. Instead, Arvidsson described constructing simpler environmental foundations combined with shorter sound fragments including birds, insects, and environmental details. Individual elements could then appear according to changing probabilities and timings while introducing subtle variation. Rather than hearing static recordings replaying continuously, players experienced environments appearing more dynamic and less predictable.

    Examples such as these suggested that technical limitations did not merely reduce possibilities. Constraints frequently redirected attention towards different forms of design thinking. Rather than storing larger quantities of material, systems could generate richer experiences from fewer resources.

    Increasingly interactive systems introduced another layer of complexity. Physics systems created situations where players themselves generated outcomes that designers could not fully predict beforehand. Within LittleBigPlanet, players could construct objects using different combinations of materials and structures. Objects then collided using changing amounts of force under varying conditions. Questions that initially appeared simple quickly became more complicated. Which material should dominate when metal collides with sponge? Should paper dominate plastic? What happens when multiple materials contribute simultaneously? Questions such as these reveal how game sound often shifts away from designing isolated sounds towards establishing behaviours and rules. Designers create relationships and systems, allowing games themselves to determine outcomes dynamically.

    Broader reflections on working within the industry also appeared near the end of the lecture. Networking, persistence, and long-term relationships emerged repeatedly throughout these discussions. Freelancing across games, film, and television introduced uncertainty alongside flexibility, requiring continual adaptation as projects, collaborators, and opportunities changed over time. One comment near the conclusion captured this relationship clearly. Arvidsson described game sound design as roughly forty percent creativity and sixty percent technical implementation and problem solving.

    Initially this ratio may appear unexpected. Sound design often seems associated primarily with creativity and artistic expression. The examples discussed throughout the lecture suggested something slightly different. Creativity within games frequently emerges through solving problems. Memory restrictions, implementation systems, player unpredictability, and technical limitations all shape the final experience.

    Players rarely notice these systems directly. They simply hear worlds that feel alive. Background conversations seem to continue without them, environments appear to change naturally, as movement feels connected to the spaces around it. Much of the underlying complexity disappears beneath the experience itself.

    Perhaps that invisibility forms part of the achievement. Successful game audio may involve more than creating individual sounds. It may involve building worlds capable of continuing to surprise players long after the designer has stepped away. Rather than asking whether a sound works in isolation, a broader question may involve whether an entire system continues behaving convincingly once players begin doing things nobody predicted.

  • The Fast and the Sonorous: Vehicle Sound Design Insights from Codemasters’ Jethro Dunn

    Jethro Dunn, Senior Audio Designer at Codemasters, has contributed to a range of projects, from tactical military shooters to arcade racing games. During his lecture, he shared how vehicle sound effects are shaped by technical constraints, creative objectives, and genre-specific requirements—whether simulating the weight of an armoured convoy or signalling damage in a playful kart racer.

    Drawing on titles such as Operation Flashpoint: Red River and F1 Race Stars, Dunn focused on practical techniques for crafting immersive vehicle soundscapes, managing acoustics, and enhancing player feedback.

    Jethro Dunn

    Streamlining Vehicle Audio in Tactical Shooters

    In Operation Flashpoint: Dragon Rising and Red River, vehicles like jeeps and APCs required sound design that balanced realism with hardware limitations. Early designs utilised layered loops for engines, transmissions, and mechanical effects, but this approach led to unnecessary system overhead.

    “We were wasting more memory managing complex sound events than on the actual audio data, so we had to rethink how we structured vehicle sounds.” — Jethro Dunn

    The team restructured vehicle audio into smaller, independent elements. Engine and exhaust sounds were separated to enhance spatial realism, and mechanical “sweeteners” were introduced at low acceleration to add life and responsiveness during slower movements.

    Shaping Player Perspective: Interior and Exterior Vehicle Sound

    When players moved inside a vehicle, soundscapes shifted to reflect enclosed acoustics. Manual adjustments ensured consistent transitions between interior and exterior perspectives, with positional tweaks placing engine noise appropriately whether driving, seated as a passenger, or operating a turret.

    Conveying Distance: Designing Distant and Ultra-Distant Vehicle Sounds

    Vehicle sounds were deliberately simplified at distance, becoming ambient rumbles to reflect real-world acoustic behaviour. For ultra-distant scenarios, low-frequency layers simulated convoys heard kilometres away, enhancing environmental awareness without cluttering the soundscape.

    Practical Choices: Avoiding Granular Synthesis

    Dunn noted that granular synthesis, commonly used in racing games for dynamic engine sounds, was intentionally avoided for military vehicles.

    “We didn’t use granular synthesis for these vehicles because we didn’t have the recordings, and we didn’t need that level of complexity.”

    Adding Mechanical Detail: Transmission Whine and Brake Squeals

    To enhance realism, layers such as transmission whine and brake squeals were incorporated, helping players interpret vehicle behaviour and reinforcing the mechanical character of military vehicles.

    Communicating Through Sound: Feedback in Arcade Racing

    In F1 Race Stars, sound effects prioritised clear communication over realism.

    “In arcade racing, players need to hear when something’s wrong before they even look at the screen.”

    Exaggerated mechanical noises signalled damage, while distinct cues marked repairs or performance drops—providing immediate, intuitive feedback in a fast-paced environment.

    Recording Challenges and Creative Solutions

    Capturing vehicle audio involved logistical challenges, from limited access to military hardware to managing motorsport recordings.

    “You can’t ask a military driver to do ten perfect laps for recording—you get what you get.”

    For smaller projects, Dunn recorded toy cars in controlled environments—demonstrating adaptability across varying project scopes.

    Reflections on Vehicle Sound Design

    Jethro Dunn’s lecture demonstrated how vehicle sound effects are shaped by technical awareness, efficient workflows, and responsiveness to gameplay needs. From spatial realism through engine and exhaust separation to mechanical sweeteners and clear gameplay cues, his approach highlights the practical decisions that define vehicle sound design across both realistic and stylised game environments.

  • Playing Along: When Music Is Part of the Game World

    “We talk about music that originates from within the diegesis — and not from some non-diegetic player outside of it.”
    — Axel Berndt

    In a guest lecture on game audio, Dr.-Ing. Axel Berndt examined the role of diegetic music — music that exists within a game’s fictional world and can be heard, performed, or even disrupted by its characters. This kind of music, Berndt argued, is not background or emotional subtext. It is part of the world itself.

    Berndt, is a member of the Center of Music and Film Informatics within the Detmold University of Music, working at the intersection of sound design, musical interaction, and adaptive systems. His lecture brought together commercial examples, music-theoretic distinctions, and design considerations to illustrate how music behaves differently when it belongs to the world rather than framing it from outside.

    Dr. -Ing. Axel Berndt

    Inside the World: What Makes Music Diegetic

    Diegetic music refers to music that originates within the game’s diegesis — its fictional environment. Berndt described it as everything “within this world”: sounds that characters can hear and react to, including wind, speech, and music performed or played through in-world devices.

    “If someone switches the radio on, triggers the music box, sings a song, or plays an instrument… their music is also diegetic.”

    Examples included a street musician in The Patrician, a pipe player at a party, and the bard at the start of Conquest of the Longbow. In Doom 3, a gaming machine plays music within the scene; in Oceanarium, a robot performs in a clearly defined virtual space. These are not aesthetic flourishes — they anchor music in the logic of the world.

    Berndt contrasted this with non-diegetic music, which accompanies a scene without being part of it — such as a film score swelling during a battle. “There is no orchestra sitting on an asteroid during the space battle,” he remarked, highlighting the artificiality of non-diegetic scoring in game environments that otherwise strive for realism.

    Sound That Can Be Interrupted

    Once music is part of the world, it becomes subject to physical space, interruption, and interaction.

    “The simplest type of interaction may be to switch a radio on and off, but there is much more possible.”

    Berndt categorised musical interactions as either destructive — disrupting a performance — or constructive, where player input enriches or alters the musical output. In Monkey Island 3, players must stop their crew from singing an extended shanty by choosing responses that are woven into the rhyme scheme. Each interruption is musical and interactive.

    “The sequential order of verses and interludes is arranged according to the multiple choice decisions the player makes.”

    Such scenes turn performance into a mechanic. Music is not a layer applied to gameplay — it is the gameplay.

    When Music Isn’t Polished — And Why That Matters

    Berndt emphasised that diegetic music should not always sound flawless. Live performance in reality includes irregularities: tuning fluctuations, missed notes, imperfect timing. Simulating this can enhance believability.

    “Fluctuations of intonation, rhythmic asynchrony, wrong notes — these things simply happen in life situations. Including them brings a gain of authenticity.”

    He cited the harmonica player in Gabriel Knight, whose wavering tone subtly reinforces the impression of a street musician with limited technical control. Imperfection isn’t failure — it is context-aware design.

    Berndt also warned against repetitive loops that expose the limits of a system. When the player leaves and re-enters a scene, and the same music starts again from the beginning, the world appears frozen. “We reached the end of the world,” he said. “There is nothing more to come.”

    To counter this, he advocated techniques such as generative variation, asynchronous playback, and music that continues even when not audible — preserving the impression of an autonomous, living environment.

    Games Where Music Is the Environment

    Berndt’s second category of diegetic music is visualised music — where players engage not just with music in the scene, but with music as the environment itself. This includes rhythm games like Guitar Hero, Dance Dance Revolution, and Crypt of the Necrodancer, where music structures time, space, and action.

    “What we actually interact with is music itself. The visuals are just a transformation — an interface that eases our visually coined interaction techniques.”

    In Audiosurf, players import their own tracks and race through colour-coded lanes shaped by the waveform. In Rez, players shoot targets that trigger rhythmic events. These games represent a shift from music as accompaniment to music as system.

    “The diegesis is the domain of musical possibilities. The visual layer follows the routines of the music.”

    Berndt emphasised that this kind of interaction demands careful timing, expressive range, and sometimes even simplification to make musical gameplay accessible.

    From Instruments to Systems

    Not all music-based interaction takes the form of traditional games. Electroplankton allowed Nintendo DS users to create sound patterns through direct manipulation — drawing curves, arranging nodes, or triggering plankton-like agents.

    “Interestingly, all these concepts don’t really need introduction. Give it to the players, let them try it out, and they will soon find out by themselves how it works.”

    Berndt distinguished between note-level interaction (e.g. triggering individual sounds, as in Donkey Konga) and structural interaction, where players influence arrangement, progression, or generative systems. Both approaches are valid, but they ask different things of the player — and of the designer.

    Designing with Music in Mind

    Berndt’s lecture underscored a recurring principle: if music is situated in the world, it should behave accordingly. It must continue when out of frame, shift based on player presence, and reflect changes in the environment. When music is visualised or systematised, it should offer feedback and form, not simply decoration.

    “Music as part of the world has to be interactive, too.”

    This is not a stylistic preference — it is a design commitment. When music is embedded in the rules of the world, it becomes not only more believable, but more meaningful. It can reflect character, reinforce consequence, and establish rhythm within both narrative and mechanics.

    Berndt’s examples — from Monkey Island to Rez, from ambient performance to interactive music toys — show how music can operate on multiple levels at once: as texture, mechanic, and presence. His lecture made clear that diegetic music in games is not a solved problem or a historical curiosity. It remains a rich site for experimentation and design.

  • David Chan on Game Audio: When It Is Done Right, No One Will Notice

    Game audio is an invisible practice, when executed well, players barely notice it. Yet, it is fundamental in shaping an engaging experience. In an insightful online guest lecture, David Chan, Audio Director at Hinterland Games, explored the philosophy and craft of video game sound design. Drawing from a career spanning over 37 titles, including Mass Effect, Knights of the Old Republic, and Splinter Cell, he detailed how sound can enhance immersion, create emotional impact, and bring virtual worlds to life.

    David Chan

    The Philosophy of Sound Design

    Chan described sound design as performing two essential roles: creating an illusion and reinforcing reality. He linked this to historical examples, such as stage performances that used wooden blocks to mimic galloping horses or metal sheets to simulate thunder. The same principles apply to games, where sound designers must craft worlds that feel authentic, even when they do not exist in reality.

    A clear example comes from Red Dead Redemption, where audio designers carefully reconstructed the sonic environment of the Old West. The ambient sound of the game—horses neighing, conversations on the streets, distant gunfire—contributes to a sense of time and place. Chan explained how these elements reinforce reality, ensuring that the world feels lived-in. He noted that the game’s soundtrack, inspired by spaghetti westerns, further supports this atmosphere, seamlessly integrating music with environmental sounds.

    How Sound Shapes a Scene

    One of the most striking examples Chan presented was how sound can completely change the mood of a scene. He demonstrated this by stripping the original audio from a video clip and replacing it with two different soundscapes:

    • The first version used subtle ambient sounds like birds chirping and distant city noise, creating a neutral, everyday setting.
    • The second version replaced these with an ominous drone and eerie music, transforming the same footage into something foreboding and tense.

    This exercise highlighted how sound designers influence perception and steer player emotions without altering the visuals.

    A more extreme example of this approach comes from Splinter Cell, where Chan and his team had to create the illusion of a prison riot without actually animating one. Due to technical limitations, they could not show hundreds of rioting prisoners on-screen. Instead, they relied on audio cues—distant shouting, the clanging of metal doors, and muffled alarms—to make players believe chaos was unfolding nearby. As the player moved into enclosed spaces, the soundscape changed, becoming quieter and more muffled, reinforcing the illusion that the riot was occurring just out of sight.

    Designing Sound for Fictional Worlds

    One of the key challenges in game audio is developing sounds for fantasy and science fiction worlds. Chan spoke at length about Star Wars: The Old Republic, a game set in the Star Wars universe but in an era not explored in the films.

    He explained that while they aimed to remain faithful to the franchise’s iconic sounds, many of the game’s effects were newly created. For instance, the game introduced new droids that needed to sound as if they belonged in Star Wars, without directly copying R2-D2’s beeps and whistles. The sound team designed robotic sounds that felt authentic to the universe but were built from scratch.

    Another challenge was designing energy weapons for the game’s melee combat—something rarely seen in the Star Wars films. The team had to develop a sound signature that fit within the established audio landscape while remaining distinct from traditional blaster sounds. Chan saw it as a success when players assumed the game had simply reused sounds from the films, when in reality, much of the audio was entirely new.

    In Prey, Chan tackled a different challenge: designing sounds for organic weapons. Unlike traditional sci-fi firearms, these weapons were hybrids of living creatures and technology. One example was a grenade-like alien that the player had to rip apart before throwing. To make this sound believable, the team blended:

    • Wet, organic textures to give the impression of tearing flesh.
    • Squelching and bubbling effects to suggest the creature was still alive.
    • Mechanical clicks and pings to remind the player that it was still a weapon.

    This careful layering of sounds helped create an unsettling but intuitive experience for players.

    Building a Scene with Sound

    Chan provided a detailed breakdown of his sound design process using a scene from Prototype. He demonstrated how game audio is constructed layer by layer:

    1. Environmental Ambience – The first layer consisted of background sounds such as distant city noise, wind, and subtle echoes, setting the foundation for the world.
    2. Character Actions – Next, footsteps, breathing, and interactions with the environment were added to reinforce the character’s presence.
    3. Emotional Elements – Music and additional sound cues were introduced to enhance tension, guiding the player’s emotions.
    4. Final Mix – Once all elements were combined, the scene felt alive and convincing, despite being constructed entirely from separate sound sources.

    This method is essential in games, where every sound must be placed with intention. Unlike film, where microphones capture real-world sounds during production, game soundscapes are built from scratch.

    The Risks of Distracting Sound Design

    While sound design enhances immersion, poorly implemented audio can have the opposite effect. Chan discussed how reusing sounds from other games can break immersion. He pointed to Team Fortress 2, which reused audio effects from Half-Life, making the soundscape feel out of place.

    He also shared humorous examples, such as a reimagined Super Mario Bros. scene where realistic voice acting was added to Mario’s jumps, falls, and collisions. The exaggerated grunts and pain sounds turned the classic game into something unintentionally comedic, showing how audio choices can completely shift a game’s tone.

    Another example came from The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, where a voice line was accidentally repeated in the same conversation. These small mistakes, while often unintentional, can pull players out of the experience and serve as a reminder that they are in a game.

    The Human Side of Game Audio

    Chan also discussed the role of voice acting in game sound. He played outtakes from recording sessions, showing how voice actors experiment with different tones and deliveries. He noted that good voice performances must match the world—whether it is gritty realism in Watch Dogs or over-the-top fantasy in Jade Empire.

    He also shared a humorous example from MDK2, where an alien species communicated by expelling gas—a creative but comedic take on alien speech design. While some sounds need to be grounded in reality, others allow for creative and exaggerated approaches.

    Final Thoughts

    David Chan’s lecture provided an insightful look at the complexities of game audio, from crafting subtle background sounds to designing entire worlds through sound alone. His key message was clear: Great game audio should be felt, not noticed.

    When done well, it deepens the player’s immersion, enhances emotions, and makes virtual worlds more believable. Whether creating the ambience of the Old West, the tension of a sci-fi battle, or the chaos of an unseen riot, the principles he shared continue to shape the way game audio is approached today.

  • Ben Minto’s Guest Lecture: The Complexity and Craft of Runtime Sound Design in Video Games

    Ben Minto, Audio Director at DICE in Sweden, recently delivered an engaging guest lecture on the intricate world of runtime video game sound design. With a career spanning over 15 years in game audio, including work on Star Wars Battlefront and Battlefield 4, Minto shared insights into the evolution of interactive sound, the technical and creative challenges of implementing audio in real time, and the balance between realism and stylisation in modern video games. His talk provided fascinating insights into the process of creating dynamic, responsive soundscapes, where audio is not just a background element but a crucial part of gameplay and player immersion.

    Ben Minto

    From Simple Playback to Dynamic Sound Design

    Minto reflected on how game audio has evolved from its early days, where sound was handled using two basic types: one-shot sounds and looping sounds. Previously, sound was mapped directly to game events, meaning a door opening would always trigger the same sound effect. Over time, game audio has moved towards a more interactive, system-driven approach, where runtime parameters influence how sounds are played.

    Instead of a single “door opening” sound, modern games now generate variations based on factors such as who opened the door, how quickly it was moved, and whether it had been used recently. This shift extends to more complex systems like weapons, explosions, and vehicles, where sounds are constructed from multiple component layers, ensuring they react dynamically to gameplay conditions.

    Case Study: The Explosion System in Battlefield 4

    Minto detailed how Battlefield 4 moved away from pre-recorded explosion sounds and instead dynamically constructed them from multiple elements. The explosion system in the game considers various factors, including the initial crack, the main body of the explosion, reflections and echoes based on the surrounding environment, and additional sounds caused by debris. The way an explosion sounds is also influenced by the player’s distance from the event, with close-up explosions featuring sharper, high-energy transients and distant ones creating a rolling, thunderous effect.

    The environmental setting also plays a key role, with explosions in urban environments producing sharp, slapback echoes while those in forests have a more diffuse, drawn-out reverb. Destruction layers add further realism by introducing the appropriate material sounds, such as metal debris, shattered glass, or splintering wood, depending on what has been damaged. By using this method, Battlefield 4 ensures that no two explosions sound exactly the same, making each in-game encounter feel distinct and grounded in its environment.

    Field Recording and “Embracing the Dirt”

    Minto emphasised the importance of authentic field recording in capturing believable soundscapes. The team at DICE combines high-fidelity recordings with those made using everyday devices like smartphones and handheld recorders. This approach, which he refers to as “embracing the dirt,” acknowledges that imperfections in sound recordings often add to their authenticity.

    For example, explosions recorded with professional microphones provide clean, detailed transients, while those captured with handheld recorders or consumer devices introduce compression, clipping, and saturation, mimicking how explosions might sound on news footage or personal recordings. This method was particularly effective in Battlefield 4, where the audio aesthetic was influenced by real-world military footage captured on handheld cameras.

    Dynamic Range and Player Experience: “War Tapes” Mode

    Minto also discussed the HDR (High Dynamic Range) audio system used in Battlefield 4, which dynamically prioritises important sounds. In fast-paced combat, players rely on audio cues to stay aware of their surroundings. The HDR system ensures that critical sounds like gunfire and footsteps are emphasised while background noise is adjusted in real time to prevent clutter.

    The team also implemented player-adjustable sound profiles, including the “War Tapes” mode, which heavily compresses and saturates the sound for a raw, documentary-like aesthetic. Other modes were tailored for home cinema systems and standard TV speakers, allowing players to adjust the dynamic range based on their listening environment.

    The Role of Foley in Game Audio

    Unlike traditional Foley in film, where sounds are added in post-production, game Foley must be implemented as modular elements that adapt to in-game actions. The sound design approach varies depending on the project. For Mirror’s Edge, Foley was recorded in a highly controlled studio environment, resulting in clean, precise sounds. In contrast, Battlefield used a more organic approach, recording footsteps and clothing movements outdoors to capture the natural imperfections of real-world sound.

    DICE’s Foley system separates different elements into multiple layers, including upper body fabric movement, torso and equipment rustling, boot sounds, and surface interactions such as gravel, snow, or metal. By combining these layers in real time, the system creates a responsive, realistic movement system that changes based on the character’s actions and surroundings.

    The Future of Game Audio

    Minto concluded by discussing the future of runtime sound design, highlighting advancements in procedural sound synthesis, frequency-based mixing, and AI-assisted adaptive soundtracks. He emphasised the importance of collaboration across disciplines, noting that sound designers must work closely with animators, programmers, and level designers to create truly immersive audio experiences.

    One of his key takeaways was the importance of curiosity and adaptability in game sound design. Aspiring sound designers should experiment with different recording techniques, explore procedural sound methods, and challenge traditional workflows to push the medium forward.

    Conclusion

    Ben Minto’s lecture provided a detailed look into the evolving world of video game sound, highlighting the technical expertise and creative problem-solving required to craft dynamic and immersive audio experiences. His insights underscored that sound is not just an add-on to games but a fundamental part of storytelling, player immersion, and emotional engagement. As game worlds become increasingly complex and interactive, sound will continue to shape the way players experience and engage with virtual environments.

  • Sounds Like a Combo: Jed Miclot’s Killer Approach to Game Audio

    Jed Miclot, Senior Sound Designer at Double Helix Games (now part of Amazon Game Studios), delivered an insightful online guest lecture on the sound design of Killer Instinct for Xbox One. In this engaging session, he provided a detailed breakdown of his creative and technical approach to crafting the game’s dynamic and immersive audio experience.

    Jed Miclot

    From Film to Games: Miclot’s Journey into Sound Design

    Miclot began by sharing his professional background, highlighting his transition from film post-production to video game sound design. Having worked on Harry Potter and other film projects, he eventually shifted his focus to interactive media, drawn by the challenge of designing sound for dynamic gameplay scenarios.

    Building a Unique Sonic Identity for Killer Instinct

    One of the core themes of the lecture was the importance of creating a distinct audio identity for each character in Killer Instinct. Miclot explained how he designed unique sound palettes that reflected each fighter’s personality, abilities, and fighting style.

    Jago, the Tibetan monk fighter, features martial arts-inspired sonic elements that reflect his disciplined yet powerful combat style. His movements are accompanied by crisp martial arts strikes, recorded using real wooden staffs, hand-to-hand impacts, and air displacement effects to simulate the speed of his attacks. To heighten realism, Miclot layered subtle breathing effects and controlled exhalations, making each attack feel deliberate and refined.

    Glacius, an alien composed of ice, required frozen textures and resonant impacts to capture his otherworldly nature. To achieve this, Miclot recorded frozen fabric being twisted and broken, ice cubes cracking in water, and glass-like resonance using contact microphones on frozen metal objects. His attacks, which involve ice shards and liquid nitrogen-inspired transformations, were enhanced by recording icicles being shattered and the sound of dry ice sublimating.

    For Sabrewulf, the werewolf, a blend of organic growls and Foley elements such as breaking wood and cloth ripping emphasized his primal nature. Miclot layered real wolf growls, lion roars, and bear vocalizations, processed to create a hybrid beast-like voice. His claw attacks were enhanced using recordings of splintering wood and ripping fabric, simulating the forceful tearing of his enemies.

    Spinal, the skeletal pirate, was brought to life through creaking bones and wooden textures to enhance his eerie presence. Miclot recorded old wooden floorboards creaking, bones knocking together, and rattling chains to create an undead, cursed aesthetic. Spinal’s vocalizations were constructed using manipulated human screams, whispery ghostly echoes, and reversed percussion elements.

    Foley Recording and Creative Sound Sourcing

    Miclot’s approach to Foley embraced experimentation with physical objects and environmental interactions to craft a rich and immersive soundscape. To enhance the weight and impact of heavy-footed characters like Sabrewulf, he recorded the sound of pumpkins being smashed, allowing the mix of soft pulp and hard shell impacts to produce a visceral quality that made movements feel raw and animalistic. For Glacius, Miclot soaked an old pair of jeans in water and froze them, manipulating the fabric once solid to capture the crisp crackling of frozen textures. This method proved so effective in simulating ice fractures that it even led to confusion among coworkers when they discovered frozen jeans in the office freezer.

    To enhance the eerie atmosphere of Spinal’s stage, Miclot recorded his girlfriend’s snoring while she was unwell, capturing deep, guttural breaths that he later pitched down to resemble an eerie, spectral presence. He also manipulated the sound of air shifting in a toilet bowl, producing unsettling moaning effects that contributed to the ghostly ambiance of Spinal’s environment.

    For Orchid’s electrical attacks, Miclot recorded a real Tesla coil generating powerful electrical discharges, using its raw, high-voltage arcs to provide an authentic crackling intensity. He controlled the coil’s amplitude and rate of sparks in real time, capturing variations that could be used dynamically during combat sequences. Similarly, for Sadira’s web-based attacks, he needed a sound that conveyed both elasticity and tension. Stretching duct tape across a long surface and peeling it at different speeds allowed him to mimic the sticky, sinewy strands wrapping around enemies, creating a uniquely organic yet unnerving sound.

    Innovative Sound Techniques: Layering and Positional Audio

    A key aspect of Killer Instinct’s audio design was its innovative approach to impact sounds. Rather than relying on a single, static sound effect, Miclot designed each impact to be dynamic and multi-layered, enhancing spatial awareness and immersion. When a character is slammed to the ground, the sound is composed of multiple elements, including positional slapback echoes that create a sense of depth and space.

    Miclot demonstrated how this system worked using Orchid’s backflip slam, a move where the character is thrown to the ground with a heavy impact. Instead of a single sound event, the slam triggered seven different sound layers, including a shockwave layer, multiple slapback echoes, and a low-frequency boom that played through the subwoofer to reinforce the force of the impact.

    For Glacius’s ice-based attacks, different layers of sound simulated the fracturing and shifting of frozen structures. When Glacius smashes an enemy with an ice attack, multiple sound components activate: an initial impact recorded using frozen jeans snapping, a delayed crackling sound simulating stress fractures in the ice, and a distant slapback echo mimicking sound reflections off frozen surfaces.

    This dynamic approach was also applied to environmental destruction. When objects in the stage break, multiple sound layers are triggered based on how close the player is to the destruction. If debris falls in the background, the slapback echoes adjust dynamically, making it feel as though the sound is traveling across the space. Miclot’s use of adaptive layering and positional audio ensured that every attack felt spatially alive, adjusting dynamically whether a character was fighting in a confined, echo-heavy environment or an open battlefield.

    Adaptive Music: Enhancing Gameplay Feedback

    Miclot also discussed the role of Killer Instinct’s dynamic music system, which was designed in collaboration with composer Mick Gordon. Unlike traditional game scores that loop continuously, Killer Instinct’s soundtrack adapts to player actions. The music shifts intensity when a player achieves a high combo streak, providing real-time feedback on gameplay performance. A granular processing effect momentarily distorts the music when a combo breaker is performed, reinforcing the action’s impact. If players stop fighting for six seconds, the music transitions to classic themes from the original Killer Instinct soundtrack. During an ultra combo, each successful hit triggers a sequence of musical notes tied to the character’s theme, turning the final blows into a rhythmic spectacle.

    Final Reflections

    Miclot’s guest lecture provided an in-depth look at the intricacies of fighting game sound design. His work on Killer Instinct showcased how experimental Foley, creative recording techniques, and adaptive audio implementation can enhance a game’s engagement. By sharing practical insights and demonstrating the thought process behind each sound, his lecture offered valuable knowledge for those looking to push the boundaries of game audio design.

  • Stepping to the Beat: Benoit Tigeot’s Journey in Dance Game Sound Design

    Benoit Tigeot delivered an engaging online lecture on his experiences working on the Just Dance series and the intricacies of sound design in dance video games. His talk provided an in-depth look at the challenges and creative processes involved in crafting immersive audio for an interactive, music-driven game.

    BenoitTigeot

    From Live Sound to Game Development

    Benoit’s journey into sound design began with work on live shows, concerts, and exhibitions, which provided him with a strong foundation in audio engineering. After completing his studies in France, he gained experience in television production, animation dubbing, and studio recording before transitioning into video game audio. His background in live and recorded sound gave him a unique perspective when he joined Ubisoft to work on Just Dance.

    Adapting to Game Audio

    Despite having no prior experience in game audio, Benoit quickly adapted to the demands of interactive sound design. He worked on multiple Just Dance titles, learning how to integrate music and sound effects into gameplay while ensuring high-quality production standards. The fast-paced development cycle required him to balance creativity with efficiency, as each version of Just Dance was produced in a matter of months.

    The Sound Design Workflow

    Benoit outlined the workflow for sound design in Just Dance, highlighting key stages such as:

    • Track Preparation: Receiving licensed music, ensuring audio quality, and making necessary edits, including removing inappropriate language. For example, in Black Eyed Peas’ songs, multiple words were edited out using backward reverb and other subtle audio modifications to keep the track family-friendly while maintaining its musicality.
    • Marker Placement: Adding timing markers to synchronise choreography, animations, and gameplay elements. Benoit emphasised the importance of precision, as even a millisecond difference could impact the timing of dance moves and scoring.
    • Sound Effects (SFX) Design: Creating introductory and concluding sound effects for each song, as well as UI and gameplay sounds. In Just Dance Japan, additional sound effects were incorporated at the beginning and end of tracks to enhance the user experience. The sound team also created unique effects for different dance modes, such as battle mode, where transitional audio had to blend seamlessly between competing tracks. Over 150 different SFX variations were tested to find the right balance between energy and smooth musical transitions.
    • Integration and Testing: Implementing audio into Ubisoft’s proprietary engine, collaborating with developers and artists, and ensuring synchronisation across multiple platforms. Benoit described how the team used text-based scripting in Sublime Text to adjust pitch, loop points, and volume, allowing for quick iteration and adjustments across the game. He also discussed how the team recorded crowd reactions and player feedback sounds in a dedicated studio space to ensure an immersive experience.

    Challenges in Dance Game Audio

    Working on Just Dance presented unique challenges, including:

    • Multi-platform Development: Adapting audio for different consoles and ensuring consistency across devices.
    • Cross-Studio Collaboration: Coordinating with teams worldwide, including those in France, India, and the UK.
    • Real-time Testing: Evaluating sound integration in a dynamic, open-plan workspace filled with music and dance rehearsals. Benoit noted that sound designers had to contend with a noisy environment, making it difficult to hear and refine subtle audio details.
    • Genre Adaptability: Designing sound for a wide range of musical styles while maintaining a cohesive experience. He explained how the team had to ensure that different styles—ranging from electronic dance music to country—had consistent and engaging audio treatments without overwhelming players with excessive effects.

    Reflections on Sound Design in Just Dance

    Benoit’s lecture provided a valuable look at the evolution of Just Dance’s audio technology. He discussed the transition to a new game engine, which improved workflow efficiency and allowed for greater creative flexibility. His work on developing in-game sound effects, enhancing music transitions, and refining player feedback mechanisms contributed significantly to the game’s audio experience. For instance, in Just Dance’s battle mode, the team spent weeks fine-tuning SFX to ensure that energy levels were maintained across song transitions without jarring interruptions. Additionally, subtle effects such as footstep sounds, applause, and even costume rustling were layered in to enhance immersion.

    For aspiring sound designers, Benoit’s talk underscored the importance of adaptability, collaboration, and technical proficiency. His ability to bridge creative and technical aspects of sound design made him a key contributor to one of Ubisoft’s most successful franchises. He also highlighted how working in a rhythm-based game required constant iteration, as any mistake in beat markers or mixing could significantly impact the player’s experience. The balance between technical precision and creative storytelling through sound remains an essential aspect of game audio development.

    Benoit’s lecture offered a fascinating glimpse into the behind-the-scenes work that brings rhythm-based games to life. His experiences serve as an inspiration for those interested in audio design for interactive media, highlighting the rewarding challenges of working in the field of game sound.