Fiercely Engaging

Among the many rhythm games that dominated the late 90’s and early aughts, Amplitude was the only one that hooked me. I sank hours into Harmonix’s 2003 successor to Frequency and precursor to Guitar Hero. Maybe it was a “right time, right place” kind of thing, but no rhythm game before or since has felt like much more than a shiny chore. My fondness for Amplitude survived a two-generation break from gaming, and upon returning to the hobby, I found a few modern games which seemed like they could scratch that itch. Thumper looked and sounded the most intriguing, so I went with that.

Image: Harmonix

Obviously, the aesthetics of the games were never going to align. Where Amplitude drips with 2000’s-era glossy futuristic chic, Thumper zooms through threatening and almost grotesque landscapes. That itself didn’t bother me (well, not more than intended), but the corresponding musical direction was at odds with something I cherished about Amplitude: the music is neither familiar nor catchy. Kind of the opposite, in fact. Creator Brian Gibson scored a foreboding industrial soundtrack to match the menacing environments. The progressive score is entirely appropriate and just as intricate as you would expect from Lightning Bolt’s bassist, but it’s also a far cry from the likes of Garbage’s “Cherry Lips”. I never felt compelled to revisit a level for the music (or for any other reason, honestly).

As the game gradually revealed its core mechanics, it became clear that it also lacks some of my favorite interactive elements from Amplitude. It has no equivalent of the “freestyle” mode–a gimmicky yet satisfying diversion that was similarly absent from many of the rhythm games I skipped. More substantially, the player’s performance doesn’t improve the music (only accentuates it) meaning there’s no sonic reward for really nailing it. Harmonix maintained that immersive feedback loop throughout their immensely popular Guitar Hero and Rock Band franchises, so I hardly need to stress its value to anyone subjecting themself to this nasally tirade.

Despite my desire to relive a thrill from my teens, it’d be absurd to judge Thumper solely on the basis of Amplitude. It is, after all, a fun game! Its use of audio cues makes it in some ways more engrossing since players enjoy an advantage from listening carefully. Where Harmonix titles derive their difficulty from the complexity and speed of instructions, much of Thumper’s challenge comes from motion and perspective–steep ascents, hairpin turns, and constricted tunnels. These aspects make Thumper synaesthetic in a way that Amplitude is not. It’s also easier, by and large. I initially feared that I’d have to memorize sequences–something I have no patience for these days. Fortunately, careful pacing means that the levels feel consistently challenging yet fair. Some segments did require a bunch of attempts, but the effect was more like rote learning than explicit memorization. For its part, the finale was at times both annoying and delightful.

In the end, no, Thumper didn’t fill the Amplitude-shaped hole in my heart. The direction it explores make it singularly compelling, though, reminding me that artistic risk-taking is almost always more fulfilling than fan service. Nostalgic urges, if they are to be entertained at all, are best fed by the works that inspire them. It’s just that when there’s so much more to experience (and create!), who has time for that? Beyond being amusing in its own right, Thumper rewarded my engagement by reminding me that it’s often better to tolerate itches than to scratch them.