Preparation

Creating a unique soundtrack for a game is a daunting task, and can be overwhelming at first. It can be helpful to begin with a preparation phase. The purpose of this phase is to give yourself a direction for the creative action you are about to take. Similar to steering a ship, it is important to know where you want to go first, even though you’ll likely make course corrections along the way.

Logistically speaking, this phase should begin with a flexible schedule to plan around any deadlines or milestones. This will help you remain organized and on task. To make the most of your time you can budget about a week (or more depending on the timeline) to let the details of the project “simmer” as you are identifying a direction for your project. In particular, you will need to decide which elements of the game (if any) will need unique themes. These elements could be characters, areas of the game, or even more abstract items such as plot elements.

This part of the process is roughly analogous to spotting a film score. Spotting is when a composer and director sit down together to watch the movie in its entirety, making note of what aspects of the film need themes or sonic identifiers, and where and how those identifiers should be developed. It is not the time to determine exactly what you will be writing note for note. It is the time to determine what kind of music the film needs and where it needs it.

This is how you should approach this phase when working on a game. Your task in this phase is not to write your musical ideas, but to determine what the game needs and where it needs them. Make sure you immerse yourself in whatever early development materials you have, and allow your ideas to percolate. Gather artwork from the game, map out storylines, play any and all preliminary builds, and watch gameplay videos. Ask yourself the foundational questions: What instruments feel right? What harmonic approaches speak the emotional language of the game? What melodies speak the same language? Does the game feel like it needs the emotional specificity that themes convey? Or does it need something more ambiguous like a musical texture?

Above all, it is important to start listening to music analytically. If the developer has particular reference music in mind, then pick apart the elements that are relevant to the game and think of how you can use similar ideas in your score. If there are no references then come up with your own based on the information given to you. It is sometimes most helpful to listen to music that is completely contrary to the prevailing aesthetic of the game. For instance, if you are scoring an action game, listen to slow and emotive string quartet music. If you are doing a Western shooter, listen to chiptunes. Often you will find that incorporating elements of unexpected musical styles is the perfect way to add a distinctive flare to your soundtrack.

When you have a clear direction for your project, and your brain is brimming with possibilities, it is time to take action and move on to the brainstorming phase.

Brainstorming

Many people think that composing music begins with a jolt of inspiration that mysteriously presents itself to “gifted” individuals as a fully formed musical idea. Make no mistake – inspiration can be helpful, but it is virtually useless without years of practiced experience. Although it may feel like a jolt of inspiration has hit you, creativity is actually the product of our associative memory. When you sit down at the piano to construct a melody, you are actually activating memories of previous melodies (and many, many other memories) that you’ve heard or written in the past, and combining them to form what will become elements of your musical ideas. Creativity then, is more an act of synthesis than of creation from nothing.

The consequence of this definition of creativity is that as a game composer you need to draw from various musical styles and frameworks to create new and interesting music. The more disparate those styles are, the more unique your game will sound. It is then of the utmost importance to give yourself a very broad spectrum of musical experience. If you make it a point to experience a large and diverse range of music you will have a much easier (and more fun) time combining elements to create something unique and meaningful. If you narrow your experience, and only keep your mind open to a tiny portion of the music in the world, then you will likely have less initial material to work with.

With the powers of our associative memory in mind we can begin brainstorming. We are all probably familiar with brainstorming as it was presented to us as a grade school activity. It is a tragedy that most of us lose touch with this classic art as adolescents because its benefits are immense. This is especially true for newer game composers. People new to a creative task tend to benefit more from experiencing many iterations of the creative cycle than they do from belaboring one aspect of it in great detail. In other words, if you are new to composing game music you will benefit most from writing and finishing a large amount of music as opposed to working on a single track to perfection. This fits in perfectly with the preparation and brainstorming phases because they prime us to produce a colossal number of ideas to work with. Many of these ideas will be bad, but a few will be usable. It doesn’t really matter as long as you start somewhere. Once you have this starting point, you can then move on to the refinement phase.

Refinement

In the refinement phase you will select your musical ideas from the brainstorming phase and develop them. Where brainstorming was intuitive, refinement is analytical. It is the most time consuming and technically demanding part of the creative cycle, but it is also the most important. Here, smaller musical elements will become fully realized pieces of music. This is also the time to begin thinking about the ensemble that will sound your melodic, harmonic, and rhythmic ideas. It can be a real challenge to decide which ideas to develop, but we must be bold and merciless. Only the best ideas should make it through in this phase, and there will be many to choose from.

Note that as a composer you have the ability to go with or against your intuitions. As we were outlining earlier, brainstorming is an intuitive process which allows your associations to help you generate small ideas. Many of these ideas will come from heavily trodden or even clichéd territory – that’s perfectly fine, and sometimes necessary. However at this point you may decide that something more novel is necessary for your project. The refinement process will allow you to take a step back, analyze what you have, and work out something that goes against your intuition (and potentially the intuition of the player). This doesn’t work all the time, but it can be a great way to keep your music sounding fresh.

There are many ways to choose which musical ideas will fit the soundtrack. The most important thing to remember is that every choice you make must support the needs of the game. In other genres music composers are free to make choices that suit them and their musical preferences, but this is not true of game music. You can certainly push things in one direction or another to sculpt your sound, but the end result must suit the game on some level. The best way to determine if the music suits the game is to play through the game yourself and take note of how the music is affecting gameplay (see “Testing, Debugging, and QA,” Chapter 8, page 304). Is your music exciting, or is it slowing the gameplay down? Does it rush the player through important puzzles? Is it overpowering the story or the sound effects? It’s crucial at this point to be analytical, but also to really think about how the music feels in game because that is exactly how the player will be experiencing your soundtrack.

Another aspect of the refinement phase is development. The way you develop your material is important for delivering an emotional impact to the player. If you begin the game soundtrack on the highest note possible, then that leaves little room to build up again for the ending. At the same time if you start your score too subtly, you may fail to grab the attention of the player. For this reason a deep understanding of the game and how it is to be played is essential to the refinement process.

Once you’ve thought through what your game needs and have decided on your core ideas, it’s time to start developing your material. Two important types of development are motivic and structural development. Motivic development comes from the word motif, which is a short fragment of a musical idea. A motif can be a melody, chord progression, or even a particular rhythm. These motifs must then be explored and expanded upon throughout the game. How you expand on a motif is largely determined by the motif itself and by the needs of the game. If you start out with a melodic fragment, then you will likely want to create variations on that melody. You can lengthen it, shorten it, transpose it, invert it, put it in retrograde (reverse it), or use any combination of these operations to achieve a different emotional impact while retaining the core idea. Structural development refers to the form of the music, which we will get to later in the chapter (see “Form and Structure in Game Music,” below).

Revisions

Lastly, this is the phase where you will begin revising your material. A revision is the act of adjusting one or more elements of a cue based on feedback. Feedback can commonly be in reference to instrumentation (“change out the trumpet for a clarinet”), melody (“I like the chords but I don’t like the melody”), or something broader like the overall emotional impact (“this section makes me feel a bit sad, but I should feel happy”). The important thing here is to learn how to translate the feedback that you receive into actual musical changes that better serve your game. This can be difficult at times, and we dive a bit deeper into digesting feedback for audio in Chapter 3 on the companion site.

Revision requests can come from either your client (the game designer/developer) or yourself. Although there are ways to amiably and professionally offer your own opinions on how the music should be written, the needs of the game must always come before your own artistic aspirations. Regardless, the revision process is an important and inevitable part of the creative process, so don’t shy away from feedback. Welcome it and your music will improve exponentially over time.

It is important to maintain an analytical perspective in the refinement and revision phases, especially when it comes to the implementation of your music. For this reason, many of the revisions you make should be your own. Nobody knows your music better than you do, so make an effort to be part of the process of revision and implementation. Do your best to make sure the music adapts smoothly to all game scenarios and delivers the desired emotional impact to the player. This iterative process is incredibly important toward creativity in general, and especially with regard to achieving the best and most appropriate music possible for your games. When you have approval (from yourself and your client) for all cues, it’s time to move on to the polishing phase.

The Final Polish

The final phase of the creative process is called polishing. In this phase most of the creative work is already done; the focus is on top-notch quality and overall cohesion. This is similar to mastering an album. The writing and recording is done, but the engineer must go through and balance the levels of each track, and ensure the album as a whole sounds compelling. In games this means tweaking any implementation errors, smoothing musical transitions, and balancing cue levels with sound effects and dialogue.

Artwork

Many composers choose to focus on the artistic/visual style when they begin writing. This is a tried and true method. Art and music traditions have always influenced each other, and will continue to do so. Games are a shining example of this. Music plays a large part in supporting the visuals of the game, so focusing on art is a great place to start drawing up musical ideas.

When approaching writing from the perspective of artwork it is important to have a vocabulary to describe what you’re seeing. Is the art style darker or lighter? This will determine how dark or light the mood of your music can be. Is the scope large and broad, or small and detailed? This could give you ideas for the size of your ensemble. Is the art fantasy oriented, realistic, steampunk? These factors can and should inspire some interesting motivic and instrumental combinations for you. Even conjuring a timbral association could be a really helpful starting place. The main point is to use the artwork as a basis for your creativity to run wild.

The Characters and Story

The characters and story of a game are another starting point for generating motifs and musical ideas. For example, in every Final Fantasy game there are character themes that play and develop as the game progresses. Starting a project by brainstorming character themes is a very effective approach because these themes will be an important point of emotional connection for the player. They often set the tone for the rest of the soundtrack, especially for incidental and background music. Thematic variations that occur later in the story arc will serve as satisfying musical developments and can help foreshadow or highlight turns in the plot. Music can also influence how a player feels about a certain character, so we hold a great deal of storytelling power as composers.

A simple example of this is to take the basic mood of the story and write something that forms a strong connection to the overarching mood. Similar to the artwork approach, if the story is dark and brooding you can use that element to choose your palette. You may use only low strings as your entire string ensemble. In fact, Jason Graves did exactly this with his score for The Order: 1886. The omission of high strings is subtle at first listen, but darkens the quality of the orchestra entirely. The density is also noticeably thicker due to the limited range of the orchestra, thus producing closer voicings. This mirrors the more nefarious and horrific elements of the plot and sets the tone for the events that take place in this alternate history.

When creating character themes look at the character’s personality and appearance as well as their overall development arc. A character who is bright and upbeat may have a bittersweet ending, and the music should reflect that in some way. A character that winds up betraying his allies may have a slight note of darkness in his theme. Conversely, an antagonistic character that becomes an ally may have a hopeful note in his theme (or in a variation of that theme). It is important to be aware of what you are and aren’t emphasizing as a composer – an obvious emphasis in one direction or another can spoil a twist in a character arc.

The flip side of this method is using the story as a way to generate musical ideas. This is an example of conceptual music. Conceptual music takes concepts or narrative themes and realizes them musically. Imagine a scene where a super villain created a doomsday device that reversed time. To turn this into conceptual music we might record glass scraping sounds and reverse them to fit the track as part of the sound palette. Note that with conceptual music the concept translates very literally into music (i.e. the reversed glass is literally a reversal of the sound in time).

Game Mechanics

This one is a bit less obvious, but taking inspiration from the game mechanics can be a great place to generate ideas. You likely won’t have any immediately strong associations when taking this route. Nevertheless, game mechanics play a definite role in musical development. Platformers sound quite different than tower defense games, which in turn sound different than role-playing games, and so on. An infinite runner is a great example of this. In these games players must react quickly to avoid obstacles as the environment is procedurally generated. The pace may increases with distance. As a composer it is necessary to match this fast-paced excitement. Usually this translates to exciting rhythmic ideas or a quick catchy melody. Various percussion timbres are often used.

Similarly, a game might be very cerebral and puzzling. In this case something much more subtle and intricate may come to mind. An electronic palette could be employed here, with a somewhat restrained rhythm section. In this case the music needs to stay out of the way so that the player can think through the puzzle strategically. In either case, the game mechanics are an important foundation to the ideas you will be brainstorming.

Generating Melodic Ideas

Melody is an extremely important tool in game music because it is the most distinct and “visible” aspect of a soundtrack. Players can easily identify with a memorable melody whether it is presented subtly or in a more obvious manner. We will now go over a few methods for generating melodic motifs. In an actual game, these motifs would become the core of a well-developed thematic soundtrack.

Although this goes against common practice, one of the first considerations to make when writing a melody should be shape. The shape or contour is a very general way to conceive of a melody, yet it has an important impact on how that melody is received by a player. A continuously rising melody will usually translate to an increase in drama or tension. In contrast, descending melodic motifs are mostly associated with a decrease in tension because they sound more resolute and final. An unexpected rise at the end of a static melodic line can also evoke a feeling of hope or optimism while an unexpected descent yields a feeling of failure, or a sudden mood shift from hopeful to dreary. Static melodic lines (lines with limited movement up or down) are quite flexible in that they can be used to propel the melody forward or hold a melody in stasis, halting the forward momentum. The difference here usually lies in the way that rhythms are developed. If a fast rhythmic motif is used the player may feel a sense of forward progression, but if long sustained notes are used then a forward drive is unlikely to be achieved through melodic means alone. In many cases, if a melody remains on the same pitch, regardless of the rhythm used, it is usually perceived as a conclusion. These patterns don’t come without qualification of course, and there are exceptions to every rule. It is a helpful guideline though to keep in mind how the shape of a melodic line will likely be perceived by the player.

Another important consideration is the scale or mode of your melody. This is usually what composers consider first, but scales can be altered and key signatures can be changed. There are many more ways to create and develop a melody than by using a rigid set of notes. This is why we recommend conceptualizing a melodic shape before boxing yourself into a particular scale or mode as this can sometimes limit creativity.

All that being said, a broad knowledge of scales and modes is a great way to begin creating interesting melodies. It won’t be surprising that the most commonly used scales are the traditional major and natural minor scales. These are great starting points because they are used so frequently. In the Western world most of our initial ideas will probably be within the traditional major/minor framework, and for good reason. A very broad range of emotion can be struck using only a major scale. When you already have a melodic shape in mind to combine with the notes of a major or minor scale, your melody can emerge very quickly and naturally. The same can be said of modes, however. Modal melodies can often be even more nuanced and distinctive because of the slight variation on the usual major/minor mode. Each mode has a particular flavor and color, so they can sometimes inspire motifs themselves. If you haven’t already, they are absolutely worth exploring.

A great way to explore the sound of these modes is to pick a mode and improvise for some amount of time. This will solidify the unique character of that mode in your ear, and it will likely also offer a few melody fragments for later use. Another way to use these modes melodically is to take a melody that you’ve already written out in a traditional major or minor scale, and change it to a similar sounding mode. For example if you have written a phrase in C natural minor, try raising the sixth scale degree to transform it into C Dorian. You can also use this tactic during the ascent only, and then during a melodic descent revert back to the natural minor, which would offer a unique sounding mode mixture. This occurs when using two or more modes in the same melodic passage. Keep in mind that this works with any mode. So major modes can both transform into, and mix well with Lydian and Mixolydian modes.

Another simple way to add interest to a melody is a technique called semitone offset. Take a melody that you have written where the phrase resolves on the tonic (or another foundational chord tone) and change that note by a half step. The melodies that work best with this method are melodies that generally move in one direction toward a “goal” note. To start, take a melody that is mostly ascending by half steps and whole steps and ends on the tonic, then raise the tonic by a semitone. You now have a melody that still has a satisfying resolution, but has propelled us into a completely new area emotionally.

One important note here is that in order for the semitone offset to work, you must rely mostly on step-wise/scalar motion, especially when approaching the goal note. Raising the goal note to create a leap of a minor third will throw off the expectations of the listener and you will lessen the sense of direction in the melody.

When a game scene calls for something more esoteric than the above scales and modes, you also have the option of using symmetric scales. Symmetric scales are constructed in a way that the half-step whole-step pattern is symmetrical, as the name implies. Commonly used symmetric scales are the chromatic scale, the whole-tone scale, and the octatonic scale (Figure 6.1 on the companion site). The chromatic scale is probably the most familiar as it includes every note in Western music (excluding microtones). This makes it an ideal candidate for modulation of a melody, and many romantic and late-romantic era composers took full advantage of this.

By contrast, the whole-tone scale is often used as a method for keeping a melody in stasis. This is because the whole-tone scale is a mode of limited transposition, meaning that you can only transpose the scale once before you end up with the same notes you started with. Whole-tone melodies, frequently found in impressionist-era music and dream sequences in games, sound exotic but can find it difficult to capture a sense of momentum using only the melody because there are no half steps in this scale.

The octatonic scale is also a mode of limited transposition and it is used often in twentieth-century works by composers like Igor Stravinsky and Olivier Messiaen. Because this scale is created by alternating half steps and whole steps, it has nine notes in it. This pattern also makes it very powerful in terms of modulation because the half step can easily be used as a leading tone moving to the tonic of a new scale. This works best in the context of mode mixture. For example you may base a melody in a natural minor key. When looking to modulate, you could then alter it by introducing the octatonic scale briefly so that the new half-step/whole-step pattern overrides the pattern in the original scale. Thus it creates melodic momentum toward a new key. This momentum is achieved by replacing the leading tone of the original scale with a pitch in the octatonic scale, altering the pattern. In general, these symmetric scales allow for some very alien-sounding melodies. They work well for thrillers and horror but don’t always work if the goal is to compose a very simple or catchy melody.

Another way to construct a melody is by organizing intervals into a spectrum of consonance and dissonance. The concept of consonance and dissonance can be influenced by many factors including timbre, dynamics, culture, and tradition.¹ Intervals can nonetheless be useful in relation to consonance and dissonance because most of us have subconsciously absorbed comparable harmonic patterns. Thus intervals can help determine the level of dissonance and density² in a melody based on the ratio of frequencies as compared to the harmonic series (Figure 6.1). Check out the Sound Lab (companion site) for more resources on the harmonic series.

Using intervals rather than scales or modes as a starting point for writing melodies provides two advantages. The first is that it gives us a more manageable starting point; it is easier to find an appropriate interval than it is to find an appropriate melody for a given scene. Sometimes all you need to really capture the essence of a moment is two notes, and with the organization of consonance and dissonance finding the right notes is not such a difficult task. If a scene calls for a hopeful and romantic melody an ascending leap of a major sixth will often achieve that mood. From there we can easily fill in some incidental flourishes using the major scale and we are left with a melody that hits the core of what we want our players to feel. A classic example of this (although not from a video game) is John Williams’s use of the major sixth leap in “Marion’s Theme” from Raiders of the Lost Ark. It’s worth noting here that the wider the interval (as mentioned earlier regarding melodic shape) the more dramatic that melodic line will sound. A leap of a major sixth is wide enough to add some passion to the melody, but small enough that it still sounds lyrical.

The second advantage is that intervals make it easy to modulate the melody later. Intervals respond easily to transposition, inversion, and retrograde operations as well as traditional tonal modulations. These processes are important to remember when creating melodic ideas as well as developing them. Transposition moves intervals higher or lower while maintaining the same relationship between the notes. This works the same way as transposing a song or a chord progression into another key, but when we use this technique on a melody it creates cohesion and structure. Sequencing is a technique where multiple transpositions are applied to small melodic fragments and quick succession.

Inversion of an interval works differently than inversion of a chord. A chordal inversion rearranges the pitches in a chord from bottom to top with respect to the chord tones. Inversion of an interval rearranges two or more pitches with respect to an axis of symmetry. Inverting of pitches always maintains the distance to the line of symmetry, but changes the pitches themselves. For example, take the interval C–G (a perfect fifth). It is common to use the lowest note (C in this case) as the axis of symmetry. Think of this as a mirror for our second pitch. The G is a perfect fifth above the axis of symmetry; by inverting it we are left with a perfect fifth below our axis of symmetry. So the G above C becomes an F below C.

It isn’t necessary to always use the lowest note as our axis of symmetry. If we take E as our axis of symmetry, inverting our C–G interval would yield a different result. We now have to take each note individually with respect to the axis. Where C was a major third below E, inverting it will leave us with a G# a major third above E. Inverting the G (a minor third above E) will yield the C# a minor third below E. By inverting the same interval with a different axis of symmetry leaves us with a very different result and therefore gives us more options for motivic development.

Retrograde is actually a very simple operation. Retrograde reverses the order of the notes in an interval sequence. So C–D–G will become G–D–C. This has obvious implications for a melody, especially if you also invert the rhythm of the melody. A wonderful use of retrograde is “Ballad of the Goddess” from The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword. During the middle sections of this track a retrograde version of “Zelda’s Lullaby” is played. By playing the track in reverse you can hear a clear rendition of the melody in “Zelda’s Lullaby.” This is a perfect example of these type of interval operations having a deeply meaningful effect on player experience. The act of simply reversing a melody leaves a subtle but tangible feeling of nostalgia and importance on the listener, making the track emotionally significant. Curious players who actually discover the hidden Easter egg of the reversed melody will find the track has an extra dimension of depth not noticed at the surface level.

Retrograde can also be applied to a melody in tandem with inversion to create a retrograde inversion. This is the result of both operations occurring simultaneously. Although these operations can seem overly complex and inconsequential at first, sonically they achieve a very nuanced yet noticeable connection to the original interval sequence or melody.

An underutilized (in our opinion) method for generating melodic ideas is the twelve-tone method. This method essentially assigns a number from 0 to 11 to every pitch in the chromatic scale. The idea is to create an order for all twelve pitches into a tone row and to use it to compose a melody. The strict rules (as created and refined by Arnold Schoenberg and his students) are to avoid repetition of any note until all twelve tones are iterated. However, much of the fun in life comes from bending and/or breaking the rules. Composers in the past have bent or broken the rules of the twelve-tone method in various ways, and we encourage you to do the same!

As a technical tool, composers use twelve-tone matrixes, which visually show a tone row as it undergoes all possible transpositions, inversions, and retrogrades. Taken to the extreme this method can create incredible complexity, with many tone rows iterating simultaneously and many operations taking place at once. Depending on how you treat your melody, the resulting sound can range from terrifying and alienating to novel and strikingly beautiful.

For our purposes the twelve-tone method can be used simply as an idea generator. It is not necessary to adhere strictly to the rules, and in fact can be used quite freely to create a contrast between consonant and dissonant melodic fragments – sometimes within the same melody. It also becomes immensely helpful when the all-too-common “writer’s block” hits, and you are feeling stuck on one melodic idea. Often just a small portion of a tone row can create new directions for a melody to take. Many of these directions will be non-tonal as the twelve-tone method was created precisely to avoid Western tonality. This works out phenomenally well for many styles of artwork and gameplay. Horror and thrillers work especially well here due to the eerie lack of recognizable motifs. However this method is a tool, and tools can be used creatively. By bending the rules and using accessible rhythmic figures you can create melodies that are beautiful in their tonal ambiguity. By employing simpler rhythmic devices and groove-oriented rhythms it’s even possible to achieve a funk or fusion sound.

The twelve-tone method is used to good effect in the independent game BestLuck. In a track called “Rain Puzzle” the tone row emerges first in the viola as a transition from the chaotic first section (m. 8 in Figure 6.2). Although the intensity and density of the cue is brought down at this point, the tone row used and the eerie sul ponticello (bowed at the bridge) timbre keep the tension high. The row also undergoes a few transformations as it moves into different instruments before transitioning back into tonality in the next section. In this way tonal elements are juxtaposed with the twelve-tone method in an accessible way and aids in developing the tonal material. It also functions as a useful way to transition between sections. Structurally it differentiates the development while building to a satisfying climax.

Another method that can achieve similar results to the twelve-tone method (but is more commonly used) is aleatory. Aleatory is the use of randomness in music by degrees or in totality. It is spiritually the opposite of the twelve-tone method but can deliver similar sounding results. Where the twelve-tone method is pre-organized and controlled, aleatory incorporates randomness and relinquishes control. Like tone rows, aleatory is often used in horror-themed games and films to achieve a sense of alienation and uneasiness in an audience. For example, a common aleatoric technique is for composers to notate an upward arrow with instructions for musicians to “play the highest note possible.” The resulting sound would be entirely dependent on the ensemble performing the technique. Although this technique involves some performer improvisation, the sonic impact of the gesture as a whole can be predicted and exploited. If only the upper strings are told to perform this technique with a straight tone, the sound would be ethereal and possibly even beautiful. In contrast, if a whole orchestra was meant to play this figure with rapid arhythmic tremolos at an fff dynamic the result would be pure terror.

Check out the Sound Lab (companion site) for the full version of Figure 6.3 and other aleatoric examples.

Aleatoric techniques have massive consequences in terms of harmony and orchestration (as will be discussed later in Chapter 7 and Chapter 9), but some of the most interesting effects can occur when using aleatory for generating melodic material. One way to approach this is to provide a limited set of pitches, and to define some rules for the player to improvise within a framework (Figure 6.4). Here we have a defined set of pitches marked off in brackets, along with clear instructions for rhythm and duration of improvisation. Although this melody will never be performed the same way twice, we can still control the emotional impact of it by limiting the pitches to be used and by offering clear directions for the performer to adhere to. In the Sound Lab (companion site) we provide the full versions of these excerpts.

Generating Harmonic Ideas

The first consideration when generating harmonic ideas is again to determine what exactly the needs of that particular game scene are. Does it require something somber? Action-packed? Does it need a strong theme, or should it be more textural? If the answer to the latter is that it requires a strong theme, then it may be best to write your melody first and then harmonize it. If the answer is that a textural approach is best, then you can get going right away on writing harmony.

Harmony is similar to melody in that it can have a very strong and memorable impact on listeners. There are few among us who wouldn’t recognize the iconic two-chord motif that signifies the presence of Batman in The Dark Knight. This shows us that harmony is just as capable of creating a sonic identity as melody. But the difference between melody and harmony in game music is that harmony can be somewhat less tangible, and therefore more subtle. Anyone can walk around humming a catchy melody, but it doesn’t really work the same way for harmony, no matter how well written the chord progression is. While there are familiar chord progressions that strike up an immediate emotional response (The Dark Knight’s I–VI progression included), most players would not be able to articulate why it gave them that response. This makes harmony useful for broad musical strokes, like painting the scene with a particular emotion.

Let’s ignore genre and stylistic considerations for the time being and jump right into a very fundamental element of harmony: mood. Mood will return again and again in our study of game music because it is one of the most important experiences that game music provides. When brainstorming some harmonic ideas, whether you have already written a melody or not, it is important to stay in line with the intended mood of the particular game scene. Below, we will explore a few ways to generate harmonic ideas that satisfy a few different moods.

By far the quickest way to create a chord progression that elicits a particular mood in a listener is to study other examples and use one of them as a starting point. This may seem like cheating, and it isn’t something you should rely on entirely, but it is a great way to build a repertoire of chord progressions that you can eventually tweak or combine to elicit particular moods. Besides that, many of the most effective chord progressions are simple and widely used, making them easy to study. Part of the reason progressions such as the one found in The Dark Knight are so successful is precisely because they are used so extensively. As moviegoers and players, the more accustomed we become to harmony in certain contexts, the more our brains associate the music with the mood of that scene. This influences us to write similar progressions for similar scenes to evoke similar moods (with subtle creative variations of course), thus reinforcing the cycle. Eventually we have a pretty standardized cache of harmonic associates with mood. For composers looking to create emotional gameplay experiences, this is an area ripe for exploitation.

The best way to utilize this technique on a project is to find a variety of similar scenes from other media (games, movies, television shows, etc.) and analyze the harmony that is contributing to the mood. If your game scene requires a high-energy action cue and you’re brainstorming a progression to add to this excitement, then play games like Metal Gear Solid or Need for Speed (or something similar) and take notes on the chords that you hear. If you hear a I–III–VI–VII progression in a few of your study sources, chances are that progression will work well as a starting point for your action scene as well. This works equally well for other moods. Franchises like Dead Space and Silent Hill are great examples of creepiness and outright terror. Regardless of the source material you choose to study, most games contain a variety of moods – and so will yours. Find a few examples and study the ones that fit with the game you are working on.

The purpose of this exercise is to give yourself one or more templates that you can change, combine, or disassemble completely to generate unique harmony for your game. Starting with game and film music is helpful 99 percent of the time, but drawing from less obvious territory can lead to truly original music. World music, concert music, and experimental music are all fantastic areas for study due to their often esoteric nature. The entirety of the horror music tradition can be traced back to sound experiments in concert and electronic music. This is not to say that game and film composers have not contributed to the tradition (in fact just the opposite is true, they have refined and advanced the tradition into its own idiomatic genre), but it helps quite a bit to have a broad knowledge of these areas in order to create harmony that is fresh and innovative.

Eventually, using this technique, you will have enough examples of harmony to draw from that you can use your intuition directly to pull out new harmonic ideas immediately. However this exercise will be useful to continue throughout your career as music is always changing, and there is no shortage of relevant source material to study.

The simplest way to begin generating harmonic ideas is to explore diatonic chordal permutations. In other words, you can select a scale or mode that fits the mood and try reordering chords that are natural to that key. You’ll find that some chord orderings will have strong cadences or resolutions. A V–I progression is quite often used because of its momentum back to the tonic. It creates a clear sense of anticipation and expectation in the listeners because we are expecting the major V chord to resolve solidly back to the tonic (major I or minor i). Sometimes these stronger cadences will be right for your score. However, more frequently it will be necessary to avoid these expectations. Because the V–I cadence is so strong, it can become obvious or even distracting during a video game. The sense of finality could imply events that simply aren’t in the scene. In these cases it can be more appropriate to end your chord progressions with something more ambiguous, like a vi–I or iii–I. These chords flow nicely into each other, and usually won’t stick out as a heavy resolution. On the opposite end of the spectrum, to actually subvert the expected resolution a V–vi cadence works well. This is called a deceptive cadence and it is relatively common in games. Listeners will be expecting a strong V chord to lead back into the tonic, and by ending the cadence with a minor vi chord we can take the mood from resolute and triumphant to disappointing or even tragic. You’ll find that there is a broad emotional expanse to explore using only the limited set of diatonic chords. However once the basics of diatonic harmony have been learned, other forms of harmony can be interesting as well as satisfying.

Like melodies, the shape of a chord progression can affect mood. A chord progression in which the chord tones rise usually leaves listeners with a sense of increased tension, or even yearning (especially if the root notes of each chord are rising). Chordal descent usually gives listeners a sense of decreased tension. This is more subtle than the way melodic shape changes the effect of a cue because chord tones don’t always move in the same direction. The overall effect on mood is obfuscated, but it is still a useful technique when the scene calls for something less overt.

The concept of harmonic shape also applies to the quality of the chords themselves. For example, the progression I–V–vi–IV is a very common progression in many genres of music. However, if we swap out the major IV chord with a minor iv chord, flattening the third of the chord, the result is something sadder and more reflective than the original. In essence, we are changing the shape (and quality) of the chords themselves to change the mood. Swapping out the major IV chord with the minor iv chord is an example of harmonic mode mixture (see previous section) because we have borrowed a chord outside the key (in this case we have borrowed the iv chord from the parallel minor key). This is an extremely useful way to spice up or personalize commonly used harmonic progressions.

A beautiful example of mode mixture is “Aerith’s Theme” from Final Fantasy VII, written by Nobuo Uematsu. The first two chords of the track are D Major–A Minor (I–v). The left hand in the piano plunks out the chords and the right hand plays the melody, which is an inverted arpeggiation of the progression. The theme itself is almost entirely harmonic in nature. Yet (due to the mode mixture) the track is highly effective and emotionally poignant. If the progression were written diatonically those first two chords would be a standard I–V cadence. The minor v chord adds emotional depth and a note of tragic hopefulness to the theme, perfectly outlining Aerith’s entire character arc in just two chords.

Mode mixture can be taken further by introducing chromaticism into harmony. Chromaticism was used famously by romantic composers such as Gustav Mahler and Frédéric Chopin, as well as impressionist composers like Claude Debussy and Maurice Ravel. Chromatic harmony essentially opens up the diatonic language outside of the seven notes in a scale, to all twelve notes in the Western chromatic scale. Sometimes chromaticism can be added just as a brief flourish or passing harmony. This can be a very effective way to “flavor” your harmony. Other times a heavy focus on chromaticism can create a sonic atmosphere that wanders through tonalities. This can be useful for all kinds of game contexts including magic and fantasy exploration.

Added note harmony is another method of composing that pushes beyond diatonic harmony. With this technique we can take any chord (or series of chords) and add a new chord tone based on the harmonic series (see “Harmonic Series” in the Sound Lab companion site, Chapter 6). If a pure sonority is desired, add a note that results in an interval from Group A (Figure 6.1). If a dissonant or harsh sonority is desired, add a note that results in an interval from Group E or Group F. It’s even possible to stack up new chords one note at a time with this method to create completely ignoring diatonic harmony. Figure 6.5 shows a few examples of added note harmony based on the harmonic series.

With added note harmony we are mostly concerned with 1) the interval between the added note and the root, and 2) the most dissonant interval that results from the added note. In Figure 6.5, example A incorporates intervals in Group A and Group D, resulting in a mostly consonant, open sonority. Example B includes intervals from Groups B and E, resulting in a major seventh chord, which is a richer and more complex consonance than example A. Example C has intervals from Group C and the more dissonant Group E, combining into a more obviously discordant sonority. Example D is interesting because with the added note it’s technically two triads superimposed: a C major triad and a C augmented triad. Regardless, the addition of the Ab creates a more dissonant and dense sonority than either the C major or C augmented triad alone. Example E, with the addition of the triton from Group F, makes the sonority tonally ambiguous as well as more dissonant and dense (with the resulting minor second from Group E).

Another useful way to create unique harmony is to stack intervals other than thirds. This process is similar to the way we used added note harmony. Diatonically speaking, we make chords by stacking major and minor thirds up as the key signature dictates. But this is not the only way to stack chords and to create harmony. Due to the diverse nature of video games, many situations will call for harmonic progressions that sound more idiosyncratic than that which diatonic harmony can provide. In these scenarios it can be really useful to create your harmony through other intervals. As the composer you are free to stack chords based on any interval (sevenths, sixths, ninths), but be careful not to lose track of your stacking! Using intervals larger than a fifth can quickly revert back to tertian harmony (for example chord stacks in sixths can sound like traditional tertian harmony, but inverted).

Two very common forms of non-tertian harmony (harmony based on intervals other than thirds) are quartal and quintal harmonies. These are chords stacked in fourths and fifths. Chords of this nature sound striking due to the pure quality of perfect fourths and fifths. This also makes these chords more ambiguous in terms of tonality. When considering the harmonic series, the perfect intervals (octaves, unisons, fourths, and fifths) have a very fundamental relationship, and therefore have limited harmonic content compared to thirds and sixths. If used effectively, these chords can be beautiful and resonant in a very physical way. For this reason, quartal and quintal harmonies are wonderful for adding emphasis and novelty to a cadence or climax.

Another consideration with quartal and quintal harmonies (and by extension any type of non-tertian harmony) is that it is possible to stack these chords diatonically as well as chromatically (as we have been). It may seem contradictory to bring back an element of diatonicism, but using any diatonic scale for non-tertian harmony can actually sound more esoteric and complex than stacking intervals chromatically. Stacking fourths on top of each other chromatically will result in a series of perfect fourths, sounding pure and resonant. However, if you move up any major scale in fourths you will hear a tritone when you hit scale degree 4. This is because the seventh scale degree is exactly seven semitones (or an augmented fourth) away. The tritone does not sound pure, and completely changes the mood of the harmony.

Besides quartal and quintal harmony, secundal harmonies are also common. Secundal chords are sometimes referred to as cluster chords because the chord tones are stacked so close together. Cluster chords are actually a very simple device and can be used to elicit feelings of dream-like nostalgia in a player, as well as feelings of abject terror. As simple as this is, if you sit down at a piano and allow your fist to drop down onto any of the white keys, you will have a cluster chord.

Clusters basically work the same way quartal and quintal harmonies do. Starting with any major scale, you can draw a series of three- (or four-) note diatonic cluster chords. These clusters can then be used in any common chord progression. For example a I–IV–V diatonic progression becomes a I–IV–V cluster progression. The roots (C–F–G) remain the same, but the chord tones are stacked in seconds (C–D–E would be the I chord, etc.). Cluster chords in the upper register usually sound fluffy and tonally ambivalent. Because there are only two points in the major scale where we would normally find minor seconds, the lighter and more consonant major seconds dominate this progression. These diatonic clusters can be used in many ways, from simply spicing up traditional harmony to creating entire textures.

On the other hand, thinking back to our intervallic consonance and dissonance spectrum, we can stack our clusters up in chromatic secundals instead and use predominantly minor seconds. Because minor seconds are more harmonically dissonant than major seconds, these types of chromatic clusters are best used when trying to scare the daylights out of players. Going back to our I–IV–V progression, the I chord now consists of two minor seconds stacked (C–Db–D). Try playing this at the piano. The fluffy chords have grown teeth and now sound aggressive and dark if played in lower octaves. This is important to note. Because cluster chords can potentially blur any sense of tonality, range has a large effect on the emotional impact. Up in the higher register, even minor seconds can sometimes sound dreamlike and appealing. But lower register clusters will always sound dark and ominous.

Finally, since we are on the topic of harmonic generation, it would be an oversight not to include the uses of the twelve-tone method. As we have learned in the previous section, the twelve-tone method can be used to create great complexity, or as a tool to quickly generate novel motifs. Although there is an exception to every rule, the twelve-tone method is best used in the context of game scenes that call for more esoteric sounds. That being said, using a tone row to invent harmony can be fun and rewarding. It can also lead to more creative harmonic ideas that need not be constrained by the “rules” of the method.

Using the twelve-tone method to create harmony begins the same way we used it to create melody. First, order all twelve pitches to create a tone row. Then (instead of imposing rhythm on this tone row to create a melody) stack three or more notes on top of each other to create a few chords to work with. In this scenario it is up to the composer to choose how strictly to adhere to the rules. In some cases composers will stack chords in the order of the tone row with the register of each chord tone being entirely up to creative choice. In other cases every chord tone has its own register in which it always repeats (this is sometimes called total or integral serialism). In our experience the best way to use this method for games is to let the tone row dictate simple three- or four-note chords, and then leave the rest up to your own intuition and musical sensibilities. Check out the Sound Lab for some resources on the twelve tone method.

Generating Rhythm

Generating rhythmic motifs can be an immensely productive starting point when generating musical material for your game score. For starters rhythmic material is very physically intuitive, so most of us are capable of improvising rhythmic ideas with little or no musical training. Another plus is that it can be liberating and satisfying to step away from the piano and just bang on something! Seriously, try it. For certain game scenes (particularly anything with action or urgency) it just makes sense to forget about the nuances of melody and harmony and instead start air-drumming some interesting rhythmic variations.

Because we are still in the brainstorming phase, before we cover how to develop rhythms we must first focus on some strategies for generating them. The most basic tool we can use to direct and analyze our efforts is rhythmic density. Rhythmic density is an intuitive measure of the number of notes to be played within a given sequence. This is a simple task, but it is often overlooked in the composition process. The tendency is usually to add too much rhythmic density, thinking that this will automatically add excitement. In reality, heavy-handed percussion parts can reduce excitement if not properly orchestrated. Parts like this leave no room for other musical elements. Rests are an absolutely crucial element of rhythm, and without them we would be left with nothing more than a metronomic pulse. Rests are to rhythms what pitch is to melody. A melody with only one pitch is not much of a melody, and a rhythm without rests is just a metronome. Knowing this, let’s now take a look at how we can accurately assess rhythmic density for a few game scenarios, and then come up with some rhythmic material to match them.

As always, the most relevant aspect of our game scene for rhythmic material is going to be the mood of the scene. In essence, we are now trying to match the mood with a corresponding rhythmic density. This is similar to using harmony to impact mood, but with rhythmic devices we are limited in the emotional nuance. Instead of focusing on whether a game scene should feel “nostalgic” or “emotionally ambiguous,” we are really going to ask ourselves “what is the intensity of the scene?” The answer to this question will inform our rhythmic ideas as well as our tempo. In addition, our rhythms must be genre-specific. If your intended genre for the game is rock ’n’ roll, then you’ll be cycling through rhythms idiomatic to that tradition. The same goes for jazz or pop music. If your goal is cinematic scoring you’ll have a bit more freedom in choosing rhythms because the devices you use won’t be as categorical.

Let us say that our first example will be of a very high intensity. Since it is focused on action we should create a very rhythmically dense texture. There are basically three steps to create rhythmic ideas from scratch. For step one, let’s create a metronomic base rhythm. Try tapping eighth notes in a bpm (beats per minute) of 140 or higher. Ask yourself if this tempo matches the intensity that you want. If it’s too low, bump it up a few clicks. This initial tempo is crucial because it sets the stage for all subsequent rhythmic activity. Don’t rush this part! Make sure the tempo is right and rhythmic ideas will naturally flow.

Next, start randomly replacing “taps” with rests. Even by arbitrarily choosing a few places to add rests you will hear some clear rhythmic motifs begin to emerge. You may even branch off with your own ideas to develop after a minute or two. Keep in mind that when generating rhythmic ideas in this manner you can choose to add rests on strong beats or weak beats. Simple rhythms often use rests on weak beats since this keeps the rhythm very predictable. However, don’t underestimate the power of syncopation. Especially during heavy action cues, adding rests on strong beats can keep the listener slightly off-balance and add to the tension and excitement.

We are now left with an actual rhythmic motif, although it is a somewhat boring one. This is because all the note values are exactly the same. Step three then is to zoom into our individual note values and replace some of them with different durations to create a more interesting sequence. Try taking your current rhythmic figure and replacing some of the eighth notes with sixteenth notes to spice things up. Remember that replacing notes with shorter durations will be increasing the rhythmic density. Here, adding two sixteenth notes in place of a few eighth notes works well because we are aiming for excitement and tension. Doing the opposite (adding a quarter note and taking away two eighth notes) is also a possibility for step three, but it will only work if 1) you are trying to decrease rhythmic density, and 2) you are using percussion instruments that are capable of sustained notes (timpani, cymbals, tubular bells, etc.). You can repeat these three steps in any order as many times as you like to create and fine-tune your rhythmic ideas.

Rhythmic density is only one way to create and develop rhythms. Augmentation and diminution are two useful techniques for rhythmic development. They can definitely help generate ideas as well once you have a few ideas. Augmentation proportionally increases rhythmic values. For example a quarter note and two eighth notes can be augmented to a half note and two quarters. Diminution proportionally reduces rhythmic values. That same quarter and two eighth notes would now become an eighth and two sixteenths. This kind of development can be thought of as displacing the register of a chord or melody line by an octave. It’s still the same melody, but in a different register.

Finally, like melodies, rhythms can also be put in retrograde. This is an amazing technique for creating variations on rhythms. Like melodic retrograde, the core of the rhythmic idea remains intact but subtly changed. To make things really interesting you can use it on pitched material. Try retrograding the rhythm but not the pitches, or vice versa. This will keep you busy for hours if not days.

Generating a Musical Palette

Because workflow is different for every composer, generating a musical palette takes place partially in the brainstorming phase and partially in the refinement phase. Some composers prefer to start brainstorming at the piano, while others like to create a template of sounds and instruments before they write a single note. Still others incorporate bits of both depending on the situation. To put it very broadly, a musical palette is really two things: the acoustic or electronic instruments you use, and the methods you use to process them. It’s pretty safe to say that we as composers have never had as many palette options as we do today. The oldest instrument ever found was a flute made of bird bones discovered in a cave. This gives us roughly 40,000 years of human musical experience to draw from – and that’s only considering acoustic instruments. Technology has given us all of these musical instruments, plus generations of electronic instruments and processes to draw from as well – all at our fingertips for a relatively small price. This can be overwhelming, especially considering the fact that when we take digital or analogue processing into account we can make an orchestra sound like a distorted hive of bees, or a sound file of waves breaking on a beach sound like an ambient masterpiece. This universe of possibilities is what we like to call a musical palette.

Designing your palette is a crucial step in writing your game soundtrack. For one thing, it is important to know what instrument or ensemble you are writing for when you start brainstorming. Beyond that, your choice of instrumentation has an immense impact on player experience. Can you imagine what retro-style games would be like using a brass band instead of chiptunes, or what Call of Duty would sound like without a huge orchestra? The type of sounds you use and the number of sounds you use are both tied deeply to how your score will impact the player.

A simple way to decide on what instruments to use for your game is by starting with commonly used ensembles and then adjusting as needed. An important consideration at this point is to determine what size your ensemble will need to be. If your game is an epic fantasy RPG, a good starting point would be to use a symphonic orchestra as a template. Here the scope of the game is quite large, so having 60-plus musicians at your disposal will allow for a large emotional impact. If your project is an intimate puzzle game, then a good alternative might be a quartet or chamber ensemble. String quartets are highly emotive and very flexible in terms of their ability to play different styles, so this is a safe choice for many soundtrack needs.

In addition to the size of your ensemble you will need to pick a timbral palette as well. In other words, what kinds of sounds would fit the game? Will you be using traditional acoustic instruments like the above examples? Will you need an array of synthesized sounds? Found sounds and ambiences? Electric guitars? Will you be using some combination of all of these? Just as the size of the ensemble has an impact on the player, the timbres you choose will also have an effect.

Choosing your timbres will usually be up to you unless the developer provides specific references. Choose wisely because palette more than any other aspect of the score has the potential to make your game unique and memorable. For example, composer Austin Wintory goes out of his way to use unorthodox groups of musicians. The Banner Saga makes fantastic use of a wind band score, which is very uncommon among game soundtracks. Jessica Curry wrote for church choir in Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture. Kristofer Maddigan used an equally uncommon jazz ensemble in Cuphead to amazing effect. Sometimes the best ensemble for a game is a mix of many different styles as is the case with Bastion. In this game Darren Korb uses electronic elements, acoustic string instruments, and vocals in a variety of disparate styles to insert his own unique aesthetic into the game.

Despite the uniqueness of these ensembles, the important point is that these composers carefully considered the artwork and style of these games and chose an ensemble that fit within that framework. We would encourage you to experiment and push the boundaries of your musical comfort zone to find new instruments and new ensembles that fit with your game projects. The only real limitations are budget, and whether or not the ensemble actually fits within the paradigm of the game. We will cover “non-traditional” music ensembles in detail in the next chapter.

Developing Your Material

Although most of the creative process occurs during the preparation and brainstorming phases, the actual development of your material occurs during the refinement and revision phase. It can be a daunting task to stretch out a few themes into an hour or so of music, so it is crucial to plan ahead and make it a priority to bring back recurring motifs. This will offer two advantages to your score: 1) The player will recognize motivic elements in your music and the consequent structure will enhance the emotional experience, and 2) the music will provide a sense of journey and adventure to mirror the gameplay. These two elements are an important part of the gameplay experience, so don’t get lazy once you have a few motifs. Keep your mind sharp so the ideas keep flowing and your creativity does not lose its edge. Look for moments to inject something new into the score, and likewise look for moments where older themes will have an impact.

Any aspect of your music can and should be developed fully. This means that melodies can be changed and brought back in different ways, chord progressions can have variations and recurrences, and even textures or instrument groups can be expanded on (see Chapter 7). We have already discussed in detail methods of developing and varying melody, harmony, and rhythms (i.e. transposition, inversion, retrograde, chord progressions and variations, etc.). Other key areas primed for development are arrangement/orchestration and implementation. Developing the arrangement can be as simple as changing the instruments. For instance, if a character has a theme, then this theme may be brought back each time the character makes an appearance. Perhaps this character is a world traveler. It might be necessary to write a version of the character theme using traditional African instruments, or using an Irish folk ensemble, or maybe multiple variations of instruments and ensembles. The game context will often dictate (or at least inform) this kind of musical development.

Implementation is something that we will cover in depth in Chapters 8 and 9, so we will only touch on it briefly here. For now, suffice it to say that to develop your score using implementation just means that you are changing how the music acts in game. If a cue is set to trigger during an alien attack, then triggering it again later on will likely leave the player expecting another attack. This is something that can be used to add nuance and context to the gameplay. How you decide to trigger your music, and how you decide to adapt it to the player’s actions, can change as the game unfolds. Similarly, if a player is expecting a battle theme to trigger when an enemy attacks, then not triggering it is an effective way to develop the score. The lack of music would change the experience.

There are many directions you can take to develop your musical material, but the goal is to balance recurring themes with novel ideas. This is like balancing on a razor blade because if you bring your motifs back too often and without enough variation then the result can sound repetitious. On the other hand, if you alter motifs too much the impact can be lost on the player. It is up to the composer and the developer to decide where that balance is.

Microstructure

Microstructure is very similar to the term “form” in linear music, except for one key distinction: the musical modules in a game are assumed to be repeated or skipped or jumbled up in some way in the greater context of the macrostructure. This fundamentally changes how we look at the music structurally. As mentioned above, a common form in linear music is A/B/A or ternary form. This is effective in linear music because we are presented with a musical idea in section A that we can latch on to. Then section B moves away from this musical idea, either by contrasting it with a new idea, or developing the idea by transforming it somehow (modulation, rhythmic manipulation, etc.). Finally we arrive back at the A section, which is satisfying because we finish where we started. As the listener we remember where we came from, and having departed from this idea, returning to it then feels like we have made it home from a meaningful journey. But does this work as well when this structure is made for adaptive game music?

Take a simple loop in ternary form as an example. The first time through, the loop has the exact same effect described above. The musical idea is presented, developed, or contrasted, and then we have a “return home.” But then it loops. Our return home is now doubled again, making our microstructure A/B/A/A/B/A. Every time the cue loops, we hear the A section twice in a row. This might not make much of a difference if the style is ambient or textural, but for heavily thematic cues this could get very repetitive. Unless there is significant variation in the second A section (A/B/A’) we are essentially adding an extra section, which will inevitably be repeated anyway. A possible alternative would be to cut the final A section entirely and bring the module down to binary form (A/B). This leaves us with a more balanced track structurally speaking. Because we know that the A section is bound to loop back around, the result is a track that oscillates back and forth between development and return, which usually proves much more sustainable over long-term listening.

Another way to take advantage of nonlinearity is to stack up simple microstructures to form a more complex macrostructure. For example, in linear music rondo form is relatively complex. The primary theme in rondo form alternates with at least one contrasting theme. An example of rondo form would be A/B/A/C/A/B/A, or A/B/A/C/A/D/A and so on, yielding a complex weave of musical ideas. But if we take microstructure into account this is actually pretty simple to approximate in an adaptive setting. We would need four loops, one for each larger section (A, B, C, and D). Then we can set the A section (in this case our refrain) to loop in game. Next we can implement a transition from A into a playlist (we’ll cover this later in Chapter 9, page 323) containing each of the contrasting themes. The game engine can then cycle through (in order or randomly) B, C, and D. The interesting part is that each of these contrasting sections can be set to play only once. This way our track will always move back to the refrain after a contrasting section is triggered. The setup here is minimal, and it is a very effective way to showcase a high degree of contrast, which always resolves back to a thematic return.

There are many other ways to use microstructure adaptively. However, in some cases it won’t have a huge effect on the overall tone of your music. It will likely only be through many playthroughs that the negative repetitious aspects will come to light. But by being aware of these pitfalls, and by keeping your eyes open for opportunities to exploit microstructure in your adaptive systems, your music will be more resilient when looping, and much more effective due to adequate contrast and development.

Macrostructure

Since macrostructure is the organization of your soundtrack as a whole, you will never actually be able to control the exact presentation of your music. This is neither a good thing nor a bad thing, but it must be addressed. It has less to do with the specifics of structural organization and more to do with how the soundtrack as a whole feels to the player on an emotional level. Does it resonate fully throughout? Does the music start off too strong, spoiling its development and possibly the plot? Does it have enough contrast that themes are still meaningful and poignant rather than repetitive? Your macrostructure should take players on a journey as much as the game itself does.

When evaluating the macrostructure of your soundtrack, you are basically deciding how the themes/textures you have written will develop as the player advances through the game. Sometimes themes, or leitmotifs, can be expanded on and fortified throughout a game. A leitmotif may first be presented with the vulnerability of a solo violin, but the final iteration at the game’s climax may be orchestrated fully, with the power of over a hundred musicians. This in itself shows meaningful development.

When adaptivity is taken into consideration, the most controllable aspect of the macrostructure that we have is deciding when to trigger our leitmotifs and recurring thematic material. This is the essence of structural development, as mentioned earlier in the chapter (see page 184). When we decide that a theme should retrigger here over an ambient background cue, it is a clue to the player that something important is either happening or about to happen. It also makes a significant emotional impact because the player will respond to themes that she has already heard, and will respond in some way based on the previous context in which the theme was triggered.

The key to making this kind of development effective is ensuring that it relates very specifically to some relevant aspect of the game. This could mean the story, gameplay, visuals, or anything else you can think of. With the theme mentioned above, perhaps it is presented with full orchestra because the ending of the game is a climactic battle against the forces of evil. Seeing an army of a thousand enemies would certainly warrant a full orchestra. An equally valid reason would be if the gameplay changed significantly. Perhaps the original iteration of the theme occurred during the opening credits where the player had nothing to do but sit back and watch. The end of the game might be an insanely difficult challenge which needs an orchestra to fully capture the enormity of the task. The possibilities are limitless, but the bottom line is that there needs to be justification from the game in order to decide how to appropriately develop your ideas, either through arrangement or some compositional variation.