PC Gaming

Ales From Off-Peak City Volume 1 Review

So, let’s be real upfront: I was dreading playing Tales From Off-Peak City Volume 1… For whatever reason, my brain has barely any appetite for unlocking locked doors, solving mysteries, unraveling conspiracies or piecing together intricately implied backstories. A lot of adventure games just ain’t for me, because I’m a brute and a philistine. Added to that, I’ve got an abiding fear of being outed as intellectually inferior, and nothing makes that anxiety tingle like high-brow stories about music, a subject that makes me feel like a complete, trudging dunce.

And here was this first-person point and click game, set in an intellectually formidable surrealist landscape, about stealing a famous jazzman’s saxophone and getting sucked into a shadowy world where all was not as it seemed. Our Adam Smith described Off-Peak’s predecessor, The Norwood Suite, as being about discovering the secrets behind a hotel, but being about “learning about music and the creative process”. I knew I was going to hate it, not because it was going to be bad, but because it was going to expose me to the idiot I was. And if you can’t already tell by how heavily I’ve set this up, I ended up loving it.

Well. Nearly. I still don’t like games about searching fruitlessly for door keys, cos I do enough of it in real life. And however much you dress it up, that’s what point and clicks, and the first-person walkabouts that have evolved from them, will always boil down to. No matter how interesting its environment (and good lord, I can’t wait to be done moaning so I can talk about how interesting it is), Off-Peak’s world is topologically identical to a rope with knots tied along its length. The rope is the story, and the knots are the business of arbitrarily seeking out items, that must be unpicked before you can progress.

To me, it’s like being stopped every few minutes through a film I’m enjoying, and forced to rummage around a dark room for some meaningless household object, that happens to be the only thing that isn’t inexplicably superglued to the surface it’s resting on. I’d rather just watch the film. And OK, you might argue that these convolutions don’t just slow down the story for the sake of it – they encourage you to spend time exploring the world, getting lost in its details, and then happily stumbling upon the widget-nozzle you needed for the nozzle-free widget two doors down. Well, maybe I’m just particularly uptight, but that never works for me.

On the contrary, I ended up rushing through this mind-wrecking interesting game world, and blasting through its chunks of the story too quickly, because I just wanted to be done with the fetching and carrying of objects. It’s a criticism I’d make of a thousand games with the same nuts and bolts, but it’s one I’ll make especially hard here because Off-peak deserves a format that’s as unique and creative as its design, even if I don’t know what that format is. If developer Cosmo D puts together an RTS game, I’ll be all over it.

But now, onto an otherwise glowing review, which should glow all the more since the love I felt for Off-Peak had to be squeezed, like a duvet into a box containing an anvil, around the fact that I didn’t enjoy the actual playing of it much at all.

As per my intuition, Off-Peak does come with a lot of the highbrow, super-cool train freight I thought it might: it’s set at a crossroads in a weirdo, perma-twilit city that forever seems halfway to invoking NYC or Philadelphia or San Francisco or any one of several US metropolises until you realize that every part of the scene you’re looking at is impossible. It’s an aesthetic that’s noir-adjacent, Americana-adjacent, and big-S Surreal – by which I mean, surreal in the sense of words like ‘portentous’ and ‘oneiric’, rather than ‘cheese’, ‘random’, and ‘of doom’.

And yes, there is a lot in there thematically about music. and not just any music, but Jazz. The universal talisman of refinement. The music that, if you listen to it, shows the world you exist at a cognitive height where music, mathematics, poetry, and philosophy have all blended into a grand unified theory of being cool and smart. This is what I was freaking out about before I played – what hope did I, an outsider to music culture, an uncool man and an actual Warhammer author who listens to deafening drum n bass to help the speed go down in the mornings, have of comprehending this game?

OK, I say I’m an outsider to music culture, but this MF Doom mask was the best easter egg I’ve seen in ages, spotted in the game’s pawn shop. Oh, and sorry for the hideous filter on the image – It’s a byproduct of my drastic misunderstanding of the game’s amazing camera function. I hadn’t realized there are different types of films you can put on the camera. And I’d been using the one that completely visually mangles stuff. So… um.

All became clear within eight seconds. Because that was how long it took after the game’s soundtrack kicked in (I know because I went back and timed), for my eyebrows to raise in that sort of reverse-frown you do when something’s growing on you rapidly, and for me to find myself saying, out loud, the six words that could easily have stood in for this review: “this fucking slaps, to be fair.”

You don’t know it yet, but that dude with the pajamas and the glowsticks? Genuinely the funkiest man ever depicted in a game. Seriously, his head-bobbing animation – along with the lady’s absent-minded foot tapping – is the coolest thing I’ve seen in a good, long while.

And yeah, Off-Peak does slap. Off-Peak slaps harder than a mid-90s Tango advert, and as relentlessly as E Honda. Cosmo D is a musician, you see. And you’d know it within seconds, even if the game’s theme had nothing to do with music, purely through the principle of ‘show, don’t tell’. Honestly, I’ve never known a game make me so utterly aware of sound before, to the point where it often registered with me more powerfully than the (extremely striking) visual design did.

Sure, the game’s opening title track is a plain and simple banger – it’s barely more than a bass line, in fact, but what a bass line: as you cruise into the game world through its weird urban twilight, it swaggers along in the dark with you like a psilocybin-conjured panther. It sets the mood more perfectly than I could use words to describe – and in my opinion, at least, that’s what music is for.

There are a couple of other pieces on the same level, too. But to repeat, I’m talking about more than just a good OST, here. Sound is deployed constantly and creatively in every form you can imagine, from tiny bits of foley work to sweeping ambient intrusions, to shape – and relentlessly shift – the city’s atmosphere.

There are the little garbled instrumental samples that stand in for peoples’ speech, but which are so much more effective than what is usually a cute trick to save on voice acting costs. There’s the traffic sound that was so compelling, I looked around from the conversation I was in just to see if there was a car, only to find an empty street yet again. There’s the game’s single moment of pants-shitting horror, in which nothing happens to you, but one sound, in particular, does all the work of watching a tiger lunge out of your fireplace with a loaded gun.


The onslaught is at once both meticulous and overwhelming; like being drowned via the squirting of a million pipettes. Even walking a few steps down one of the crossed streets that define the game environment can trigger a fundamental change in mood as if you’ve moved to another space entirely without anything changing visually.

Just like Hunter Thompson once memorably said of acid, Off-Peak shifts gears on you. And given the profoundly bloody odd nature of psychedelics, that’s not a comparison to be made glibly. Off-Peak is a vanishingly rare example of a game which includes a massive (growling) stone dog, a tenement building that’s just a colossal, weeping face lying on its side, a dressmaker’s window which is a void full of distant whales, etcetera etcetera, but of which you can say, with informed sincerity, that it’s “like playing video games on acid”. Specifically, like playing a high-concept half-life mod from the weird end of a magazine demo disc in 1999.

And yes, those are all very strange images. But it’s the sound that makes it all so legitimately trippy – without that, it would all be so much less. I don’t mean to dismiss the sights of Off-Peak, by the way, as they’re worth a review worth of enthusiasm in themselves. But I’m less familiar with being ear-wowed than eye-wowed, so it feels like I should concentrate on that. But yes: as has been written about Cosmo D games before, you can look at pretty much anything from any angle, and feel like you’re in an art gallery.

Case in point about why it’s so hard to talk about the game’s visuals – there is no way I can convey, without the full sound that went with this image, how simultaneously fucked-up and completely not-out-of-place this lurid, fanged ungulate skull seemed. I mean, it was horrible, in away. But it was just so clearly meant to be where it was.

And was it all crushingly, intimidatingly intellectual? Well, yes and no. If I’m being honest: no. It was extremely clever, but never confrontationally. It was rammed full of symbols and implication, but it never made me feel like I was missing out if I didn’t grasp any of it. Indeed, it seemed very clear that it was “enough” just to enjoy the game on a purely abstract sensory level.

In the end, Off-peak did suck me into a few extremely think thoughts – but it did it craftily, while I was too busy enjoying the surface-level elements to notice my slip into worthy pondering.

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