Una radio que solo capta una emisora

AImagine your favourite esports star pulls off an impossible, match-winning play. Instead of just watching a replay, you're instantly handed a controller to try and replicate that exact split-second manoeuvre yourself.

BRight, exactly.

ASo today's mission for this deep dive is dissecting a small studio making custom video games for bands, rappers and esports teams. We're looking at sources covering Beast In Black, ¥ellow Bucks, Team Vitality and more, to figure out if this is a clever gimmick or a serious strategy.

BYeah, I mean, the defining factor of whether it's a gimmick or a strategy really lies in how they translate a specific fandom into actual game mechanics. It is definitely not a one-size-fits-all approach.

ARight, like with the heavy metal scene. Take Beast In Black. The game built for their album, One Night in Tokyo, is a beat-'em-up.

BOh yeah, and specifically not a rhythm game.

AExactly. You don't press buttons to a beat, you just walk left to right and punch things.

BBut then another metal band, Sabaton, gets a highly accessible endless runner. Why would two bands in the same broad genre get completely different mechanics?

AWell, it's because the mechanics have to mirror the identity of the audience. Beast In Black's music has this aggressive, high-octane, 80s cyberpunk energy.

BRight.

ASo a beat-'em-up captures that sheer aggression perfectly, without forcing the player to be a musician keeping time.

BAh, that makes total sense.

ASabaton, on the other hand, write these soaring anthems about historical battles. So an endless runner creates this relentless, forward-charging momentum that anyone in their massive fanbase can just pick up and understand in two seconds.

BOkay. And that totally explains the esports organisation Team Vitality, too. For them, recreating their star player's most famous moments is literally the core loop of the game.

ARight. You attempt the play, you fail, and you realise exactly how hard it actually was. And if you remove the specific player from that game, there is literally no game left to play.

BPrecisely. I mean, look at FantaSanremo, the fantasy game built around the Sanremo Festival in Italy.

AOh, right, the big music stage.

BYeah. So the studio built a platformer where you race through the Riviera streets to Italy's most iconic music stage. It was so tailored to that specific event that it eventually jumped off the screen.

AWait, really?

BYeah. It was played on a custom arcade cabinet, and like a giant Game Boy built directly into the festival grounds.

AWow. So this isn't just like buying a stock photo and photoshopping a logo onto it. It's really custom built around the exact shape of a client's audience. Like with the client SynRed, right?

BYes, that is a great example. So SynRed is just a brand name, joining two creators' names together. It doesn't translate to anything.

ARight, I remember that.

BBut the game they received, Intrappolati nel Retrogame, translates to “trapped in the retro game”. The mechanics are perfectly locked to that specific brand identity.

AAnd when you custom fit mechanics to a fandom like that, it seems to completely change how the final product is treated in the real world. Like James Rolfe, the Angry Video Game Nerd, sat down with Beast In Black.

BYeah, for a roundtable published right on the band's own channel. Which is fascinating, because nobody interviewed anybody. It was just a conversation. And the video game was simply, you know, one of the topics they discussed.

AAnd in Japan, the rapper ¥ellow Bucks posted his own game directly to his TikTok himself. Which is incredibly unusual, right? Artists fiercely guard their social feeds. You never see a musician enthusiastically posting a banner ad to their fans.

BNo, they really don't. Which kind of brings us to the studio's core business argument. They say an empty form asks for attention, while a game earns it first.

AEarning it first, okay.

BYeah, so they're typically called in to solve four exact situations. One, a brand with a story. Two, an agency three weeks from a pitch that needs a technical partner.

ARight.

BThree, a trade show booth nobody stops at. And four, a form nobody fills in.

AOkay, I get the theory, but I have to push back a little here.

BSure, go ahead.

AIsn't this just like a hammer looking for a nail? Is a custom game always the right answer for a pitch or a trade show? Like, what about a simple giveaway, or a good video? When does this approach just completely fail?

BWell, the studio actually concedes it fails in several situations. Like, if there's no existing fandom, it is a disaster.

AOh, really?

BYeah, because these games rely on giving people who already care something to do. It's also the wrong answer if the deadline is under two weeks. And frankly, if the client simply wants a passive video, forcing interaction onto it is just expensive decoration.

ARight, so it really requires an active, existing community. But what I appreciate is that the studio practises this earn-attention philosophy themselves. Like, their own homepage isn't just a contact form.

BNo, it's a small game. You walk alongside anonymous recordings of real previous visitors.

AAnd there are no words, no sign-ins, right?

BNone. Just a ticket number and a walk. They offer you a world to play in before they ever ask for your business.

AWell, we are sending you directly into that room on the studio's homepage right now, to experience it for yourself. Go take a walk with those digital ghosts. And as you do, think about this: if audiences are increasingly demanding to play with media rather than just look at it, are we approaching a future where passive advertising dies out entirely? Where if you can't interact with something, it simply ceases to exist.