Every now and then, I get a glimpse of the sheer, untapped potential of games as a medium of storytelling and artistic expression. It’s no surprise that games have the freedom (and luxury) to interweave art, writing, music, and cinematography into one complex, often incoherent, interactive amalgamation that can be messy yet beautiful. Project Songbird, to some extent, is an experience that reminded me of that potential again.
It’s a cinematic survival horror game blatantly inspired by the industry’s staples—Alan Wake, Silent Hill, Firewatch, and, for the most part, that’s what it tries to be, combining pieces of those games to function, which doesn’t always work in its favor. But when it’s not reminding you of its many muses, Project Songbird surprises in ways few survival horror games do.
Too much Déjà vu, too few surprises
You play as a musician – Dakota, who’s dealing with the loss of their loved one and struggling to write and record their next album. To get their creative juices flowing and get the job done on time, they go on a month-long staycation at a remote log cabin nestled in the gloomy Appalachian forest.
While quaint and peaceful on the surface, it’s soon evident that there’s something unnatural happening in the forest, which, although dangerous, could be Dakota’s one-way ticket to finishing their album.
Project Songbird wears its inspirations on its sleeves. The prologue takes place in a messy, suburban apartment that looks straight out of a Life is Strange game, where you drink coffee, listen to indie records, and look through the peephole like you’re Henry Townshend from Silent Hill 4: The Room.
Once you’re out soaking in the golden views of the primordial forest, climbing radio towers, and using walkie-talkies to converse with Dakota’s friend Rob, you’ll likely get flashbacks of Firewatch protagonist’s (also Henry) ambient trekks through Shoshone National Forest.
All of these are evident in the first hour of the game itself. A feeling of familiarity knocks on your shoulders frequently throughout Project Songbird’s 6-7 hours of playtime. I didn’t mind how blatantly some of these moments are replicated, especially since most of them fit into the game’s context. Brightening suffocatingly dark corridors with a flashlight that runs on batteries, Alan Wake-style, is just as essential here as it was there, but it’s the execution that doesn’t always feel right.
There’s an immense scarcity of batteries, so you can’t use the flashlight much. The otherworldly locales—nightmarescapes that you explore in every Act are an accumulation of places and memories from Dakota’s past that lose much of their charm as they spell out most of the things in their journal. It’s like entering the Woodside Apartments in Silent Hill 2 and immediately finding a note that says, “This is where the Sunderlands used to live!”
Project Songbird does that often, imitating moments from its muses, as if to remind you where it’s coming from, and what it’s trying to be, but rarely fleshes them out properly or gives them room to breathe.
During combat, you’ll find places to hide, but you can’t bypass the bizarre, faceless, root-like monster, so you will end up shooting it. While exploring the woods, Dakota’s friend and presumably manager, Rob, frequently checks on them via the walkie-talkie (much like Deliah in Firewatch), and initially feels like a friend or a support system who would help them grieve and find their footing, but is quickly pushed away and made oblivious to the story.
It’s in these moments, Project Songbird, shrinks; it feels muddled. Where it thrives, however, is when it gathers the courage to do things its own way.
It’s a better grief simulator than a survival horror game at times
At its core, Project Songbird is about Dakota’s journey of grief and the painful, often spiraling process of creating art. It’s evident from the beginning that they have lost someone dearest to them and are struggling to come to terms with it, while feeling anxious at the same time about the impending deadline to record their next album.
Once you’re in the cabin, Dakota falls into a cozy routine, shaped in part by your actions, in which I found great comfort. When you’re not exploring the nightmarescape, you can listen to records in Dakota’s Cabin, take pictures of sights and scenery around the forest, and record various sounds for new music using the field recorder.
These activities feel special because it lets you experience mundanity and create a pattern out of it during the hour of grief, and I would argue that there’s no better way to make sense of things when you’re struggling.
The records, in particular, are a carefully curated collection of some of the most obscure indie bands whose music not just sets the tone of the place but also gives a glimpse of Dakota’s state of mind, allowing you to connect more deeply with them.
Dakota also provides meaningful commentary on certain records, some of which are overtly critical, which is great because it makes them more humane and reveals their keen judgmental eye for music or art in general—a subject Songbird puts the spotlight on in its second half.
I would have been fully content if this game was just about taking serene walks through the Appalachian forest, taking landscape pictures, listening to records, reading a journal, and composing demo tracks (more on this later).
What disappointed me, however, was not having an option to drink coffee or smoke cigarettes leisurely in and around the cabin. It’s a shame, especially because you can interact with the cigarette box on the table right outside the cabin. You can also flip the light switch in the cabin, so it’s not like there aren’t options for simple interactions.
These would have been a great addition to the already comforting and melancholic vibes of Project Songbird. So, Conner, if you’re reading this, perhaps make that happen through a future patch?
Regardless, Project Songbird thrives in the peacefulness of its offered mundanity and not always in the dark, desolate corridors of its nightmarish worlds, where often it’s trying to put you through moments you might have already witnessed in countless other horror games.
But for Dakota to finish their album, exploring these otherworldly places is a must. That is where the bulk of the action and puzzles takes place. Environments are painfully dull and dark, full of narrow, identical, sometimes shape-shifting corridors, with the exception of a few rooms with contrasting colors and vivid imagery.
These areas lack the inexplicable, almost fever-dream feel of locations such as the Blue Creek Apartment in Silent Hill 2, which simultaneously makes you want to exist and escape at the same time. That doesn’t happen here. It’s lacking in environmental storytelling, and I simply just wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.
There are only two enemy types in Project Songbird, but that’s not an issue given the length of the game. Encounters are intense, however, especially with the hollowed, frozen-like creature that stalks you when you’re not looking at it. It acts just like the Ayakakashi doll-like creature from Silent Hill f, but unlike most of its other borrowed ideas, this one makes a lot of sense contextually.
Encounters with this particular enemy type are more heightened, thanks to the game’s top-notch sound design. As soon as you turn your back around, expect to hear a frantic, panting-like noise that increasingly gets closer, creating tension unlike anything else in this game.
One section where you have to navigate a maze-like area where you have to input notes in a piano to open a door, while this creature stalks you, is one of the most panic-stricken moments in Project Songbird. It’s one of those rare moments where traditional horror takes the spotlight, and I wish there were more similarly choreographed encounters in the game.
Speaking of puzzles, they are quite intuitive and clever, and seldom require an out-of-the-box approach that might be exciting or frustrating depending on how you perceive them. I liked them for the most part, but there are a few that lack relevant visual cues and may leave you scratching your head.
While every nightmare area introduces one interesting element, it’s only in its final act, where everything comes together–interesting puzzles, tense and dynamic enemy encounters, and decent level design to create an exciting, memorable gameplay-driven section.
I am though thou art i
As I mentioned above, Project Songbird is as much a story about grief as it is about the frustrating, spiraling process of creating art, and both intertwine more often than not. Dakota struggles between creating music their fans want them to and what they are in the space to create.
Project Songbird doesn’t try to find a resolution to this predicament, but it walks you through it diligently. Dakota’s struggles echo through their voice–loudening anger, anxiety, sadness, guilt, and frustration, all of which Valerie Rose Lohman’s performance captures immaculately. It’s evident in the demo songs they produce–upbeat electronica that reeks of confusion, raging confidence enveloped in anger and frustration.
One track in particular, Regency, reminded me of the transcendental, almost floaty feeling of Joy Division’s music, and in that moment, I was able to connect and understand Dakota’s character better than ever.
Likewise, at one point in the story, the game breaks the fourth wall, and I feared it would pull off a Doki-Doki Literature Club-style move for a cheap scare, but instead, for once, it trusts itself and showcases a different, more gut-wrenching side of this whole process of creating art, and the whole story arc comes together in a meaningful way.
It’s in these revelatory moments that I simply couldn’t help but marvel at Project Songbird, a title which occasionally dares to step out of the shadow of the games it looks up to, and leverages the unorthodox potential of this medium to tell its tale.
