Push It.

Posted on: May 5th, 2014 by Arie Salih

Hi, It’s ‘Pat’ from the club. We want you to DJ tonight. You’re free to play any kind of music you want. Beer is on the house! We’re on 212 ne 24th street. Dress to kill! See ya…”

We’re dressed to kill, alright. Entering the doors of North East 165th, the synth is blaring across the alternating neons of the dance floor and the rotating lights. It’s a bloody mess, and we’re playing quiet. “Dennis” they call it, and we’ve got a knife. The door swings open, and three goons chase us out. Swipes left and right, and we’re moving in synchrony with the beat.

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A knife gets thrown across the room, and red splatters on a couch as a dog races forward. Boom- the shotgun blast puts it down. The music is pushing me to go more quickly, more carelessly! Dance, Dennis, dance! In a frantic dash of melodies and hyperdub, a gun thrown embraces a quick bit of silence. A space bar taptaptap, and there are pieces of the guy’s head everywhere. We’re faceless, we’re moving – in rhythm to every strung out transition, every step.

Keep shuffling! There are speakers by the guy slumped at the end of the hallway. A disorganized collection of vinyls and turntables- are they static? It’s hard to tell, we’re going downstairs- the Wolf and I. A bullet ricochets off the glass, and it shatters to alert others to our uninvited presence. It’s a seemingly endless procession of baddies waving around rifles and such, and quick machete jabs picked up in the west corridor. Pop, pop – the allure of the confluence of the beat and trigger keeps us in harmony.

The black tiles and black sofas blur by, the music commands us to keep moving swiftly. We’re gliding now- the Wolf fades behind the blue. A quick turn to the right, shrrrrrrrk. Each shot piercing against a body, the blues of the carpet are slowly changing color. Ah- here we are. Spotlights! It’s our time to shine, we’ve got to sway my friend! A quick shift, so we can peer down the west end and the couch surfer is bleeding out in surprise. It’s the madness inspired by the amalgam of the masked rampaged fury and Miami Disco.

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THIS IS DEPERSONALIZATION GROOVE.

“Chapter Clear” displays in jagged letters. We freeze entirely. The silent hum fills the void, and the lights keep spinning wildly in the quiet. The music is woven so seamlessly into the death-laden romp, it’s hard not to notice the stark contrast between the end of the level and dynamic shift in tone. We’re slowly ambling now past the whispering hallways stained in blood, almost defeated.

And that’s the beauty of Hotline Miami, the willingness to approach each combat scenario with finesse in syncopation to the notes. Perturbator provides the perfect soundtrack to Devolver’s grisly adventure. Every click of the attack button matches the disco, in a murderous frenzy.

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