The Mixtape Generation: When Video Games Become Time Machines
There’s something undeniably magical about the way certain art forms can transport us back to a specific moment in time. Music does it. Movies do it. And now, with the release of Mixtape, video games are proving they can do it too. But what makes this particular game so fascinating isn’t just its ability to evoke nostalgia—it’s the way it challenges us to rethink what a game can be.
Mixtape, the latest creation from Melbourne-based studio Beethoven and Dinosaur, is a narrative adventure that feels less like a game and more like a living, breathing memory. Set in the fictional 90s American town of Blue Moon Lagoon, it follows Stacy Rockford, a teenager on the brink of a reckless plan to chase her dreams in New York. What unfolds over its four-hour runtime is a kaleidoscope of youthful excess, messy emotions, and the kind of magical realism that blurs the line between the mundane and the fantastical.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the game uses its structure to mirror the very essence of its title. Just as a mixtape jumps between tracks, Mixtape jumps between gameplay styles—skateboarding, kissing, TP-ing houses, even riding a dinosaur. It’s a bold choice, but one that pays off beautifully. Personally, I think this is where the game shines brightest: it’s not just telling a story; it’s embodying the chaotic, unpredictable nature of adolescence.
The soundtrack, too, is a masterclass in curation. Featuring deep cuts from bands like Roxy Music, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and Portishead, it’s clear that creator Johnny Galvatron isn’t just leaning on nostalgia—he’s living in it. What many people don’t realize is that nostalgia isn’t just about looking back; it’s about reimagining the past through the lens of the present. Galvatron’s choice to include lesser-known tracks rather than chart-toppers is a deliberate move to capture the feel of an era, not just its hits.
One thing that immediately stands out is the game’s cultural touchpoints. Despite being made by an Australian team, Mixtape is deeply rooted in 80s and 90s American pop culture. From Ferris Bueller’s Day Off to Dazed and Confused, the influences are unmistakable. But here’s where it gets interesting: the game isn’t just borrowing from these sources—it’s dialoguing with them. Galvatron’s own experiences, from his days in the band Galvatrons to his teenage obsessions, seep into every frame. Stacy, for instance, is an amalgamation of the kids he saw at gigs, a character so vivid she feels like she could walk off the screen.
From my perspective, this is where Mixtape transcends its medium. It’s not just a game about the 90s; it’s a game about the idea of the 90s, filtered through the lens of a modern Australian team. The inclusion of Australian tracks like Silverchair and Mondo Rock, or the ABC Rage shirt Stacy wears, adds a layer of authenticity that’s often missing in nostalgia-driven media. It’s a reminder that nostalgia isn’t universal—it’s personal, fragmented, and deeply tied to our own experiences.
This raises a deeper question: Why do we keep returning to the past in our art? Is it escapism, or is it something more? Personally, I think it’s about finding meaning in the chaos of our own lives. Stacy’s plan to move to New York is, as Galvatron admits, a terrible idea. But it’s also the kind of terrible idea that defines us when we’re young—reckless, hopeful, and utterly sincere.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how the game handles its fantastical elements. Riding a dinosaur or learning to fly isn’t just a gimmick; it’s a metaphor for the way adolescence feels. Everything is bigger, brighter, more intense. The world is both terrifying and full of possibility. Mixtape captures that duality perfectly, shifting tones and styles with the ease of a seasoned DJ.
What this really suggests is that video games are becoming a new kind of cultural artifact—one that can hold the weight of our collective memories. Just as Donnie Darko did for Galvatron, Mixtape has the potential to become a touchstone for a new generation. But it also challenges us to think about what we leave behind. In a world where everything is digitized and disposable, a mixtape—or a game like this—feels like a relic of a slower, more intentional time.
If you take a step back and think about it, Mixtape isn’t just a game about the past; it’s a game about the future. It’s about the stories we tell, the memories we cherish, and the ways we try to hold onto them. As Galvatron puts it, “Sometimes the game just tells you what it needs to be.” And in this case, what it needs to be is a time machine—not just to the 90s, but to the moments that shaped us all.
So, is Mixtape worth your time? In my opinion, absolutely. It’s a reminder that the best art doesn’t just reflect the past; it reimagines it. And in doing so, it gives us a glimpse of who we are—and who we might become.
