Yes, I know the game is 13 years old at this point and old enough to have a social media account, but just in case: spoilers for BioShock Infinite’s story below. You’ve been warned!
It’s been a hot sec since I played BioShock Infinite now, but I’ll never forget hearing the crooning of “I may not always love you…” drifting into my ears as barbershop quartet the Bee Sharps floated onto my screen, their a capella rendition of the Bee Gees’ God Only Knows really selling the dreamy image of Columbia’s city in the sky.
Welcome to Soundtrack Sunday, where a member of the PC Gamer team takes a look at a soundtrack from one of their favourite games—or a broader look at videogame music as a whole—offering their thoughts or asking for yours!
It’s almost hypnotic in a way. Hell, maybe it was, because not once did I think to myself “Hmm, isn’t it weird that a game set in 1912 is using a song that didn’t release until over 50 years later?” I definitely should have thought that, because the way BioShock Infinite toys with real-world music is one of its coolest narrative devices.
That is to say that also, the song is also just a straight-up banger. Not one that’s being played in clubs, mind, but a nice old-timey banger. I’m not exactly one to be listening to barbershop quartets and a capella covers in my spare time—I’d already served my time as a Glee fan at the turn of the decade—but I do recall absolutely rinsing this track for a brief spell after I first rolled credits.
It’s got excellent vibes that help establish the tone of Columbia—or at least what BioShock Infinite wants you to think Columbia is—but it still sits firmly in that weirdly unsettling limbo that has the back of your brain firing off alarm bells. Something is wrong, sure, but what exactly?
In the sky, in the sky
Licensed music in games is often used to help ground the game and its believability for both its setting and time period. GTA Vice City was filled with ’80s bangers to really sell it to you, if Tommy’s fuck-ass shirt wasn’t enough of a giveaway. Sports games dip into a huge mix of modern tracks and old classics that feel authentic to the spirit of the game.
That’s why I find it so interesting that listening to God Only Knows didn’t ring any alarm bells. Look behind the veil and mist of four blokes in stripey suits, and it’s out of place. Half a century out of place. But I think genre-switch aside, what makes it work so well is that the game plucks songs that sit deep enough in people’s nostalgia without raising any red flags.
That extends to its other tracks—the old-timey renditions of 1985’s Everybody Wants to Rule the World and 1965’s Tainted Love, the incredibly jaunty version of 1991’s Shiny Happy People, and the calliope-whistled cover of 1979’s Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
They’re careful selections that don’t veer too close to modernity, lest it reveal its secret too early. Work on BioShock Infinite started in 2008, the same year that Flo Rida’s “Low” was topping the charts. Can you imagine if they tried to contort that into pianos, saxophones, and violins galore?
Ultimately, it turns out that the reason these songs are knocking around Columbia is because composer and upper class citizen Albert Fink has been using tears (dimensional rifts) that appear in his studio to peer into the future and pluck tracks from decades ahead of him, stylizing them for the Columbia’s era. God Only Knows is one of the earliest clues about Infinite’s major plot, and it’s right in your face.
The way Infinite’s music leaves this breadcrumb trail of clues—supplemented by voxophone recordings from Albert’s brother who refers to “wonderful music trumpeting from holes in thin air”—is still one of my favourite ways a game has used licensed music to elevate its material.
Even outside of its rearranged pop tracks, Infinite’s music remains one of its most memorable aspects. There’s one particular, completely missable scene where Booker and Elizabeth discover an acoustic guitar. The former picks it up, strumming a few notes before the latter delicately sings a few lines of the hymn Will the Circle Be Unbroken.
It’s an incredibly tender moment between the two, a much-needed quiet to cut through the near-constant tension. Even the detail like Elizabeth gently coaxing a frightened child to offer him a piece of fruit adds so much to the moment, all driven by the music. It’s a beautiful cover, one that I was happy to remember existed while writing this piece.
BioShock has long since seen itself at the center of repeated discourse, some of it certainly deserved. But its soundtrack and musical choices—and the way that drives the narrative forward—remain one of its strongest elements over a decade later.
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