Ninth bar.
"My, my, my", you say as you take a sip from your 300$ cup of Dom Pérignon, "what a misstep from a professional violinist that is..."
Little did you know that only a couple of minutes later you will get blown off orbit by Alfred Schnittke, inevitably staining your way-too-expansive-for-the-average-joe-huh costume.

For a (broad) genre that is so commonly associated with elitism and bourgeoisie, using atonality in classical music has always been a hell of a thing as it directly challenges orthodox forms of Western music but also goes against the conservatism way of seeing everything under the veil of """beauty""".

Most of the droning conversations surrounding Drakengard are about its janky (to say the least) gameplay and whether or not this was Yoko Taro's intent (as if meaning slipping away from the artist's hands would undermine all artistic value).
There's little to no room for discussion about these ear-scorching violins, making a soundtrack exclusively out of unapologetically aggressive sound collages in a world of grand melodramatic orchestras and nice subtle ambient tracks is a hell of a feast from Nobuyoshi Sano and Takayuki Aihara.

Heck, I'd even argue that it doesn't even serve as a mere companion piece for Drakengard, this is as much of an incredible exploration of the cycle of violence as the whole design use of detachment from death games usually provide, and both the soundtrack and the core game are much more effective at doing so than most works wearing their "so subversive" title up their sleeves I've experienced yet.

I want more abrasive and nightmarish soundscapes to drown in, this is pure hell through and through, I am crying, I am curled up in a ball, I feel like shit, I am gasping for air, I need more.

It's definitely surprising to see a piece of feminist interactive fiction in an age where video games were barely a thing, especially those written by women (although the genre did get into more political matters), and even more so one that provides a twist on the genre : leaving the room only for polar questions instead of more complex answers.

The deeply detached and uninterested mentality you're put into, of course, doesn't stop the harassment from getting far worse and devolving into incessant sexualization and objectification despite all.

To think La femme qui ne supportait pas less ordinateurs, released in 1986, would not only still hold up to this day, but also ring true more than ever is a shame, really.