DUHKQUNT – THE CATASTROPHE (MUSIC VIDEO)

We have been pleasantly surprised by the attention that our resident, sardonic “electronic music” producer DuhkQunt has received upon the release of their second EP – simply titled II.

After getting a few spins on local radio in the United Kingdom and some attention from bands/websites in the West Yorkshire area, the emboldened cut-and-paste jerkwaver decided to work with another MUZAI regular, Urethra Franklin, to create an actual music video (rather than a visualizer, akin to “Substance” and your summertime jam “Wandering Drift.)

“The Catastrophe” incorporates gameplay footage from one of DuhkQunt’s biggest influences across both II and the self-titled debut; Hideo Kojima’s cyberpunk classic, Snatcher.

“I ended up doing a playlist for MUZAI’s monthly Spotify playlist, which had a lot of John Carpenter and Konami soundtracks. I’m a creature of habit” they emailed (we don’t have a phone number for DuhkQunt.)

“I’m a massive Hideo Kojima fan. The Metal Gear series, Policenauts and Snatcher – they’ve all been an influence on the cutting, pasting, sampling and even aesthetic of this project.”

“The first EP had a song “Junker” about the main character’s occupation in Snatcher; this track gives listeners a backstory why junkers are a thing.”

“It’s also been a massive excuse to replay the game” DuhkQunt continues. “I shot a whole bunch of footage to Urethra Franklin and told him to make it not just about the game, but also make it about a tired, exhausted private eye. Like Harrison Ford in Blade Runner, almost.”

Pressed as to why the new EP hasn’t made it on a physical format yet, DuhkQunt bounced the question back to us. We’ve been lazy was our response.

“That’s cool. Some people have a tape and a CD version is floating around. It’s all prep though for the next EP, Space Communion. So don’t mess about and commit that to some archaic physical for in the future.”

The Visual Language of Snatcher and Its Influence

For those unfamiliar with the source material, Snatcher is a 1988 cyberpunk graphic adventure directed by Hideo Kojima, originally released for the PC-8801 and later ported to the Sega CD among other platforms. Set in the fictional Neo Kobe City, the game follows Gillian Seed, an amnesiac “Junker” tasked with hunting down humanoid robots known as Snatchers who kill their victims and assume their identities. Its aesthetic is a dense collage of film noir tropes, Japanese cyberpunk, and Western sci-fi, all rendered in detailed pixel art and accompanied by a moody, synth-heavy soundtrack that owes as much to Vangelis as it does to John Carpenter.

DuhkQunt’s decision to use Snatcher footage for “The Catastrophe” is not merely a fan service; it is a deliberate alignment of medium and message. The game’s visual language—rain-slicked streets, neon signage, flickering CRT monitors, and the weary protagonist’s perpetual five o’clock shadow—mirrors the track’s own atmosphere of decay and resignation. The cut-and-paste nature of DuhkQunt’s production, built from samples and loops, finds a natural counterpart in the game’s own patchwork of borrowed cinematic references. As DuhkQunt themselves noted, the first EP featured a track called “Junker,” and “The Catastrophe” serves as a kind of prequel, explaining the origins of that profession within the game’s lore. The video, then, functions as both a tribute and an extension of the music’s thematic concerns.

The collaboration with Urethra Franklin was a pragmatic one. DuhkQunt, who has described their own visual work as “just enough to get by,” recognised that a full music video required a different skill set. Franklin, a fellow MUZAI regular known for their work on other label projects, took the raw gameplay footage and shaped it into something that transcends a simple playthrough. The result is a video that feels less like a game capture and more like a found-footage noir film, with deliberate pacing, selective framing, and an emphasis on the quiet moments between action—Gillian Seed staring at a computer terminal, a cigarette burning in an ashtray, the slow pan across a deserted street. These choices echo DuhkQunt’s instruction to make it about “a tired, exhausted private eye,” drawing a direct line to Harrison Ford’s Rick Deckard in Blade Runner.

From Gameplay to Narrative: Editing Choices and Atmosphere

Urethra Franklin’s editing approach for “The Catastrophe” is worth examining in detail, as it demonstrates a keen understanding of both the source material and the music’s structure. Rather than simply cutting gameplay footage to the beat, Franklin constructs a loose narrative that mirrors the song’s emotional arc. The video opens with static and a distorted title card, immediately establishing a sense of analog decay. From there, we are introduced to Gillian Seed not as a heroic figure but as a man already defeated by his circumstances—his movements slow, his gaze distant. This aligns with the track’s opening bars, which are built on a minor-key synth line that seems to drag itself forward.

One of the most striking sequences involves a montage of the game’s investigation mechanics: examining objects, talking to NPCs, and piecing together clues. Franklin intercuts these with real-world footage of a cluttered desk, a flickering lamp, and a hand pouring whiskey into a glass—shots that were filmed specifically for the video, not taken from the game. This blending of diegetic and non-diegetic imagery creates a liminal space where the boundaries between the game world and our own begin to blur. It is a technique that DuhkQunt has used in their music as well, where samples from obscure soundtracks are manipulated until their origins become unrecognisable, yet their emotional residue remains.

The video’s climax, which coincides with the track’s most intense passage, features a rapid succession of cuts between Snatcher’s more violent moments—gunfire, explosions, the reveal of a Snatcher’s true form—and abstract glitch art. These glitches are not random; they are carefully synchronised with the music’s percussion, creating a sense of controlled chaos. It is a reminder that, for all its lo-fi aesthetics, DuhkQunt’s music is meticulously constructed. The same can be said of Franklin’s editing, which rewards repeat viewings with small details: a reflection in a window, a character’s subtle head turn, a frame of text that appears for only a fraction of a second.

The Role of Nostalgia and Obscurity in DuhkQunt’s Work

DuhkQunt’s fixation on Snatcher is part of a broader pattern in their discography: a deep engagement with media that exists on the fringes of mainstream consciousness. The self-titled debut EP and its follow-up, II, are littered with references to obscure video games, forgotten VHS tapes, and late-night television. This is not mere nostalgia for its own sake; it is a deliberate aesthetic strategy. By drawing on sources that are familiar to a niche audience but alien to most, DuhkQunt creates a sense of insider knowledge, a shared language for those who grew up renting Sega CD games or trading bootleg anime tapes.

This approach has resonated with a small but dedicated following, particularly in the United Kingdom, where DuhkQunt’s music has received airplay on local radio stations and attention from West Yorkshire-based blogs and bands. The sardonic, self-deprecating tone of DuhkQunt’s public persona—evident in their email correspondence with MUZAI—belies a serious commitment to craft. The music may be made from cut-and-paste samples, but the selection and arrangement of those samples is anything but haphazard. Each loop, each snippet of dialogue, each burst of static is placed with intention.

“The Catastrophe” video extends this ethos to the visual realm. By choosing Snatcher, DuhkQunt is not simply paying homage to a beloved game; they are inviting the listener into their own private canon of influences. The video becomes a kind of annotated bibliography, a visual footnote to the music. For those who recognise the source material, it deepens the listening experience; for those who do not, it serves as an introduction to a world that has clearly shaped DuhkQunt’s artistic identity. In this sense, the video is both a gift to existing fans and a gateway for new ones.

Physical Formats, Future Plans, and the MUZAI Ethos

The conversation in the existing text about physical formats is revealing of both DuhkQunt’s attitude and MUZAI’s operations. When pressed about why II has not yet been released on a physical medium, DuhkQunt turned the question back on the label, and MUZAI’s response—“We’ve been lazy”—is characteristically blunt. This exchange highlights the informal, DIY nature of the label, which has never prioritised commercial viability over creative freedom. Yet DuhkQunt’s follow-up comment about the next EP, Space Communion, suggests a desire for greater permanence: “So don’t mess about and commit that to some archaic physical form in the future.”

This tension between the ephemeral and the tangible runs throughout DuhkQunt’s work. The music itself is built from samples that are, by their nature, fleeting—ripped from decaying media, manipulated, and reassembled into something new. A physical release would, in some sense, freeze that process, giving it a fixed form. But it would also ensure that the music survives beyond the digital platforms where it currently resides. For a project so concerned with memory, decay, and the passage of time, the question of physical format is not incidental; it is central to the work’s meaning.

MUZAI’s catalogue includes a range of video content, from official music videos to more experimental visual pieces. Readers interested in exploring more of the label’s visual output may want to check out the Music Videos category or the broader Videos section. Other notable releases include MURINA – STUFF GALORE (VIDEO) and STRUGGLES WITH SYNTAX – JUNG DREAMS (VIDEO), both of which demonstrate the label’s commitment to visual experimentation alongside its audio output.

Reception and the Cult of DuhkQunt

Since the release of “The Catastrophe,” the video has slowly accumulated views and sparked discussion among fans of both DuhkQunt and Snatcher. The overlap between these two audiences is, predictably, small but passionate. Online forums dedicated to Hideo Kojima’s early work have taken notice, with some commenters praising the video for its respectful treatment of the source material. Others have noted the clever synchronisation between the game’s animations and the music’s tempo, a detail that rewards attentive viewing.

DuhkQunt’s own response to the video’s reception has been characteristically understated. In a follow-up email to MUZAI, they wrote, “It’s fine. People seem to get it. Or they don’t. Either way, I got to replay Snatcher for the hundredth time, so I’m happy.” This blend of indifference and enthusiasm is a hallmark of the DuhkQunt persona: a creator who is deeply invested in their art but reluctant to take themselves too seriously. It is an attitude that has endeared them to a small but loyal following, and one that is reflected in the music itself, which often pairs bleak subject matter with a wry, self-aware sense of humour.

As DuhkQunt continues to work on Space Communion, the next EP in what is shaping up to be a loose trilogy, it remains to be seen whether the visual component will continue to play a role. Given the success of “The Catastrophe”—both as a standalone piece and as a companion to the music—it would be surprising if DuhkQunt did not return to the video format. For now, the video stands as a testament to the creative possibilities that emerge when a musician and a visual artist share a common language of influences, and when a label like MUZAI is willing to let them explore that language without interference.