In the years to come, I’ll look back on March 2026 as a key turning point in my life. From that moment on, my daily existence can be chronologically sorted into two camps: the time before Pokémon Pokopia’s Title Theme was stuck in my head, and the time after it.

I knew that I was going to love Pokopia’s habitat building, its customisation, and its adorable little interactions. What I wasn’t anticipating was how much I was going to want to sack all that off and just bask in the soundscape of the whole thing.

Let me tell you, if you’ve never loaded up your Pokopia save, plonked Ditto in the middle of a biome, connected your headphones, and then put your Switch 2 aside to sit in the aural environment for a little while, you’re missing a trick. Because yes, Pokopia’s gameplay loop is fantastic, but the game has been at its very best for me during those in-between task moments, where the music and sound design are really given a chance to shine.

I’ll start with the music itself, because it’s the only thing that will stop those Title Theme ‘doooo du-do du-do dooooo‘ kazoos playing in my brain. It’s a score that took a little while to click for me. In an almost Breath of the Wild-esque way, the Withered Wasteland theme (and the main theme of every biome, for that matter) starts very flat and non-intrusive, slowly building over time, the more populated the area becomes — come on, that’s a nice touch.

The eureka moment came when I first heard the Pokémon Center ‘Healing’ motif. If you’ve been playing for long enough, you must have heard it yourself, because it’s everywhere. Those iconic five notes crop up in just about every biome theme that the game throws at you, lightly rounding out the central Withered Wasteland daytime riff on the bass, or tucked in the xylophone segment of Rocky Ridges’ percussion-filled number.

It’s a beautiful little Easter Egg, particularly considering how important both the Pokémon Center itself and the very idea of ‘healing’ are to Pokopia’s main story. But the game had an even bigger musical surprise in store. It turns out that good things really do come to those who wait (and build a boatload of buildings within a small area).

I alluded earlier to the main area themes sounding fuller the more each area develops, but all they’re actually doing is cluing you in on the biome’s final theme. Remember, each of these locations is based on a town or city from Gen I (I won’t go into the specifics here, to avoid any unwanted story spoilers), and once they are developed enough, a new rendition of that original theme enters the soundtrack.

Those starting themes were intentionally sparse! They were hiding motifs from the full Gen I themes that they eventually transform into! That’s why the Bleak Beach keys made me get all teary-eyed, it’s because the sound subconsciously reminded me of one of my absolute favourite Red and Blue locations (IYKYK)! Robert Rodriguez Music has done a full score breakdown for the more musically-minded out there who don’t mind the odd spoiler, but rest assured, these themes are genius.

And still, it’s only a part of Pokopia’s soundscape, because (again) much like BOTW, its soundtrack is just as built on its small environmental sounds as it is on the grand score. I’m talking about the way a Sparkling Ripple in the water begins tinkling the closer to it you get, or how the rustling of the grass can clue you in that a nearby habitat has been filled without the need for any “Hmm, is someone there?” speech bubbles.

It’s a soundtrack so dense with signifiers that it’s a wonder they all stick — but they absolutely do. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve paused in my tracks because I heard a squeak, an alert that a nearby Pokémon wanted my attention, before seeing the exclamation mark overhead. Similarly, the roar of a flying Legendary instinctively encourages you to look up and watch for falling feathers. I don’t remember the game ever telling me that I had to do that, but the sound effect told me all I needed to know (and made me feel like Ash Ketchum at the end of the very first episode of the Pokémon anime, which is no bad thing).

As much as the sound of Ditto’s footsteps changing as it walks between materials pleases me to my very core, it pales compared to my love for the aforementioned details, because you need to be doing absolutely nothing to hear them. At this point, I fear that every picnic in the park or relaxation on the beach is going to have me constantly spinning my head at the sound of a nearby buried relic or newly-discovered ‘mon, only to end in disappointment when I see it’s actually just a screaming child or a dog relieving itself against a tree.

Pokopia has proven to be one of those games that I simply can’t shake, and it’s not because of the gameplay or its adorable little protagonist — though it absolutely is because of both those things too. This game has buried its way inside my head through all the things it throws at me when I’ve put my system aside to chat to my partner or take a sip of coffee. Who would have known that my soundtrack of the year would contain so much kazoo?