There’s a moment in every gathering when the energy begins to shift. The plates have been cleared, glasses refilled, and the laughter is rolling, but something is missing. Someone suggests a game, and eyes turn to the shelf stacked with the usual suspects: trivia cards, strategy-heavy boxes, the deck of standard playing cards. They’re fun, yes, but predictable. Then, a different box appears, bright and bold, with a title that already feels like an inside joke: That Sound Game.
You don’t yet know exactly what’s inside, but the room perks up. It’s a promise of something different—something unpredictable. And within minutes of play, you realise this isn’t like any game you’ve played before. There is only one dice, no pawns, no careful rules to memorise. There are only sounds—ridiculous, outrageous, inventive, and hilarious sounds—and a group of people suddenly transformed into human noise machines.
Welcome to That Sound Game, the viral party phenomenon that has quietly (and loudly) swept across living rooms around the world. This isn’t a game about winning—it’s a game about letting go, laughing until you ache, and rediscovering the joy of being silly.
The origin story of That Sound Game is as charming as the game itself. Its creators, Nat and Cam, were ordinary people in Melbourne, Australia, living through the extraordinary stillness of lockdown. Days bled into one another, the usual routines stripped away. To combat the monotony, they began scribbling random prompts on scraps of paper and dropping them into empty jam jars.
The prompts were simple—make the sound of a kettle boiling, a dog barking, a monster waking up. The rules were even simpler: one person makes the sound, the other players on the team guess. It was scrappy, improvised, and utterly joyful.
What they quickly realised was that this wasn’t just a way to pass time. It was a formula for connection. No matter who played, laughter followed. There was something universal about the silliness of sound, something that cut across age, culture, and personality.
So they refined it. They tested with friends and family. They streamlined the prompts, packaged the idea, and began sharing it with the wider world. Within 18 months, the jam jar prototype had transformed into a polished boxed game. TikTok clips of players shrieking and giggling sent it viral, and suddenly, what began at one kitchen table was being played at thousands.
That Sound Game became not just a product, but a movement. More than 400,000 copies sold (to date), awards won, expansions created—it was a reminder that sometimes the simplest ideas are the most powerful.
The rules are refreshingly straightforward. Players take turns drawing a card from the deck. Each card contains a sound prompt. The player must then attempt to produce that sound—or something close enough to spark recognition—while the rest of the team tries to guess what it is.
One key element of the gameplay is that the sound master must stand up and make their sounds with their hands behind their back. This constraint adds a level of absurdity, forcing the performer to improvise from unusual body positioning and making the game even weirder and funnier.
Prompts range from the ordinary to the absurd. One round you might be imitating a car alarm; the next, a werewolf sneezing. The variety keeps the game unpredictable, and the fun lies not in perfection, but in the often-hilarious failures.
Expansions bring even more flavour. The Turbo Pack speeds things up with rapid-fire rounds. The X-Rated Pack is decidedly adult, perfect for post-watershed laughs. The Uncuffed Pack leans into the ridiculous. Each variation adds freshness and replayability, ensuring that the game never feels stale.
Rounds are fast. Laughter is constant. And because the structure is so simple, anyone can join in—no learning curve, no need for gaming experience.
To truly understand the appeal of That Sound Game, you need to picture it in context. Imagine a few different scenarios.
It’s Christmas Day. The turkey has been eaten, the family is full, and the TV drones in the background. Someone brings out That Sound Game. Suddenly, Grandma is attempting to mimic the sound of a Formula 1 car, while your uncle collapses in laughter trying to recreate a ghost’s wail. The room is alive, multigenerational barriers gone.
Now picture a summer holiday with friends. The sun has set, you’re gathered around a picnic table with drinks, and the game comes out. Within minutes, one friend is standing on their chair trying to sound like a T-Rex, while another’s “espresso machine” impression has everyone crying with laughter.
Or think of an office party, stiff at first, the usual small talk lingering. Then the boss pulls a card and is forced to mimic a baby crying. The awkwardness dissolves instantly. Colleagues who barely spoke all year are now bonded by shared absurdity.
This is the essence of the game. It doesn’t just fill time; it transforms it. Ordinary evenings become extraordinary, awkward silences become uproarious laughter, and the people you thought you knew reveal hilarious new sides of themselves.
At first glance, That Sound Game is chaotic fun. But there’s something deeper at play here. Humans are wired for sound. Long before written language, we communicated through noises, mimicry, and rhythm. Children instinctively play with sound long before they speak in sentences.
That Sound Game taps into this primal instinct, reminding us of something fundamental: play isn’t about mastery, it’s about connection. In producing silly sounds, we drop our social masks. We stop worrying about appearances, about control, and simply exist in the moment. Laughter floods the room, endorphins kick in, and the bonds between people strengthen.
It’s also worth noting the therapeutic element. In a world where we spend so much time glued to screens, silent and passive, being noisy feels liberating. It’s an outlet for energy, a safe rebellion against the etiquette of quiet adulthood. It allows us to regress, just for a little while, into the joy of childhood play.
The world of party games is crowded, from Charades and Pictionary to Cards Against Humanity. That Sound Game belongs in this lineage but feels distinct.
Where Charades is visual, this game is sonic. Where Cards Against Humanity relies on edgy humour, That Sound Game relies on creativity and vulnerability. It doesn’t demand encyclopaedic knowledge like Trivial Pursuit or sharp wit like Codenames. It simply asks you to make a sound.
That universality is its secret weapon. Anyone can play, regardless of age, language, or cultural background. That’s why it has thrived globally.
One of the game’s greatest strengths is its ability to dissolve barriers. In families, it bridges generations. In workplaces, it levels hierarchies. In friendship groups, it creates shared stories.
It’s an equaliser. The best mimic doesn’t always win—the funniest failure often does. And in that failure is where the magic lies. Shared vulnerability builds intimacy, and That Sound Game makes vulnerability fun.
The game’s presentation reinforces its identity. The box is bright and modern, with soundwave-inspired graphics that mirror the noise within. The cards are sturdy and colourful, able to withstand the chaos of spirited play. It looks like fun before you’ve even opened it, and that design instinctively draws people in.
The name itself is marketing genius. “That Sound Game” feels like shorthand for a shared cultural phenomenon, something you mention in conversation that immediately sparks recognition. It’s not just a title; it’s a brand of memory-making.
Like all party games, there’s the risk of overuse. Once you’ve cycled through the cards, you might worry the novelty will fade. But because no two players make the same sound the same way, variety is built in. Add in the expansions and the possibilities multiply.
This makes it a game that can stay in rotation, ready to be pulled out whenever the energy dips. Its simplicity means it doesn’t require preparation, so it’s easy to bring along on trips or keep on hand for spontaneous fun.
That Sound Game is more than a party accessory. It’s a tool for connection, a reminder of the power of silliness, and a guaranteed source of laughter. It doesn’t just occupy time—it transforms it, turning ordinary evenings into unforgettable ones.
In a world that often feels heavy and serious, this game is a celebration of the opposite. Lightness, noise, absurdity, and fun. Whether you’re playing with family, friends, or colleagues, it offers something rare: the chance to let go completely, to laugh without restraint, and to remember that play is as essential for adults as it is for children.
If your game shelf is missing something loud, colourful, and wildly entertaining, That Sound Game deserves a place. It might just be the one box you reach for again and again—not because you need to win, but because you need to laugh.
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