ARTIST/LABEL NOTES:
Remora collaborates with AI software to re-invision the post-apocalyptic-pop landscape. Named after the 1920 play that introduced the world to robots, RUR is a collaboration of the independent musician spirit & the rising powers of artificial intelligence. Is it the ultimate cop out to be the first to bow down before our future masters, or is it buying in? **** I started dealing with the AI art issue earlier than most. Back in 2013 there was a software developed for film makers to make incidental & bumper music which at the time seemed the natural path to validate the music I make. It wasn’t amazing, but it was “good enough” & faster & easier & cheaper than something made by a human. After a few months feeling desperate I realized I could embrace it or fade out. That said AI art & music didn’t feel that good or powerful until 10 years later. & here we are, with AI as a collaborator giving the ability to re-invigorate & re-explore old & abandoned ideas. It helps make music fun again instead of unrelenting hard work that is of little value to the public. I hope you find these entertaining, though I am sure they will all be dated to 2024 eventually, which is fine.
GAJOOB Review by Bryan Baker, 3/30/2025:
Brian John Mitchell’s latest release under the Remora banner, RUR, marks a notable turn into the domain of AI collaboration—but don’t expect a bland set of algorithmically churned songs. RUR stands apart in both concept and execution, a brief but hauntingly human record shaped in part by artificial intelligence tools. Thankfully, this isn’t your typical machine-pressed soundscape.
The album opens with “Volcana,” a whispered shoegaze mantra. Pulsating guitars shimmer through the mix, soft and dreamlike at first, then gathering into a driving, droning swell that calls to mind a My Bloody Valentine/Bowery Electric mash-up—yet it feels more intimate, more tactile. Mitchell has always thrived in that liminal space where noise becomes melody, and here, AI serves more as a spectral co-writer than a domineering presence.
The sonic terrain of RUR hovers somewhere between post-rock’s sprawling emotional arcs and gothic-industrial melancholy, but the songs are compact—almost meditative in their brevity, fading out too soon. This gives each piece a poetic immediacy. “Dead Creatures in My Yard” repeats its eerie titular phrase over a plaintive piano line, letting a bowed contrabass (or maybe cello?) crawl in beneath, where it blossoms into a slow-motion feedback drone. It’s sparse and beautiful—something akin to an AI lullaby for a dying world. The album closes with “Dimestore Ballad,” a ghostly anthem encased in walls of echoing guitars. A plodding drum enters, supporting Mitchell’s weathered AI-modeled voice as he observes, “The scars on your arms match mine…” It’s an emotional gut punch, nestled in reverb and restraint.
Mitchell reflects in the liner notes about confronting AI back in 2013, initially resisting, then embracing the creative potential that surfaced a decade later. In RUR, he finds a collaborator in the machine—not a replacement, but a kind of spark. The songs emerge not from surrender, but from a revitalized urge to create without compromise. Ultimately, RUR isn’t about AI—it’s about a human reaching through the static, wrestling old ghosts with new tools. That it feels so personal and cohesive is a testament to Mitchell’s voice, vision, and vulnerability. Highly recommended.
Media: Digital.
Bandcamp URL: https://silbermedia.bandcamp.com/album/rur
