San Jose, CA— July 24, 2026
I recently discovered a three-woman rock band that grabbed my attention. The music was tight. The stage presence was powerful. The musicians looked like they had spent
years honing their craft, alone and as a group. Had I just discovered my next favorite band?
The music blends Celtic-influenced Christian rock, heavy metal, and folk. The lyrics revolve around redemption and faith. Normally that combination wouldn’t be my thing, but the sound was undeniably good.
What caught me first was the chemistry between the three women. The guitarist looked intense, the singer seemed completely comfortable in front of a camera, and the banjo player appeared to be having the time of her life.
Together they looked less like a carefully assembled act and more like a group of friends who had been playing together for years. Whatever they were doing, it worked on me. A few videos later, I was looking for more.
Before you read further, watch this montage video. It will introduce you to the band and their energy.
Intrigued? Considering adding them to your playlist? That was my first reaction. Then I noticed something odd. At one point, the tuning pegs on a guitar appeared in different positions from shot to shot. In another clip, finger placements didn’t quite match the notes being played. Small details, but enough to raise suspicion.
The catch? None of them exist. The band, the personalities, the performances, and much of the imagery were generated with artificial intelligence. The project was created by Ethan Howard, a visually impaired guitarist and assistant geomatics professor from Southern Oregon. Howard writes the songs and lyrics, then uses AI tools to bring his virtual Christian rock project to life.
Learning that the band wasn’t real changed my reaction in ways I didn’t expect, and sent me down a path that was equal parts fascinating and unsettling. The music has not changed. The songs are still catchy. The performances are still entertaining. Yet something no longer feels right, or good.
This realization gets to the heart of a much larger conversation about AI and creativity.
AI is here, and it isn’t going away. The debate is no longer whether it will influence our culture, but how deeply that influence will reach, and how much we will accept it as an
alternative to the entertainment we’ve known. Books, music, film, and visual art are all being reshaped by tools that can create at unprecedented speed and scale. And, in some strange sense I don’t fully understand, AI is creative.
I love music, but not just because of what comes through the speakers. I enjoy exploring the people behind it. In many ways, our connection to music is also a connection to the humans who create it. From Bach to Pink Floyd, Elvis to Deep Purple, every artist and group brings a unique mix of talent and creativity. We don’t simply consume their work; we invest in their stories. We buy concert tickets, read biographies, watch interviews, and hunt for obscure recordings because we want to understand who these people are and what motivates them.
All of that becomes part of the experience. The music matters, but so do the stories behind it. And what a thrill it is to be near the stage when a favorite band breaks from the studio recording and improvises. Ever met a Deadhead? For me, that’s a connection.
For me, I can’t get enough of Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb. Why? Because I’ve watched countless documentaries and read countless articles about the tension between Roger Waters and David Gilmour, and how, despite their increasingly strained relationship, they still managed to create something extraordinary. The song is incredible on its own, but knowing the story behind it makes it more powerful.
And that's what made this discovery so unsettling.
My enjoyment of the music was real, and the chemistry between the three women was palpable. But my sense of connection to the artists behind it was an illusion.
The connection I wanted would never manifest. There would be no evolving personalities, no legendary live performances, no creative feuds, no unexpected reinventions. No bandmates arguing in a studio at two in the morning. No breakthrough moments. No rise and fall.
I shared my experience with others and received a range of perspectives in return. Some questioned my need for connection at all. Why is it necessary to enjoy great music? In film, we praise the great actor who, through method acting, creates a whole persona we connect to with passion. It’s a very effective illusion, and one we desire. When we read poetry or view a master’s painting, the first question we ask is: what was the creator thinking, feeling, experiencing? Is music more like poetry, or is it more like a film built around our favorite method actor?
I went back through my playlists and thought about all the songs I’ve liked over the years. And there they were: plenty that just sounded good, songs whose background, history, or meaning I never cared to understand. They were just great tunes. A classic example is “Snoopy vs. the Red Baron” by The Royal Guardsmen. I loved it when it came on my transistor radio late at night while I was drifting off to sleep. Did I ever care about its meaning or origin? Nope. And then there was everything Pink Floyd.
AI is changing many aspects of our lives: our jobs, how we receive customer support, medical diagnosis, to name a few. I have a decent handle on that side of the experience. The creative side is where I’m still stumbling. What happens when AI becomes a normal part of the creative process, and the human connection that draws many of us to music, poetry, and visual art begins to fade?
To be fair, Ethan Howard is still a creator. He conceived the project, wrote the songs, and used technology to overcome significant limitations. Without AI, this band might never have existed. That’s an inspiring story.
At the same time, difficult questions remain. What happens to musicians, writers, filmmakers, and artists when their work becomes the raw material for systems capable of generating endless new content without them? What happens when audiences can generate custom entertainment on demand? What happens when the cost of creating amazing, appealing art approaches zero?
I don’t have the answers. Not today, anyway.
AI can create music. The real question is whether we care who — or what — is behind it, and how much the backstory matters to the connection we seek. How much of our enjoyment is the rhythm and melody, and how much is the story behind it?
I liked Shunned at a Funeral before I knew what it really was, before I learned the women weren’t real. I still like the music. But something changed once I learned there was no band to follow, no personalities to discover, and no story unfolding behind the songs.
And there I sit: in the uncomfortable space between enjoying some genuinely good tunes, and a missing connection that will never surface. Call it the elephant in the room: AI’s place in the art we love isn’t a passing conversation, it’s an unfolding one. This is the first entry in an ongoing IEM series wrestling with exactly that. We’ll keep asking the questions — join us.
Kevin Jones is a writer and self-described Excel ninja who can’t stop thinking about what AI means for the things we love. Contact Kevin – feedback@zorvek.com
Note: Opinions expressed are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Indie Entertainment Magazine™
