Remnant Parade by Furneon

# REMNANT PARADE

When we started building Remnant Parade, we were hunched over vintage synths in a basement studio surrounded by old nature magazines, their pages dog-eared to extinct creatures that haunted us. This album emerged from that obsession – what happens when memory becomes spectacle? When preservation turns predatory?

The songs pulse between two worlds: the meticulous Archivists who want to preserve every digital echo of lost species, and the wild Imprinters who remix and glitch those patterns into something new. We found ourselves torn between both impulses – reverence for what's gone and the thrill of transformation.

Sonically, we've pushed our signature sound deeper into the neon underworld. FM bass thunders beneath "Wool Circuit" like phantom mammoth herds, while "Sabretooth Palette" slices through with razor-sharp arpeggiators that'd make Kavinsky proud. We spent three sleepless nights sampling actual fossil echoes for "Datatree Ark," processing them through tape until they sounded like genetic memory.

Our producer nearly quit when we insisted on recording "Core Fragment" during a power outage, capturing the voltage drops as they corrupted our synth lines – but that unstable energy is exactly what Neomara feels like when the memory-cores start glitching.

This parade isn't just nostalgic synthwave – it's a warning about what happens when we become obsessed with recreating what we've lost instead of understanding why we lost it. The anthem at the end – that's our manifesto. We're more than collectors of ghosts. We're creating something new in the electric glow.

From the magenta-washed rhythms of "Ammonite Parade" to the vocoder chants in "Tusk Mask," we've crafted an album that feels like wandering through a digital museum after hours, when the exhibits start to move, merge, and question their own existence.

Plug in. Turn up. Join our Remnant Parade.

Electric nostalgia hunters wiring extinct beasts through neon-soaked synths. We resurrect DNA ghosts in pulsing basslines and vocoder whispers. Enter Neomara – our digital afterlife where woolly mammoths dance again.