Before we get started, please bookmark my music site and check it out after reading this article. And while you're at it, follow me on TikTok at @Crashout.Royalty. That's where you can find more of my music, videos, artwork, and whatever else I'm creating next.
Here's my most recent Hip-Hop release as of this publishing date...
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPLjkEnsM/
And here is my old organic Hardcore/Punk Band ILLITHED
https://mindtreasury.blogspot.com/2018/02/hardcorepunk-band-illithed.htmlThe AI Music Debate I May Never Have — Because I Value My Time
Hello, I'm the account "Crashout Royalty" for those that are unaware. Multidisciplinary artist and activist researcher JM Talboo AKA BishopNeoWinstonSmith leader of the music group and collective of artists known as #CrashoutAristocrats
Before the imagined debate ensues I want to first acknowledge positive conversations are happening as evinced by the screenshots below.
I say this because what sparked me writing this is a lot shit talking is taking place online from those opposed to AI music. Makes me wonder if they are industry plants Ad hominem attacks are not an argument, I can talk smack and lay one down too lol but I'll focus on substance and positivity while they act like the miserable people they msst be.
What would happen if I actually debated someone who believes AI-assisted music is inherently inferior to human-made music?
I may never find out.
And that's okay.
One of the reasons I use AI in the first place is because I value my time.
So rather than spending hours arguing with somebody on the internet, I decided to run the entire hypothetical debate through my head.
Here's how I'd approach it.
Not by assuming I'd win every argument.
Not by rigging the experiments.
And not by pretending AI is automatically better than human creativity.
I'd simply ask that we actually examine the claims being made.
And there's an important distinction right from the beginning:
I'm not simply an "AI music maker."
I'm a multidisciplinary artist.
I make music. I write. I perform. I make videos. I make physical artwork. I make digital artwork. I work with photography, animation, costumes, props, locations and visual effects. I showcase other artists and artwork. I use technology. I collaborate with other people. And sometimes I use AI.
Sometimes I use none of it.
That's the bigger picture.
I Don't Like Being Pigeonholed
I've never been particularly interested in being shoved into one category.
Why would I limit myself to one medium just because somebody else wants a convenient label?
If I have an idea that works as a song, I'll make a song.
If it works as a video, I'll make a video.
If it works as an image, I'll make an image.
If it works as physical artwork, I'll make that.
If somebody else's artwork communicates something I want to showcase, I'll showcase it.
If a costume communicates the idea better than words do, I'll put on the costume.
If animation makes the idea stronger, I'll animate it.
If AI helps me accomplish something I couldn't otherwise accomplish—or lets me accomplish it faster—I'll use AI.
I'm not interested in technological purity.
I'm interested in communication and creation.
There Isn't One Way I Make Music
This is where I think a lot of conversations about AI immediately go wrong.
People talk about "AI music" as though there's one standardized process.
There isn't.
I've been making music for years.
I've been in a successful band.
I can perform.
I can rap live.
I've made music without AI.
And I still make music without AI.
AI is simply another set of tools I've added to a much larger creative toolbox.
Sometimes I might use an AI-generated beat and put my own real vocals over it.
Sometimes I might perform the vocals myself and use an AI voice filter as an artistic effect.
Sometimes AI might be involved in the music while the performance itself is completely human.
Sometimes I might use AI for production but write and perform everything else myself.
Sometimes AI is involved in several elements.
Sometimes it's barely involved at all.
Sometimes it isn't involved whatsoever.
So when someone says:
"You're just letting AI make your music."
My response is pretty simple:
Which song?
Which part?
The beat?
My vocals?
The voice effect?
The lyrics?
The concept?
The production?
The video?
The artwork?
What exactly are you talking about?
Because you're imagining one workflow that doesn't actually describe what I do.
I make music in a lot of different ways.
AI is one set of tools I sometimes use within that larger creative process.
The Same Thing Applies to My Videos
And then there's video.
I'm not simply making songs and attaching a generic video to them afterward.
The visual production is its own creative process.
And just like music, I'm interested in using every possible way of making the thing.
AI animation.
Real photographs.
Real video.
Digital imagery.
Physical imagery.
Stickers.
Effects.
Costumes.
Props.
Settings.
Locations.
Practical elements.
Digital manipulation.
Found imagery.
Whatever works.
Sometimes I'll create an entirely artificial image.
Sometimes I'll film something in the real world.
Sometimes I'll take a real photograph and build something around it.
Sometimes I'll make physical artwork and photograph or film it.
Sometimes I'll create digital artwork.
Sometimes I'll take physical artwork and use AI to animate it.
Sometimes Dawn makes physical artwork and I incorporate that into what I'm doing.
Sometimes I'll showcase another artist's work.
Sometimes I'll visit or showcase art in a museum.
Sometimes the strongest visual is simply something I happen to encounter in the real world.
And sometimes I'll combine several of those methods in one project.
That's not a contradiction.
That's the medium.
The Best Results Are Often Hybrids
Think about modern filmmaking.
Computer-generated imagery didn't eliminate practical effects.
Practical effects didn't eliminate sets.
Digital effects didn't eliminate actors.
Photography didn't eliminate painting.
And computer animation didn't eliminate live-action filmmaking.
In fact, some of the most effective visual work comes from combining different techniques.
You can have a real actor standing in a real environment while interacting with a digitally created world.
You can have a physical prop enhanced with computer effects.
You can have real footage combined with animation.
You can have photographs turned into moving imagery.
The best solution isn't necessarily:
"Use only the human method."
It may be:
"Use the right combination of methods for this particular idea."
That's what I'm doing.
The Image Can Say Something the Song Doesn't
There's another reason I care so much about the visual side.
The video doesn't have to simply illustrate the lyrics.
Sometimes it reinforces the song.
Sometimes it expands upon it.
Sometimes it provides another interpretation.
Sometimes it deliberately creates irony.
Sometimes it communicates a completely different but related idea.
You can say a thousand words with an image.
Sometimes more.
A single image can establish a mood, tell a story, suggest a political idea, create symbolism, or make someone question what they're seeing.
I might put something like a They Live flyer into a video.
Maybe the song doesn't literally say the same thing.
That's okay.
The image creates another layer of communication.
The audience makes the connection.
That's part of the artwork.
Visual Language Is Different From Verbal Language
An image isn't simply a paragraph without words.
Visual language works differently.
A costume can communicate satire.
A setting can communicate danger.
A photograph can communicate nostalgia.
A surreal image can communicate an emotional state.
A juxtaposition can create an argument without anybody speaking.
A symbol can make someone think about an idea without spelling out the conclusion.
And sometimes an image can communicate something in a way that a literal statement simply can't.
That's one of the reasons I'm interested in visual storytelling.
I'm not just making a music video.
I'm building another layer of the message.
Physical Art Counts Too
And this is another reason I don't want to be reduced to "AI artist."
I make physical art.
I work with physical objects.
I showcase artwork other people create.
Dawn makes artwork that I can incorporate into the larger creative world.
I make digital artwork too.
And sometimes I'll take something that physically exists and use AI or other digital tools to animate or transform it.
So now we've got:
physical → digital → animated → combined with video → combined with music.
Where exactly are you going to draw the line and tell me which part is the "real art"?
That's the wrong question.
The better question is:
What did the artist create, and what was the artist trying to communicate?
Technology Has Always Disrupted Art
And this isn't even a uniquely modern argument.
We've been having versions of this argument for centuries.
Whenever a new technology changes who can create, who can distribute art, or what art can sound or look like, somebody eventually says:
"This is going to ruin everything."
Sometimes that person has a point.
Sometimes they're completely wrong.
Usually it's more complicated than either side wants to admit.
But the pattern is worth recognizing.
There were people who were suspicious of ordinary people having widespread access to writing.
Then came the printing press.
Suddenly information could be reproduced and distributed on a scale that was previously impossible.
Then came newspapers and mass publishing.
Then radio.
Then recorded music.
Then television.
Then home video.
Then the internet.
Then digital recording.
Then digital photography.
And now we're dealing with generative AI.
Every one of these technologies changed the creative landscape.
And every time, there were people who looked at the new technology and said, in one form or another:
"That's not real art."
"Video Killed the Radio Star"
There's a reason a phrase like "Video Killed the Radio Star" became culturally memorable.
It captured a real fear about technological change.
Radio didn't literally disappear.
The radio star didn't literally die.
Instead, the culture changed.
Television created a new requirement: artists could suddenly become visual personalities in addition to being voices.
That changed what a successful performer looked like.
And then television itself was eventually challenged by cable, home video, the internet, streaming and social media.
The old medium doesn't necessarily disappear.
The ecosystem changes around it.
That's an important distinction.
The Printing Press Didn't Destroy Human Culture
The printing press is another good example.
Imagine living in a world where books are expensive, labor-intensive objects that have to be copied by hand.
Then suddenly you have technology capable of reproducing text on an enormous scale.
You could reasonably be concerned about misinformation.
You could be concerned about low-quality writing.
You could be concerned about people flooding society with garbage.
You could be concerned about political propaganda spreading faster.
Those concerns wouldn't necessarily be stupid.
But the answer wasn't:
"Therefore, nobody should print books."
The technology created enormous new possibilities while also creating new problems.
That's often what technological progress actually looks like.
Newspapers and the Internet
The same thing happened when the internet disrupted newspapers.
People worried about what would happen to journalism.
Some of those concerns were absolutely justified.
The internet created incredible opportunities for independent publishing, but it also created misinformation, clickbait, declining traditional revenue models and all sorts of other problems.
So I'm not going to make the simplistic argument that every technological disruption is automatically good.
Sometimes we should be wary.
Sometimes older ways of doing things really do contain wisdom that we shouldn't throw away.
But that's different from saying:
"New technology exists, therefore everything created with it is artistically worthless."
Those are two completely different arguments.
The Guitar Didn't Stay the Guitar
Music has gone through this process constantly.
The acoustic guitar existed.
Then amplification changed what the guitar could do.
Then the electric guitar arrived.
And there were plenty of people who thought it was loud, obnoxious noise.
Then people figured out what could be done with it.
Entire genres developed around that sound.
The instrument didn't become objectively "better" than the acoustic guitar.
It became different.
And different artists wanted different things from it.
That's the key.
Three Chords vs. Stevie Ray Vaughan
I remember the kind of argument people made about bands like Nirvana and other grunge artists.
You'd hear the criticism:
"They only know three chords."
That's obviously an oversimplification, but the criticism illustrates something interesting.
Someone could look at Stevie Ray Vaughan and admire his technical ability, musicianship and complexity.
And that's perfectly legitimate.
But that doesn't mean the aesthetic of Stevie Ray Vaughan is automatically superior to the aesthetic of a stripped-down grunge song.
Sometimes three or four chords are exactly what the song needs.
Sometimes technical complexity is the point.
Sometimes simplicity is the point.
Sometimes virtuosity communicates.
Sometimes restraint communicates.
The question isn't:
"Which musician worked harder to master technical complexity?"
The question is:
"What is this artist trying to communicate, and does the chosen method communicate it?"
That's an important distinction for AI too.
A technologically complicated production isn't automatically better than a simple one.
And a technically simple production isn't automatically worse.
Complexity isn't the same thing as quality.
People Fear Change for Good Reasons Sometimes
This is where I don't want to turn the argument into some simplistic:
"Old people fear technology and young people understand progress."
That's bullshit.
People sometimes fear technological change for legitimate reasons.
Some technologies genuinely cause harm.
Some things that were once celebrated as progress turned out to have consequences we didn't understand.
Sometimes the people saying "slow down" were right.
Sometimes the people saying "this is going to cause problems" were right.
We should be willing to listen to them.
But there's another lesson from history:
Being concerned about a technology isn't the same as proving that everything created with that technology is worthless.
And that's where I think the AI conversation often goes off the rails.
Technology Changes the Definition of Possible
Every major creative technology expands the range of things an artist can do.
The microphone changed singing.
Recording technology changed songwriting.
Multitrack recording changed arrangement.
The electric guitar changed rock.
Synthesizers changed electronic music and eventually countless other genres.
Sampling changed hip-hop.
Digital audio workstations changed music production.
Digital cameras changed photography.
Computer graphics changed filmmaking.
The internet changed distribution.
Smartphones turned almost everybody into a potential photographer and filmmaker.
AI is doing something similar.
It's changing the distance between:
"I have an idea."
and
"I made the thing."
That's enormous.
So Let's Actually Test the Music
Suppose someone tells me that AI music is obviously inferior to human music.
Okay.
Let's test it.
I'd propose ten songs with broadly comparable themes.
Peace.
Humanity.
Love.
Freedom.
Overcoming hatred.
Making the world a better place.
Five would involve AI assistance.
Five would be entirely human-made.
The listener wouldn't know which was which.
But here's the important part:
I wouldn't initially ask them to identify the AI songs.
I'd ask them to judge the music.
Which songs communicate their message most effectively?
Which are best written?
Which are most emotionally powerful?
Which are most memorable?
Which would they actually listen to again?
Which make them think?
Which make them feel something?
Then, after they've made their judgments, we reveal how the songs were created.
Only then would we test their ability to identify AI involvement.
Because those are two completely different questions.
Can you identify AI?
And:
Does AI involvement make a piece of music worse?
Being good at the first doesn't automatically prove the second.
What If They're Really Good at Spotting AI?
Maybe they are.
That's entirely possible.
Maybe they've listened to enough AI music to recognize certain production characteristics that most people don't notice.
Great.
Let's test that too.
We could compare their results with other listeners.
Musicians.
Non-musicians.
People who listen to enormous amounts of music.
People who don't.
Maybe they absolutely crush the test.
Maybe everybody does.
Maybe nobody does.
Maybe some people are extremely good at it and others are terrible.
Whatever happens, that's useful information.
I'm not afraid of an experiment simply because it might produce a result I don't expect.
That's what makes it an experiment.
And if somebody really is exceptionally good at recognizing AI music, I'd rather find that out than pretend otherwise.
But identifying the technology is still not the same thing as proving that the art is inferior.
Then Let's Remove the Blindfold
Now let's make it personal.
Take one of my songs.
Let's use something like Naptown.
I'll perform the song for you myself.
Live.
No AI.
Just me.
Then I'll play you the AI-assisted version I created.
Now tell me which vocal performance you prefer.
Maybe you'll prefer mine.
I'd actually expect that in some cases. I'm a performer. I'd hope my live performance has strengths that an AI-generated performance doesn't.
Maybe you'll prefer the AI version.
That's possible too.
And here's the funny part:
Either result is interesting.
If you tell me my live performance is better, I'm not going to throw a fit.
I'll probably say:
"Yeah. I'm a performer. I'd fucking hope so."
But then we have to ask what we've actually demonstrated.
The Part People Leave Out: Reality
Maybe when I made that song, I didn't have a studio available to me.
Maybe I was going through some difficult shit in my life.
Maybe I didn't have the money for studio time.
Maybe I didn't have musicians available.
Maybe I didn't have the time to sit there and record thirty takes of the same line.
Maybe AI allowed me to turn an idea into a finished song that otherwise would have remained an idea.
That's not a hypothetical benefit.
That's how technology works.
People sometimes look at the final product and completely ignore the circumstances that made the product possible.
If my human vocal performance is slightly better but the AI-assisted version allowed me to actually finish the song under circumstances where the alternative was not making the song at all, then what exactly have I lost?
And what have I gained?
I gained a finished song.
I saved time.
I saved money.
I didn't need a studio.
I didn't need to coordinate multiple people.
I didn't need to spend hours and money getting another take every time I flubbed a line.
And I could move on to the next idea.
That matters.
What If They Prefer the AI Version?
Now let's turn the tables.
Suppose they listen to both versions and say:
"Honestly, I like the AI version better."
I'm not going to pretend I lost.
I'm going to say:
"Well, shit. Great."
Because I wanted the song to communicate.
If I had something I genuinely wanted to say, and the technology helped me say it in a way that somebody found more enjoyable, understandable or emotionally effective, then the technology accomplished something useful.
I don't need the human version to win every comparison.
The song winning is enough.
And What If They Say the Human Version Is Better?
That's useful too.
Maybe the human version has something the AI version doesn't.
Maybe I have a vocal characteristic that can't be replicated.
Maybe the human performance has a particular imperfection that makes it more compelling.
Fine.
Then I've learned something about the strengths of human performance.
That doesn't prove AI has no value.
It proves that humans and AI can have different strengths.
That's called having different tools.
The Mother's Day Problem
There's another experiment that I don't think an AI critic can solve with a simple production argument.
Suppose I make a tribute song for my mother.
She's getting older.
I have things I want to say to her.
I use AI to help turn those thoughts into a song quickly.
She hears it.
And she cries.
Now somebody tells me:
"Yeah, but it was made with AI."
Okay.
So?
Does that make her tears less real?
Did the emotional response somehow disappear because I used a machine to help construct the song?
Did the love I was trying to express become less genuine?
Did the words suddenly stop meaning what they meant?
No.
The technology doesn't get to rewrite the emotional experience that happened afterward.
My mother didn't cry because she performed a philosophical analysis of my production process.
She cried because I made something for her that meant something to her.
That's important.
Efficiency Doesn't Equal Emptiness
There is a strange assumption that if something becomes easier to produce, it must become less meaningful.
But that's not how technology has historically worked.
A camera didn't make photography meaningless.
Digital editing didn't make filmmaking meaningless.
The synthesizer didn't make music meaningless.
The electric guitar didn't make songwriting meaningless.
Recording technology didn't make live performance meaningless.
Technology repeatedly changes the distance between an idea and its final form.
And that's exactly what AI does for me.
I have more ideas than I could possibly execute using traditional methods alone.
AI reduces the distance between:
"I have an idea."
and
"I made the thing."
That's not necessarily a reduction in creativity.
Sometimes it's an expansion of creativity.
The Real-World Economics Matter Too
Artists don't create in a vacuum.
People have limited money.
Limited time.
Limited access to musicians.
Limited access to studios.
Limited physical energy.
Limited opportunities.
Sometimes you're dealing with family obligations.
Sometimes you're dealing with work.
Sometimes life is simply kicking your ass.
A person might have ten songs in their head and only enough money to record one.
What happens to the other nine?
AI can sometimes change that equation.
Maybe it doesn't produce the same result as a professional studio.
Maybe it does.
But if it allows someone to create something that otherwise wouldn't exist, that's not automatically a negative.
The alternative isn't always "human-made masterpiece."
Sometimes the alternative is:
nothing.
And I'd rather have another imperfect song in the world that genuinely communicates something than have a great idea remain trapped in somebody's head because they couldn't afford the conventional production process.
I'm Not Claiming AI Does Everything
I don't need to claim that AI is superior to humans.
I don't need to claim that AI can replace musicians.
I don't even need to claim that every AI-generated song is good.
Some are garbage.
So are some human-made songs.
Human beings have been making terrible music for a very long time.
The existence of bad AI music doesn't prove that AI music is inherently bad any more than the existence of bad human music proves that humans shouldn't make music.
What matters is what happens when a particular person uses a particular tool to create a particular piece of work.
And Sometimes I Don't Use AI At All
This is worth emphasizing because it destroys the idea that I'm somehow dependent on AI to make music or art.
Sometimes I use it.
Sometimes I don't.
Sometimes I use it heavily.
Sometimes I use it for one small component.
Sometimes I might use AI for a beat but have real vocals.
Sometimes I might have real vocals and use an AI voice filter as an artistic effect.
Sometimes the music is human and the imagery is AI.
Sometimes the music is AI-assisted and the video is AI-assisted too.
Sometimes I'm mixing all of these things.
Sometimes I'm using physical art.
Sometimes I'm using digital art.
Sometimes I'm filming reality exactly as it exists.
Sometimes I'm taking something physical and transforming it digitally.
Sometimes I'm working entirely without AI.
The point is that I choose the tool based on the project.
I'm not pledging allegiance to a machine.
I'm making art.
The Human Is Still Here
This is the part that gets lost in a lot of these arguments.
When I use AI to make music, I'm still here.
I'm deciding what I want to say.
I'm choosing the subject.
I'm writing and shaping ideas.
I'm directing the process.
I'm deciding what works and what doesn't.
I'm rejecting things.
I'm rewriting things.
I'm making artistic choices.
Sometimes I'm performing.
Sometimes I'm using real vocals.
Sometimes I'm combining human performance with AI.
Sometimes I'm using AI for parts of the production.
Sometimes I'm using it because I simply don't have the resources to do something another way.
The fact that a machine participates doesn't mean the human disappeared.
So What Exactly Makes It "Fake"?
At some point I'd stop talking about individual songs and ask the fundamental question:
What exactly makes an AI-assisted song illegitimate?
Is it the sound?
Then let's listen.
Is it the songwriting?
Then let's compare the songwriting.
Is it the emotional impact?
Then let's see what listeners actually experience.
Is it the amount of human labor?
Okay. Let's discuss what the human actually contributed.
Is it the fact that a machine was involved at all?
Now we're no longer talking about whether the music is good.
We're talking about a philosophical objection to the tool.
That's a legitimate position for somebody to have.
But it's important to call it what it is.
The Tool Doesn't Have to Win
This might be the most important part of the whole argument.
I'm not trying to rig these experiments so that AI wins.
Every single comparison is a crapshoot.
Maybe the human song wins.
Maybe the AI song wins.
Maybe the results split right down the middle.
Maybe the person I'm debating identifies every AI song correctly.
Maybe they completely screw it up.
Maybe they identify AI correctly but still prefer several AI-assisted songs.
Maybe they can't identify them at all.
Maybe my live performance beats the AI version.
Maybe the AI version beats my live performance.
I'm willing to live with any of those outcomes.
Because I'm not trying to prove that humans are obsolete.
I'm trying to challenge the idea that the presence of AI automatically determines the value of the finished work.
The Same Principle Applies to the Visuals
If somebody tells me:
"That image doesn't count because AI made it."
My answer is basically the same.
Okay.
Let's look at the image.
Does it communicate?
Does it create the intended mood?
Does it tell a story?
Does it make you curious?
Does it reinforce the music?
Does it create a useful contrast?
Does it make you feel something?
And if the answer is yes, then the fact that AI participated tells me something about how it was made.
It doesn't automatically tell me whether it worked.
Likewise, if I take a real photograph, add stickers and effects, animate part of it with AI, put it over my music, and then combine it with footage I shot myself while wearing a costume in a real location, what exactly is the "real" part?
All of it.
Because all of those are materials I intentionally assembled into a finished piece.
The Question I'd Eventually Ask
At some point I'd ask:
"What exactly are we trying to measure?"
If we're measuring whether somebody can recognize AI, let's measure that.
If we're measuring vocal performance, let's compare vocal performances.
If we're measuring songwriting, let's judge songwriting.
If we're measuring emotional impact, let's see what actually moves people.
If we're measuring efficiency, let's discuss how much time and money different production methods require.
If we're measuring artistic authenticity, then we'd better define what we mean by authenticity.
But let's stop treating all of those questions as though they're the same question.
They're not.
My Position Isn't "AI Is Better"
My position is much simpler.
AI is another tool.
Sometimes it's the right tool.
Sometimes it isn't.
Sometimes human performance is better.
Sometimes AI-assisted production is better.
Sometimes the combination is better than either one alone.
And sometimes I don't use AI at all.
The fact that I can make music and art in different ways is not a weakness in my argument.
It's the argument.
I've already made music without AI.
Now I have additional tools.
Why would I voluntarily pretend those tools don't exist?
I'm a Multidisciplinary Artist
That phrase might sound fancy.
Maybe it is.
But I think it's accurate.
I'm not limited to one artistic medium.
I don't want to be.
I've never liked being pigeonholed.
I'm interested in whatever medium best communicates the idea.
Sometimes that's a song.
Sometimes that's a photograph.
Sometimes it's a painting or physical object.
Sometimes it's a digital image.
Sometimes it's a video.
Sometimes it's animation.
Sometimes it's a costume.
Sometimes it's a combination of all of them.
Sometimes it's somebody else's artwork that I think deserves to be seen.
Sometimes it's Dawn's artwork.
Sometimes it's something I encountered in the real world.
Sometimes it's AI-assisted.
Sometimes it isn't.
That's not inconsistency.
That's creative freedom.
Everything Is Material
There's another philosophy behind all of this.
I tend to see almost everything as material.
An argument can become an article.
A strange experience can become a song.
A photograph can become a visual.
A physical object can become artwork.
A piece of artwork can become animation.
A conversation can become an idea.
A walk can become a video.
A costume can become a character.
A location can become a setting.
A random image can become symbolism.
Even an annoying argument with somebody on the internet can become useful.
That doesn't mean I'm exploiting every moment of my life for clicks.
Quite the opposite.
Sometimes the desire to create content actually gets me out there living more life.
Maybe I want to film something, so I take the dogs for a walk when I otherwise might have stayed home.
Maybe I'm outside and the sun hits the snow just right.
Maybe Harley's shadow falls across a church.
Maybe I capture that.
Now I've had a novel experience.
I've spent time with my dog.
I've gotten outside.
I've created something.
I've broken up the routine.
And I've given myself another memory.
The content becomes a reason to participate in life rather than a substitute for living it.
And sometimes those novel experiences are valuable precisely because they make time feel more substantial in retrospect.
So even the act of creating can feed back into the life that I'm creating from.
That's the loop.
Life produces art.
Art encourages me to experience more life.
Those experiences produce more art.
And around and around it goes.
The Entire Toolbox
That's ultimately why I reject the idea that I need to choose between:
human creativity
and
technology.
Why?
Why can't I have both?
Why can't I use my own voice and an AI beat?
Why can't I make physical artwork and then animate it digitally?
Why can't I photograph something real and add artificial elements?
Why can't I use a costume, a real location, practical props and computer-generated imagery in the same video?
Why can't I showcase another artist's work alongside my own?
Why can't Dawn make something and I incorporate it into a project?
Why can't a museum inspire a video?
Why can't a fictional image communicate a real idea?
Why can't a machine help me turn an idea into something I can actually show people?
Why would I deliberately limit the toolbox?
So What Am I Actually Asking?
I'm not asking anybody to worship AI.
I'm not asking anybody to abandon traditional art.
I'm not asking anybody to pretend that AI-generated material is automatically brilliant.
I'm asking for something much simpler:
Judge the work.
Judge the song.
Judge the performance.
Judge the image.
Judge the video.
Judge the message.
Judge the emotional impact.
Judge the craftsmanship.
Judge the choices.
And then, if you want, ask how it was made.
But don't reverse that order and decide whether something has artistic value before you've even looked at it.
Because ultimately, I don't think the most important question is:
"Was AI involved?"
I think it's:
"What did you do with it?"
And if somebody still wants to debate me after reading all of this?
Fair enough.
Bring your arguments.
I'll bring mine.
But remember:
I value my time.
So if you want to debate me, you're gonna have to pay me.
Have a nice day.
Many people subconsciously make the mistake of only seeing the issues concerning 9/11 in black and white, as opposed to shades of gray. This is known as the black-or-white fallacy. In this case, the false dilemma is: 9/11 was either carried out by Al-Qaeda or it was "an inside job."
