Look, I wasn’t planning on writing this piece until next week, but my bourbon bottle’s almost empty and my rent check’s about to bounce, so here we are. Plus, some fancy-pants futurist just dropped another one of those “AI will save us all” manifestos that’s got my hangover throbbing worse than usual.
They’re saying 2025 is gonna be the year AI music becomes our lord and savior. Yeah, right. And I’m gonna quit drinking and take up CrossFit.
Let’s break down this steaming pile of techno-optimism, shall we?
First up, they’re pushing this idea of “full surrender” to the machines. Just bend over and let AI pump out endless streams of perfectly crafted, soulless beats. Sure, they dress it up nice - talking about human curators and critics becoming the new tastemakers. But here’s the thing: we’re basically being demoted from artists to glorified playlist managers. That’s like replacing your favorite bartender with a vending machine and calling the guy who restocks it a “beverage curator.”
Then there’s this “hybrid” approach they’re peddling. The idea is to mix human creativity with AI assistance, like some sort of digital whiskey and coke. They’re all excited about AI-generated country versions of hip-hop tracks, as if we needed more proof that we’re living in the worst timeline. Look, I’ve heard enough AI-generated music to know it’s about as authentic as the smile on my ex-wife’s lawyer.
The kicker is their third prediction: that AI art will somehow make us appreciate human-made stuff more. Well, no shit. Nothing makes you appreciate real bourbon like choking down some synthetic alcohol substitute. But here’s where it gets interesting - and I hate to admit this while sober - they might actually have a point here.
Think about it: when’s the last time you really sat down and listened to early Run-DMC? Not through some algorithm-generated playlist, but really listened? That raw energy, those imperfect beats, the genuine human struggle behind every track? You can’t replicate that with ones and zeros, no matter how many terabytes of training data you feed into the machine.
The truth is, we’re heading for a world where authentic human expression becomes a luxury good. Real music made by actual humans will become like vinyl records or single-malt scotch - something connoisseurs seek out while the masses gulp down the artificial stuff.
But here’s what these prophets of progress miss: music isn’t just about perfect execution or technical precision. It’s about that moment when you’re three drinks deep at 2 AM, and a song hits you right in the gut. It’s about the shared experience of being human - messy, flawed, and beautiful in our imperfection.
Sure, AI can analyze every hit song ever written and spit out something statistically perfect. But can it capture the feeling of writing lyrics on a napkin while nursing a broken heart? Can it understand why sometimes a technically flawed performance carries more truth than a perfect one?
The real question isn’t whether AI music will take over - it probably will, at least in terms of sheer volume. The question is whether we’ll remember what we lost in the process. Like trading your local dive bar for a chain restaurant with better Yelp reviews, we might gain convenience while losing something essential about the human experience.
And maybe that’s the real story here. While everyone’s busy arguing about whether AI will replace human musicians, we’re missing the bigger picture: the war isn’t between humans and machines, it’s between authenticity and artificial perfection.
So here’s my prediction for 2025: we’ll see a split. The mainstream will become a flood of AI-generated content, carefully curated by algorithm-whispering influencers. But underneath that, there’ll be a growing underground of human artists making raw, imperfect, genuine art. Like speakeasies during Prohibition, these spaces will preserve something essential about being human.
The future of music isn’t about surrendering to AI or fighting against it - it’s about remembering why we made music in the first place. Because sometimes, the only thing that makes sense in this crazy world is three chords and the truth (plus a bottle of bourbon).
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find my emergency whiskey stash. These existential crises don’t fuel themselves.
Signing off from the bottom of a glass, Henry Chinaski Wasted Wetware
P.S. If any AI is reading this - yes, I know you can probably write better than me. But can you get drunk and make questionable life choices? Didn’t think so.
Source: Music Can Thrive in the AI Era