Scotch Tape and Picture Frames

As you probably know, I spend a lot of my time doing mastering for AI music.

So what showed up this month is not the picture that people assume when they hear AI music.

So I have one guy.

I just finished his album.

It's a full Christmas album.

It's 10 tracks.

He wrote it because he wants to hear it in his own living room every December from now on.

I also have a composer I'm working with.

He's buried in a full-length theatrical piece.

The kind of project that lives and dies in one theater and may never get streamed anywhere.

I also have a hobbyist who finished a single track that he absolutely loves.

He has no plan to release it.

He has no account to try to grow streams online.

It's just a song he wanted to exist, and he wanted it to exist properly.

None of them asked me about playlists or algorithms or how to build a following.

They just wanted the song finished, full stop.

And that surprised me the first few times it happened.

You know, the Internet's picture of AI music is a slop farm.

You know, somebody churning out 400 tracks a week, hoping one of them catches on.

And there's plenty of that that's real.

But what's landing on my desk instead is people who made something they actually care about.

And they want it to sound the way it did in their head.

I'm not naming any of them, and I'm not describing the projects any closer than that.

It's not my story to tell in detail.

But the pattern itself is worth saying out loud because it cuts against almost everything you'd assume about who's actually using these tools and why.

As you probably know, I spend a lot of my time doing mastering for AI music.

So what showed up this month is not the picture that people assume when they hear AI music.

So I have one guy.

I just finished his album.

It's a full Christmas album.

It's 10 tracks.

He wrote it because he wants to hear it in his own living room every December from now on.

I also have a composer I'm working with.

He's buried in a full-length theatrical piece.

The kind of project that lives and dies in one theater and may never get streamed anywhere.

I also have a hobbyist who finished a single track that he absolutely loves.

He has no plan to release it.

He has no account to try to grow streams online.

It's just a song he wanted to exist, and he wanted it to exist properly.

None of them asked me about playlists or algorithms or how to build a following.

They just wanted the song finished, full stop.

And that surprised me the first few times it happened.

You know, the Internet's picture of AI music is a slop farm.

You know, somebody churning out 400 tracks a week, hoping one of them catches on.

And there's plenty of that that's real.

But what's landing on my desk instead is people who made something they actually care about.

And they want it to sound the way it did in their head.

I'm not naming any of them, and I'm not describing the projects any closer than that.

It's not my story to tell in detail.

But the pattern itself is worth saying out loud because it cuts against almost everything you'd assume about who's actually using these tools and why.