Echoes from the Machine

Why AI-generated Dub Our understanding of creativity and musical culture has been shaken.

Some time ago I wrote a review of the current Harris Pilton album “Think Dubby“, which I quite liked. One of thousands of reviews I've written in my life. And yet it was this one that was quite…” Controversy here in Dubblog which triggered it, because I hadn't noticed that Harris Pilton was producing his DubIt appears that artificial intelligence was used. At least, that accusation has been made – although not proven. On the other hand, Haris has not explicitly denied it either, so it is indeed reasonable to assume that AI was involved.

Fortunately, the dispute didn't affect me or my review as much. It was really just the pretext for leveling serious accusations against Haris Pilton. He would... Dub-Cheat the community and dishonor our sacred genre.

While in some genres nobody seems to really care whether AI is involved in the production, it certainly does in some cases. Dub There is apparently a huge difference between "honest" music and music fraud.

I must admit that I too was somewhat shocked and quietly at my DubI doubted their competence. How could I not have heard that the DubWere they AI-generated? How could I have missed that? Indeed, the quality of Pilton's productions varies considerably, and his oeuvre also appears stylistically disparate. That should have made me skeptical. Furthermore, the album "Think" DubThe album itself isn't very cohesive. There are brilliant tracks, but also some weaker ones that stand out.

Only afterwards did I wonder why it actually makes such a difference whether Dub Whether it's AI-generated or "handcrafted" is irrelevant. My motto is actually: "What matters is the end result." And I stand by that: Ultimately, what counts is what you can actually hear. A work is good or bad regardless of how it came about, what technology was used, who created it, whether a lot or a little money, time, or talent was invested. Information about these things may influence our perception and help us understand a work better. But it doesn't change the quality of the music, because the sound that reaches our ears remains the same—no matter what we know about it. So we have to be able to judge the quality of a piece of music without all that prior knowledge, based solely on what's actually there: the pure music. Seen in this light, it doesn't matter whether real musicians were involved, whether it was produced digitally with Logic Pro, whether it was sampled, or whether the music is AI-generated, right? 

It's strange that it's not the case. AI music from Brighton Dub Club or from Full Dub I don't enjoy listening to riddims. They arouse a feeling of revulsion in me – and apparently in many others as well. Dub-friends. Why is that?

Attempt at explanation 1

One explanation could be that AI-DubThis is a fraudulent rip-off of human musicians, since the AI ​​was trained on the material of human music creators – without these creators being compensated. This argument is often heard from creatives in various disciplines: graphic designers, illustrators, photographers, copywriters, videographers, writers, and many more. These individuals have invested considerable time and effort in honing their skills – and now AI is taking their jobs. The AI ​​is only able to do this, perfidiously, because it has "trained" its skills on the works of these creative professionals. Legally, this boils down to the question of whether the AI ​​developers have unlawfully used copyrighted material to train their models. This is the subject of current legal discussions, and we will likely soon find out whether OpenAI, Google, Anthropic, Suno, and the others will have to pay back royalties, a kind of "GEMA" (German performing rights society).

The general principle of learning from the works of others is certainly not shameful. After all, what does AI actually do differently than human students learning from the works of great masters? Isn't it perfectly normal educational practice to hone one's skills using the works of others? We train in essentially the same way as AI does, by looking at, analyzing, and studying the works of others. Aside from the fact that we learn orders of magnitude more efficiently, it's exactly the same thing AI does. However—and this is a crucial difference—we have previously spent money on a museum visit, a book, or a Spotify subscription. So, indirectly, we have paid the creative individuals for the privilege of studying their work.

That we make use of the works of others becomes even clearer with sampling, collages, or "quotations." Here, we are outright copying—which is generally accepted. Well-chosen samples are even praised, a clever quotation is appreciated, and collages are considered independent works of art. So why on earth do we have a problem with AI-generated Dubs?

Attempt at explanation 2

Perhaps it's wounded vanity because no one really bothers to create the music I dedicate my time to listening to attentively? Can I enjoy music if there's no artist who cares about me as a listener? If there's no one who wants to please me, who strives for my enjoyment, who ideally has something to tell me? In short: Can I enjoy and appreciate music if there's no human creator behind it?

Strangely enough, this isn't a problem with an idyllic landscape. No human creator stands behind it, and yet we enjoy and appreciate it fervently. The same applies to other natural beauties. How fascinating is the sight of some plants or animals, which are also not the work of an artist. Why should it be any different with music, painting, or film? Perhaps in the future, a truly great AI will be able to compose only good music. All killer, no filler! What could possibly be wrong with that?

Attempt at explanation 3

Perhaps we need to delve a little deeper into the Western psyche to find an explanation for the unease we feel when confronted with AI music or AI art. So let's start with Sigmund Freud. In his 1917 work "A Difficulty in Psychoanalysis," Freud describes the resistances that, in his view, stand in the way of the psychoanalysis he developed. Like any scientific innovation, it too must prevail against established thought—not least because it has "hurt strong feelings of humanity."

Freud identifies three major blows to human narcissism: the cosmological blow by Copernicus, who banished man from the center of the universe; the biological blow by Darwin, who placed man in the ranks of animals; and finally the psychological blow by Freud himself, who declared to the ego that it was “not master in its own house”.

Since then, further blows have been inflicted. Neurobiology has at least significantly shaken the old separation of body and mind. The self, which we so readily conceive of as an autonomous entity, increasingly appears as a function of a body determined by chemistry, biology, drives, routines, and unconscious processes. 

And now, quite recently, comes the next outrageous challenge: intelligence and creativity are apparently no longer exclusively human. Machines write texts, paint pictures, compose music, design, generate voices, imitate styles, and solve problems for which, until very recently, we would have required talent, education, experience, or at least a sensitive inner life.

That's hurtful. Of course it's hurtful. Because it takes away another bastion where we had long made ourselves comfortable. When a machine suddenly DubIf a machine can produce an album that works, at least at first glance, then this not only calls into question the machine itself, but also our understanding of what human creativity actually is. Who can truly enjoy a work that simultaneously suggests that some of our most fundamental distinctions between humans and machines might be less stable than we thought?

But this explanation isn't enough. The resistance to AI-generated music isn't merely wounded pride. Nor is it simply the offended reaction of a species that has discovered it has gained competition. Many objections to AI are far more concrete. Musicians, producers, graphic designers, authors, and other creatives don't just fear that machines might become better than them. They fear that platforms, labels, streaming services, and content farms will use AI to devalue human work, drive down fees, circumvent rights, and transform culture into a mass-produced, interchangeable, and ultimately uninspired mass of sentimentality.

This isn't merely a narcissistic injury, but a real question of power. Who owns the training data? Who profits from the models? Who gets replaced, who gets paid, who remains visible? Who can afford to continue treating human creativity as a precious commodity when synthetic alternatives are cheaper, faster, and infinitely scalable? In this sense, the unease surrounding AI music is also a distrust of the economic structures in which this music is created and disseminated. Perhaps, then, our aversion isn't directed solely at the machine itself, but at the world that produces it and which, in all likelihood, will make it even more efficient, smoother, and more ruthless.

Nevertheless, the psychological affront remains a significant part of the problem. Even if all legal issues were resolved, even if musicians were fairly compensated, even if it were transparently indicated which music is AI-generated and which is not, a lingering unease would likely remain. The idea that creativity can arise from probabilities, patterns, and contextual windows, without experience, vulnerability, boredom, longing, or a connection to the world, contradicts our ingrained understanding of art. We want to sense someone behind a work: a subject, an intention, a body, a life. AI, however, might deliver a result without providing this story. And therein lies its unacceptability.

Attempt at explanation 4

Which brings us to the topic of the artist's personality. For thousands of years, we as human beings have been conditioned to believe that cultural and artistic works originate from gifted individuals. While artists were once considered craftsmen, the idea of ​​the artistic genius emerged in the 18th century. This concept is still understood today as an original, creative individual who brings forth something new from inner strength. This notion reached its zenith in the Romantic era around 1800: The artist became almost a visionary, extraordinary figure with a special connection to truth, nature, or the absolute. Art appeared as an expression of a particular inner power. This "artist myth" persists—albeit in a weakened form—to this day and shapes our view of art and culture. Even though the solitary creative genius has increasingly become a figure within the complex web of society, market, technology, and collaboration, we currently find it extremely difficult to understand art as something that might exist without a human creator. 

Furthermore, for centuries art primarily served religion. Its task was to mythologize religious narratives. Art and religion have thus always been closely intertwined. As this function increasingly receded into the background with modernity, art, in the course of its "liberation," began to mythologize, elevate, and glorify itself. Art thus became a religion in its own right—and artists its priests.

If we want to overturn this conception of art and artists in light of AI, we must fight against the centuries-old predisposition to believe in higher orders, authorities, and systems of meaning, and in charismatic leaders—be they clergy, rulers, or indeed artists. This belief has provided us with meaning, protection, order, belonging, and relief all this time—and now, in the face of thinking machines, we are supposed to abandon it? How can we simply question all of this because we suddenly learn that, among other things, art can exist without the traditional authorities of art?

Attempt at explanation 5

Added to this is another significant loss: the loss of the artwork itself. We vinyl collectors already found it extremely difficult to relinquish the physical, tactile representation of a musical work and instead buy an MP3 file from the iTunes Store – at least we still had that file on our hard drive. With streaming, we've lost even this possession. Music has become an intangible commodity. But at least the work still exists in the form of an album, or at least a single track, as the smallest entity in our Spotify library.

But let's imagine what it will look like in perhaps five years when Spotify's AI no longer needs to pre-produce songs, as is currently the case, but can generate them "on the fly," that is, in real time. So, unlike now, the Spotify stream will no longer consist largely of pre-produced AI tracks, but rather of a flow of music generated in real time, designed precisely to our tastes. The music would then truly only exist at the moment of its creation. This would also make the virtual music collection of a media library obsolete, and with the artist, the work itself would vanish.

A dystopia? Then let's bookmark this article and reread it in five years. I'm curious myself to see what will happen to our favorite music then.

In any case – I think that's become clear – I'm not convinced that AI music, and especially AI-DubAI music doesn't have to be inherently evil. Rather, it's our psychological state – narcissistic injury, belief in art, fear of loss – that prevents us from seeing and accepting the supposed qualities of AI music.

I must say that I myself find it difficult to write this.

Furthermore: Let's look at current and future music production without prejudice. Let's listen closely and decide, based solely on what reaches our ears, whether it's good or bad music. "None of us can stop time."

Or?

Reconciliation attempt 1

This is perhaps precisely where the real contradiction lies. On the one hand, the sound remains the same. A bass line doesn't become worse just because I later learn that it wasn't played by a bassist. An echo doesn't measurably lose depth because it originates from an algorithm. The reverberation space doesn't physically shrink as soon as I know that no one manually manipulated it at the mixing console. What reaches my ear remains identical. And yet, we apparently never hear music as pure sound. We always hear it also as a trace of a practice, an attitude, a scene, a story.

Especially at Dub It's hard to ignore. Dub It's not just a sound aesthetic made up of bass, reverb, echo, drop-outs and delay loops. Dub It encompasses studio craftsmanship, sound system culture, improvisation, material processing, social background, physicality, and spatial awareness. Dub It thrives on someone taking hold of a mostly existing material, dissecting it, reassembling it, exploring it in depth, letting it disappear, and then bringing it back to life. Ideally, you hear not just a result, but a process: hands on the mixing console, decisions made in the moment, the courage to leave gaps, a taste for risk, and sometimes even the charming imperfection of an idea, which is precisely what makes it so vibrant.

When AI-Dub By merely replicating this entire network of relationships without actually participating in it, a deficiency may arise that isn't necessarily detectable in the frequency spectrum. Perhaps everything sounds "right": the bass warm, the snare dry, the delay nicely offset, the melodica in the right place. And yet, something is missing. Not because the machine has chosen the wrong sound, but because the sound no longer carries a story—or at least none that I can believe in. The deficit then lies not in the sound itself, but in the meaning of what is heard. It is not an acoustic loss, but a cultural one.

That makes things more complicated than I'd like. Because when I say, "Only the end result counts," I'm reducing music to its audible outcome. That makes sense as an antidote to prejudice. But perhaps it's also insufficient. Perhaps a musical work consists not only of vibrations in the air, but also of the relationships that coalesce within it: between musicians, technology, tradition, the scene, the audience, history, and the present. Especially Dub It was always more than a sound. It was a method, a place, an attitude towards the world. And that's precisely why AI affects us.Dub Perhaps more sensitive than AI-generated elevator music. It doesn't just imitate a surface, but a cultural practice that, for many of us, is charged with far more than a few pretty echo effects.

So you see me torn by contradictions. Let's have a discussion about these questions. In any case, we'll see what happens. I'm convinced that reggae and Dub They are such strong musical ideas that they will retain their power and impact even under altered production conditions. But that doesn't happen automatically. Dub If something is to remain more than a pretty, echoing stylistic surface, then we must continue to debate what truly defines it. Perhaps in the end, what really matters is "the end result." But what comes out is never just sound. It is also history, attitude, origin, practice, promise, deception, longing, and sometimes a hurt that we must first understand before we can overcome it.

Incidentally, Haris Pilton recently: Think Dubby, Vol. 2 It's been released. I like it.