Last week, I typed three lines into Suno: “Midnight drive, rain on the windshield, thinking about you.” Ten seconds later, it gave me a full song—melody, chords, even a breathy vocal that sounded like a blend of Sade and The Weeknd. It was good. Uncannily good. And that’s what scared me.
Around the same time, Musiq Promos dropped his new project on Spotify—promoted as an “AI collaboration.” Not just assisted. Collaborated. As if the algorithm had opinions, memories, or longing. Escape Deep (as it’s called) pulses with groove and atmosphere. But I kept wondering: who’s really escaping? The artist… or the audience?
AI music tools like Suno, Udio, and Holly Herndon’s experimental “Spawn” promise liberation: no more gatekeepers, no expensive studios, no waiting for inspiration. Just pure, instant expression. And in many ways, that’s beautiful. A kid in Lagos can now make a symphony. A grieving poet can hear their words sung back to them. That’s power.
But power without accountability is just noise dressed as progress.
These models were trained on millions of songs—most uploaded without artists’ knowledge or consent. My favorite jazz records, your grandmother’s gospel LPs, the underground rap tapes that never made it to streaming—they’re all in the machine’s stomach, digested into statistical patterns, then regurgitated as “original” art. Is that homage… or haunting?
I used Udio to recreate a lullaby my mother used to sing—the one she never recorded. The AI got the cadence right, the minor lift at the end. I cried. But then I asked: Whose voice is this, really? Mine? My mother’s? Or a ghost stitched from a thousand strangers?
Musiq Promos isn’t hiding. He’s leaning in. And maybe that’s honest. But when we call AI a “friend,” we imply trust, reciprocity, care. Does an algorithm care if your heart breaks? Does it know the difference between a hit and a hymn?
I don’t think AI is evil.
But I’m not sure it’s anything—except a mirror.
One that shows us how hungry we are for connection…
and how willing we are to accept a reflection in place of the real thing.
