Music in the Age of Artificial Intelligence

It seems that everyone is talking about artificial intelligence these days.

In the music industry, the debate is particularly heated: will AI change everything? Will it replace composers and musicians? Will technology make human work obsolete?

These are legitimate questions.

And after twenty years producing music—first in London, then in Italy, working with independent artists and record labels—I can tell you it's right to talk about it. Because the implications of artificial intelligence in music are not theories: they're already reality.

But the real question isn't whether AI will change the music industry.

It's what will remain when the change is complete.

How Artificial Intelligence is used in music today

Artificial intelligence is everywhere.

Computing, marketing, medicine, even in the creation of visual content. And of course, it has also entered the music sector.

Professional software already exists that analyzes the sound spectrum of audio files—that is, all the frequencies that make up a sound—to improve it automatically.

In practice, what you used to do manually by adjusting equalizers, compressors, and other tools, an algorithm can now do for you in seconds.

It analyzes the file, identifies imbalances or problems, and proposes a solution.

Then there's software that goes much further: it composes an entire song.

Lyrics, music, even the voice.

They create complete musical tracks, ready to be published.

And here the question becomes inevitable: where are we heading?

Will tomorrow's music be made entirely by artificial intelligence?

What will become of composers, musicians, singers—all those people who until yesterday were the only ones who could create a song?

I'll give you my take in the next section.

AI in music: entertainment or art?

Alongside the category of composers, a new figure will emerge: the prompt creator.

Someone who doesn't compose music but knows how to give the right instructions to AI to generate a track.

And sure, some of these tracks might work.

They might play on the radio, go viral on social media, be popular for a season.

But then they'll end up forgotten, like everything designed to last only as long as a trend.

Those who continue to make music in the traditional way—starting from an idea, from an expressive urge, from something that arises within—will continue to make art.

And they will contribute to enriching society's cultural heritage, creating music that lasts.

Because there's a clear difference between those who entertain and those who make art.

An entertainer works to please a broad audience, follows formats, rides trends.

And tomorrow they'll probably do it using artificial intelligence.

Or perhaps they'll be directly replaced by AI, since their goal is to produce content that works, not works that last.

An artist, on the other hand, creates from a personal thought, from something they feel the need to express.

They would never accept producing something that doesn't come from their own intellect, their own sensibility.

And AI cannot replicate that.

Ethical and commercial implications

The implications are concrete and affect everyone: those who create music and those who listen to it.

On the commercial front, change is already underway.

Real composers will become increasingly rare. And therefore more valuable.

The same goes for musicians.

Those who play instruments, who interpret, who bring their presence to a stage.

There will always be a need for them, as long as human beings remain emotionally cultured.

As long as we seek in music something that truly touches us.

On the ethical front, however, the questions are still open.

Who owns a composition generated by artificial intelligence?

The user who wrote the prompt?

The company that developed the software?

No one?

And then there's a more subtle risk, but perhaps a heavier one: homogenization.

If AI learns from existing musical patterns—analyzing millions of tracks to understand what works—we risk having increasingly standardized music.

Increasingly similar to itself.

Music that kills true innovation, the kind that arises when someone decides to break the rules instead of following them.

Why Artificial Intelligence cannot create true emotion

Artificial intelligence belongs to the world of digital technology, which is devoid of emotion by definition.

It can analyze millions of tracks.

It can recognize patterns with a precision that no human being will ever achieve.

It can imitate styles, replicate techniques, even create something that sounds exactly like a certain genre or a certain artist.

But it cannot feel.

It doesn't know what it means to write a song to process pain.

To give shape to joy.

To give voice to something burning inside you that you have to let out, otherwise it consumes you.

AI generates music. But it doesn't live it.

And it's the same paradox we've been experiencing since the beginning of the millennium.

In twenty years there's been an impressive proliferation of software that, in recording and mixing, tries to emulate the "warmth" of analog.

Plugins that add distortions, harmonics, imperfections—everything that digital technology had eliminated in the name of technical perfection.

We desperately seek to bring humanity back into what technology has made cold.

And over the next twenty years we'll probably see the same cycle: a proliferation of software attempting to "humanize" what artificial intelligence creates.

Algorithms to add emotional nuances, to simulate human imperfections, to make a machine-generated composition seem "real."

Until—perhaps—we realize that it's faster, more effective, and above all more emotionally fulfilling to leave the creation of art to humans.

Machines can continue to churn out elevator music.

But art—that which represents the passage to the divine—will remain in the hands of those who live it.

What this all means for those making music today

If you're an artist, a composer, a musician, the question you're probably asking yourself is: what do I do?

You're facing a choice.

You can continue making music as you always have—starting from an idea, from an expressive urge, from something you feel the need to express.

You can even use artificial intelligence as an additional tool, to speed up some processes or to experiment. But the music remains yours.

Or you can let AI do everything.

But if you choose this path, you must be aware of what you're losing: the possibility of doing what music—and art in general—allows you to do as a form of expression.

That part that makes you an author, not an operator. An artist, not an assembler of prompts.

The market will divide.

On one side there will be massive, fast, economical musical production, designed to work and last briefly.

On the other side there will be real artists, those who create works destined to endure. And these will become increasingly valuable.

For record labels, the reasoning is similar.

They can choose to invest in content generated quickly, riding trends and fashions.

Or they can continue to bet on artists who have a vision, an identity, something to say.

The second path requires more time, more work, more trust. But it's the one that builds a heritage that lasts.

What will change is not the value of music made by people.

What will change is how we relate to technology. And the awareness of what we truly seek in music will change.

In summary

Artificial intelligence will change the musical landscape, that's certain.

The real divide won't be between those who use AI and those who don't, but between those who create to say something and those who produce to fill a space.

And in the end, the audience will always choose what makes them feel something real.

Machines may churn out millions of tracks. But art will remain in the hands of those who live it.

The music that lasts is that made by people. For people.