Written by Garth Phoebus
There’s a growing belief that AI-generated or AI-assisted music is something that must be banned, exiled, or morally rejected outright. Platforms are reacting. Artists are angry. Lines are being drawn.
I want to slow that conversation down and talk about the part that keeps getting skipped: intent, authorship, and ethics.
Because not all AI music is the same—and pretending it is does more harm than good.
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The real fear isn’t AI. It’s abuse.
Most of the anger I see around AI music isn’t actually about creativity. It’s about two legitimate concerns:
1. Impersonation — cloning voices or styles to deceive listeners or exploit someone else’s identity
2. Flooding — dumping thousands of low-effort tracks into platforms and breaking discovery
Those things deserve pushback. Hard lines, even.
But here’s the problem: those abuses are now being used to paint every use of AI with the same brush.
That’s lazy—and it’s unfair.
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How my music is actually made
I don’t prompt a machine and upload whatever comes out.
I write the lyrics.
I shape the narrative.
I decide what stays, what goes, and what never gets released.
I use AI the way artists have always used collaborators: as a session band.
Think about how music has been made for decades:
• One person writes
• Another plays
• Someone else produces
• Everyone gives feedback in real time
That’s not cheating. That’s collaboration.
AI doesn’t replace my authorship—it responds to it. And I remain accountable for every creative decision.
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Authorship still matters — and I own mine
There’s a dangerous assumption floating around that if AI touches a project, no human authorship exists.
That’s simply not true.
Plenty of artists don’t sing their own songs.
Plenty don’t play every instrument.
Plenty rely on producers, engineers, and technology to realize their ideas.
We don’t strip them of legitimacy.
So why is authorship suddenly invalid when the collaborator is software instead of flesh and blood?
Tools don’t erase intent. They amplify it.
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Transparency is the ethical baseline
I don’t hide my process. I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.
I don’t clone voices.
I don’t impersonate real artists.
I don’t flood platforms with bulk content.
I tell listeners exactly what they’re hearing and how it was made.
If ethics matter—and they should—honesty has to count for something.
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The court of public opinion runs on emotion, not facts
I understand the fear. Creativity is personal. Livelihoods are fragile. Identity is tied to craft.
But policy and cultural norms built on panic rarely age well.
We don’t need reactionary bans pretending technology doesn’t exist.
We need clearer definitions, ethical guardrails, and adult conversations about responsibility and scale.
AI isn’t going away. The question is whether we shape its use—or let fear do it for us.
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So yes, I deserve a seat at the table
Not because AI is “the future.”
Not because technology should override tradition.
But because:
• I write my work
• I’m accountable for it
• I’m transparent about my process
• I don’t deceive, impersonate, or exploit scale
That’s the standard artists claim to care about.
I meet it.
If we can’t distinguish between ethical collaboration and unethical abuse, then the problem isn’t AI—it’s our unwillingness to think clearly under pressure.
And that’s something no platform ban will fix.