The Echo Chamber
I Hate Those Letters Together
By: Scott Parker
03.17.26
When I was a kid growing up, there were two letters placed together that were the bane of my young existence. “N” and “O.” No. Two letters together, simple on its face yet so life changing when they were uttered. Typically uttered by someone in authority such as a parent, teacher, cop, etc. Can I go outside to play? No. Can I have ice cream for dinner? No. Can I use a blanket as a cape and jump off the roof into the above ground pool? No, no, NO! Well there are two letters together in my adult world of today that I cannot stand hearing, lest I have a very similar visceral reaction as I did in the days of my youth when told “no.” Those two letters? You probably guessed… AI. Yes, the dreaded “Artificial Intelligence.”
With respect to the music business and music creation, those two letters together are causing more division, hand wringing, discussion, debate, angst, and yes, “clutching of the pearls” in some cases, than anything I can remember in recent history. And that includes the age of cassettes, then eight-track and then CD all killing vinyl, streaming stuff like Napster and Spotify, and even the great Ticketmaster revolt of the 90s.
Artificial Intelligence (AI) is steadily reshaping our entire lives. It is here. It is growing. And it is not going away. One can disparage the future all they want, but buckle up buttercup, cause you ain’t seen nothing yet. However, the landscape of music creation will be my focus here, because the thought of AI controlling space-based weapons is even more frightening. But I digress...
With respect to music, AI is now offering tools that can compose melodies, generate lyrics, and even replicate the sound of well-known performers. These innovations are not completely negative. Yes, I said that. It can present exciting opportunities for both aspiring and established musicians. At the same time, the sheer speed of AI incorporation and its growing presence screams for a more careful and thoughtful discussion about what may be at stake as technology becomes more deeply embedded in the creative process.
The following is my take, and it may not be shared by all, and that’s cool. I consistently use the analogy of a carpenter and the building of a house as a metaphor for AI. In the days of the intrepid pioneer, people would build their houses by chopping down trees with an axe, and shaping them to the crude forms they needed, and affixing them together in some manner. As time went on, the carpenter’s tools changed. The axe became the saw; the pin became a nail. The saw ultimately became electric and the nails became compressed air guns. Efficiency and speed increased. New shapes and forms once unimaginable for a dwelling became real. But you always had the carpenter controlling the tool. With AI, while it is indeed being utilized as the latest tool for music production and creation, allowing speed, precision and increasing creativity, is now also becoming the carpenter. To stick to the analogy, the saws and nails are now capable of building the house through the prompt of someone who has never worked construction a day in their lives. And this distinction between “tool” and “creator” is where the line is swaying back and forth for me.
One of the most compelling benefits of AI in music is its accessibility. With AI-powered platforms, individuals without formal musical training can experiment with composition, arrangement, and production in ways that were once limited to those with technical expertise or access to expensive equipment. And yes, talent. This has the potential to diversify the music industry, allowing new voices and perspectives to emerge. For professional musicians, AI can also serve as a collaborative partner to help generate ideas, refine compositions, and reduce time spent on repetitive tasks.
Yet, with these benefits, there is tremendous concern about how AI is influencing the essence of musical creativity. Music has long been valued as a significant form of human expression, shaped by personal experiences, cultural contexts, and emotional depth. AI systems by contrast, rely on patterns derived from existing data. While they can produce impressive results, these outputs may lean toward rather sterile imitation rather than innovation. Some have worried that over time, an over reliance on these systems could encourage uniformity and blandness, where songs begin to sound increasingly similar because they are built from the same underlying datasets. But (and this is a big one), has anyone actually listened to the blandness and sameness permeating popular music the last, oh, ten years or more? Who can remember any grammy winner from the last ten years? How about this year’s winners a few weeks ago? There is an argument to be made that AI blandness will just heap into the already steamy pile of uninspiring swill out there, and that human creation will ultimately prevail.
Questions of authorship and ownership further complicate the picture. AI models are trained on vast libraries of existing music, mostly without clear consent from the original creators. This raises important ethical considerations about how credit and compensation should be distributed. If an AI-generated song closely resembles the style of a particular artist, it becomes difficult to determine who should be recognized or whether recognition is even the right framework. These uncertainties highlight the need for updated legal and industry standards that reflect the realities of AI-assisted creation.
However, I firmly believe that an entire composition through AI needs to be flagged as such. You cannot call yourself an “artist” if you are creating compositions through a prompt. You are a programmer. Maybe a really good programmer. And the line definitely gets blurred with “okay how much human interaction?” Without clear consensus, that is a wide-open topic, best left to specific policies of various mediums and governments. However, the starting point for me at the very least is human creation of melody, rhythm, lyrics and a degree of instrumentation. I state categorically that AI is not for me. I am gonna keep doing what I do. It doesn’t threaten me. It irritates me mostly but does not “threaten” me. But if you are a desk jockey that hates your job and likes to dabble in the world of Suno to express yourself have at it, have fun and good for you! But that does NOT make you an artist or a musician, and you cannot pass your creations off as original musical compositions.
Another point of concern lies in the potential impact on working musicians, and in particular those at the beginning of their careers. As AI-generated music becomes more sophisticated and cost-effective, it is already increasing competition in an already crowded field. Producers, advertisers, and content creators are turning to AI solutions as a faster or cheaper alternative to hiring human artists. The Nashville session musician is already experiencing that. So are Documentaries and music for commercials. I will not even go into the viper den of Apple and Spotify making their own AI songs then paying themselves. That is another article entirely. While AI may not necessarily eliminate opportunities, it most definitely could shift the expectations placed on musicians and make it more challenging to establish a sustainable career in my opinion.
Audience perception is also likely evolving. Listeners, particularly other artists, are beginning to question not just whether a piece of music is enjoyable, but how it was created. And that is becoming a nuisance, quite frankly. For some (like me for sure), the knowledge that a song was generated by AI diminishes its emotional impact and I have zero interest; for others, like most of the screen distracted world younger than 35, it may not (and does not) matter at all. This shift could redefine what authenticity means in music, prompting a broader cultural conversation about the relationship between art and technology. This makes it admittedly more difficult for content providers such as internet radio stations and the many supporters of indie music. The already taxing job of providing a true listening experience is now further complicated by the unenviable task of determining “is it live or is it Memorex.” (Who gets that reference? Oh!). It is critically important for stations and music outlets, in the absence of any meaningful legal guardrails or policy at this point, to define their own policies as clearly as possible. I applaud HUGS, ISSA, Bandcamp, and numerous others that have at least taken a position on their expectations of music submittals.
Despite these concerns, I think it is important to avoid generally framing AI as a threat that must be resisted. Resistance is futile, kids. Like many technological advancements before it, AI has the potential to become a valuable tool when used responsibly and with care. The key lies in maintaining a balance of embracing innovation while preserving the human elements that make music meaningful. And I don’t know about you, dear reader, but “balance” in my life has been an eternal struggle and this topic is no different. By encouraging and demanding transparency, fair compensation, and creative integrity, the music industry may be able to adapt to these changes without losing sight of its artistic core. Maybe. But this is the music business after all, and the track record is not good.
In the end, like it or not, the rise of AI in music is potentially less a question of “replacement” and more one of “coexistence.” With thoughtful oversight (that has yet to emerge) and an emphasis on human creativity, it is possible to ensure that technology enhances, rather than overshadows, the expressive power of music. Do I like the constant talk about AI? No! Am I fighting against it like holding back a tsunami? No! Am I jumping off the roof with a blanket cape? Maybe… don’t judge.
Now, where the heck did I put that tool belt? Daddy needs to build a landing pad…
Scott Parker is a multi-instrumentalist, Song Writer, Producer and Mix Engineer who writes and records under the name MidLyfe’s Crisis from his home studio in Frederick, Maryland. He writes articles related to music infrequently from his studio as well. And he is part of the HUGs Galaxy of Stars…
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The Mobile Social Experiment
By: Scott Parker
01.26.26
Just gonna say it to start. I never liked the Grateful Dead. I have tried. I really have. They are not my “go to” when I want some to listen to. But throughout my life, I have been surrounded in one way or another by dedicated “Deadheads.” Including the love of my life, Mrs. Crisis. I have seen them live on three occasions, each time standing up wondering “is this EVER gonna end?” And that was just one song…Friends pressed live tapes into my hands all the time, insisting this show or that version of “Dark Star” would finally make me a believer. It never did. The endless jams and what I considered bad harmony just didn’t cut it. And, you see, I was also so very far above all of this pedestrianism anyway, what, with my proclivity for prog rock in the form of Rush, Yes, Genesis, etc. The Grateful Dead? I don’t think so.
And yet, as I look back at the long trip Bob Weir’s career with his recent passing, it’s impossible and a bit dishonest not to acknowledge what he helped build. Bob Weir was never the main focus of the Grateful Dead. He didn’t have Jerry Garcia’s mythos or Phil Lesh’s formal musical training. What he had instead was something more esoteric in the form of a strong connective instinct. Weir was a rhythm guitarist who played his part perfectly. Even if you did not like how it sounded, you could tell it was indeed intentional and it connected. Weir also helped anchor a community that redefined what American music culture could look like. Anyone who ever went to a Dead show could see that The Grateful Dead was not just a band, it was a friggin mobile social experiment. Long before “direct-to-fan” became industry clap-trap, the Dead allowed taping, encouraged trading, and let the music live a life beyond the stage. That wasn’t accidental because it was their philosophy. It was Bob’s philosophy.
I do remember at their shows marveling at the area set up specifically to record the shows, and the array of modern gadgetry of the time deployed to catch the moment. I also realized these same people were probably going to sleep in their van and do the exact same thing the next night in Clearwater. Or Tampa. Or Gulfport…
From a musician’s standpoint, that philosophy matters. You don’t have to love the songs to respect the ecosystem. Weir and his bandmates had participants rather than consumers. They built a touring circuit that turned parking lots into villages and concerts into reunions. For better or worse, that template now forms the basis for jam bands, festival culture, and even some indie
touring ethics. The road looks the way it does today in a lot of ways because the Dead drove it first.
In an industry obsessed with metrics, going viral, and increased “look at me” antics, Weir’s career stands as a reminder that longevity comes from trust in collaborators, audiences, and trust that culture grows best when it’s allowed to wander off sometimes. From the outside, it was easy to roll your eyes. The tie-dye, the mythology, the insistence that “the experience” mattered more than the song. But with time, and a few of my Deadhead friends never-ending loyalty, it’s hard not to admire the durability of what Weir helped create. Decades after their commercial peak, Dead-related projects still draw crowds across generations.
I won’t suddenly start loving the songs. I probably still won’t stream them on purpose. But I’ll acknowledge the loss of someone who helped build a place where people felt welcome, seen, and
connected. American music is larger, freer, and more human because he was here.
Scott Parker is a Multi-instrumentalist, Song Writer, Producer and Mix Engineer who writes and records under the name MidLyfe’s Crisis from his home studio in Frederick, Maryland. He writes articles related to music infrequently from his studio as well. Lol…
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Hey, Is That Song Perfect?
By: Scott Parker
11.20.25
No judging me here, but I for one have traditionally liked the artist that rhymes with Sailor Grift. She has exhibited significant musical abilities and songwriting skills, and yes, I have belted “Shake it Off” out loud. As part of my musical production and mixing journey, I try to listen to modern releases for production techniques and stylings to see what is “trending.” An example of that being reverb. A few years ago, lush, ambient modern reverb on recordings was out. Today, it is back. With a vengeance. So, I took the opportunity to listen to Sailor Grift’s new album from start to finish. And boy howdy, what a chore for me. I could barely get through it. It did not hold my attention. I kept thinking “Didn't I just listen to this”?
I began to wonder why. Was I distracted? Moody? More concerned about taking my poodle to the dog park? Granted, I am probably not Sailor Grift’s target audience. That aside, I think I figured it out. Maybe…
In the modern musical landscape, as we are all aware, technology has given artists unprecedented control over their sound. With sophisticated recording software, limitless editing tools, and artificial intelligence capable of generating melodies, harmonies, and even entire arrangements, today’s music can be crafted with unprecedented perfection and precision. It dawned on me that this very precision may now be too perfectly made to truly listen to. That is what I think I was experiencing. Folks, this Sailor Grift album is technically FLAWLESS. Flawless, I say. But it did not move me. At all.
For most of music history, a performance was not valued for its flawlessness but for its expression—the emotional tension created. Intention vs. the execution. When a singer cracked on a high note or a guitarist rushed a phrase, listeners did not recoil or criticize. They connected. These imperfections reflected the humanity and creativeness behind the music. And, truth be told, tape was expensive and hard to edit. They were proof that art was being created in real time by real people. There is a song on Led Zep’s Physical Graffiti called “Black Country Woman” that was famous because they were recording outside, and left the sound of a plane flying
overhead in the recording. It is amazing and awesome… Can you imagine a Producer today doing that? Yea, no.
The “digital revolution” fundamentally changed both the process and expectations of musical creation. It became the “best of times and the worst of times.” Tools like auto-tune, time alignment, sample libraries, and quantization promise sonic perfection that would have been impossible only a few decades ago. Producers now take shaky vocals and transform them into perfectly accurate melodies. They can make a drummer play with grid-locked precision, even if the original performance was far from it. Can you imagine a Keith Moon today? Or what the music of the Who would be? Even when Kenny Jones replaced him, “Eminence Front” and other
tunes just did not have the connection of “The Seeker” or “Going Mobile” and all of “Who’s Next.”
Today’s production results are impressive, like Sailor Grift’s new album. But for me, modern music is often emotionally distant. Many listeners describe ultra-polished music as “sterile,” “plastic,” or “too clean.” It becomes something engineered rather than performed. The human ear, even subconsciously, expects tiny fluctuations in timing, subtle shifts in pitch, and unpredictable energy of a live take. When all of that is removed, the music can feel smooth, awesome, perfect, yet strangely hollow and empty.
These perfection-driven times are also leading to sameness, in my opinion. Artists are relying on less emotion and talent and more on the same software editing tools, and songs are starting to share similar vocal textures, drum patterns, and dynamics. Pop music across different artists and genres are starting to blend into one continuous, impeccably mixed sonic product. Ironically, what begins as an attempt to maximize quality ends up steam rolling individuality. That is exactly how I feel about my Sailor Grift listening experience.
Another consequence of hyper-perfection is the loss of emotional risk. Imperfections can be vulnerable. Anyone ever notice Freddie Mercury’s significant lisp? Did anyone care? Imperfections reveal the artist’s limitations, quirks, and personality. Their individuality. When every imperfection is edited out, the sense of emotion goes with it. A voice that wavers can convey emotion better than any polished take ever could. A live band slightly rushing the tempo in a moment of excitement captures a feeling that no computer can simulate. When perfection becomes the goal, these fleeting, magical moments are sacrificed.
Despite this, there seems to be a growing counter-movement. Many contemporary artists, such as the artist that rhymes with Miss Shapelton, are deliberately seeking out rawness in their recordings. They choose to leave in breaths, cracks, background noise, and to a lesser degree, unedited performances. For these musicians, imperfection is not a flaw but a signature—a reminder that music is a living art form. I could not even imagine listening to “Golden Years” by David Bowie polished up in today’s world.
The challenge, it seems, is not to abandon technology but to balance it with authenticity. Perfection in music should be a tool, not a requirement. A song polished like a mirror may dazzle on first listen, but it is the rough edges that inspire listeners to return. In those edges lies the humanity, unpredictability, as well as the emotion, that no plugin can manufacture. Ultimately, music becomes too perfectly made when “perfection loses connection.” (And yes, I did make that up. Maybe). To me, the most memorable songs are rarely the ones with the cleanest production—they are the ones that make us feel something. And the world could use a little more
of that. But hey. That is just my opinion. I could be wrong…
Scott Parker is a multi-instrumentalist, Song Writer, Producer and Mix Engineer who writes and records under the name MidLyfe’s Crisis from his home studio in Frederick, Maryland. He writes articles related to music infrequently from his studio as well. And he is part of the HUGs Galaxy of Stars…
If You Write it, Should They Listen?
By: Scott Parker
09.05.25
Recently, a good friend of mine, who is an excellent musician and producer, got into the realm of content creation on YouTube. One of the first videos he did focused on whether he should continue making videos, even if nobody ever watched. It made me think about my own songwriting and producing, as well as all the other aspiring indie artists who may say “what’s the point anymore?”
Our world today is over-saturated with content and voices vying for attention, and it is easy to question the value of creating something that may never be seen or heard. For songwriters, this doubt can become particularly heavy: What’s the point of writing a song if no one listens? I have written in Echo Chamber’s past that music in our current world does not have the same meaning and connection that it used to. It seems that music is becoming background soundtracks and not deeply personal the way it used to be when we would physically invest in the media to hold, such
as records, tapes and CDs. And let us not get started on AI again...
The answer, though deeply personal, often lies in defining what songwriting means to you. If the only purpose of writing music is external validation—likes, clicks, streams, applause—then lack of an audience can perhaps feel like utter failure. But songwriting at its core, to me anyway, is about expression. It's about translating observations, thoughts, and experiences into something
tangible. Whether that is shared with millions or kept in my DAW in my studio, the act itself has worth.
I think of songwriting as journaling with a melody and a beat. People write in journals and diaries without expecting readers. It is a practice of reflection or observation. A song can be the same. A way to work through emotions, make sense of the world, or capture fleeting inspiration. And boy howdy, inspiration can indeed be fleeting. But very often, the writing process can be more healing and powerful than the praise of an audience. (Without having to haul a 200 pound bass amp up three flights of stairs at three in the morning. Am I the only one?)
Moreover, just because no one listens now doesn’t mean no one ever will. I started off slow. I never thought anyone other than my family would hear my stuff, then tell me there was too much treble and to turn it down. But some of the world’s most iconic musicians started by writing in solitude and playing to empty rooms. Every song written improves your craft, strengthens your voice, and adds to a body of work that may one day be discovered. The first listener is always the creator. I know. “Dude, that’s deep.” But it’s true. If the song moves you, it has already fulfilled a purpose. For all those producers and mix engineers out there, you can relate to not having any idea when a mix is finished. (A famous producer once said a mix is never finished, just abandoned). When I mix a tune, if I find myself bopping along, shaking my head, making devil horns or even dancing a bit (sorry for that image), I know I have finally reached that emotional connection point since it is moving me. And that has value, because by that time, I have already heard it probably one gazillion times through the creation process.
All that said, the desire to connect your music to others is valid. Music is inherently a shared experience. If you want to be heard by others, that drive can push you to learn, promote yourself (shamelessly), and just keep moving forward. But even in silence and not being heard by others, you are still growing as an artist. You are potentially shaping or honing your style and maybe,
just maybe, planting seeds for the future. When I was working on the riff for “Sixteen Hours” on my back porch, I did not think I had anything left in me. Done. Was never gonna top “In the Kitchen.” And, I thought the riff kinda sucked, actually. But a story unfolded and production ideas popped in my head, I kept working through it, and boom. A song came out that has become my most popular tune to date. Never saw that coming.
Ultimately, whether or not anyone ever listens, writing a song is never wasted. Any work of art is valuable not only for the attention it garners but for the courage and diligence it takes to create it in the first place. So, keep writing those friggin songs, indie artists! Not for the crowds. Not for the streaming. But for yourself. If someone else listens, that’s a bonus. And it could very much happen…If not, you have still made something real, and that is Enough.
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