The artist Sting wrote many fine songs in his time, but few finer than 'If I Ever Lose My Faith in You'. For those unfamiliar with it, the song is a deceptively buoyant singalong something of a melodic, radio-friendly anthem wrapped around a surprisingly bleak meditation on modern life. In it, Sting catalogues his disillusionment with religion, science, politics and a host of other institutions that once promised meaning and certainty. Yet the song's masterstroke lies in its chorus, where, amid all that doubt, he clings to faith in one cherished belief. Presumably that is the love and respect for his wife, Trudy Styler.
It's a great song, but what has always struck me is the sentiment behind it. Here is a man who, by almost any measure, appears to have won life's lottery. Fame, wealth, artistic success, global admiration. Sting has achieved more than most musicians could ever dream of. Yet beneath the polished surface lurks a persistent dissatisfaction, a nagging sense that something fundamental has gone missing. It is a feeling many listeners recognise immediately.
Sting doesn't specifically mention music, he may be referring to unconditional love, but someone who was referring to music was my old mate Steve Hillage. As he mesmerised my band with his musical expertise in the studio back in the day, he once mentioned that he felt completely discouraged by the state of the music industry. When pressed further he described what he referred to as his 'Oh no, has it come to this?' moments. He explained that the great music that had initially inspired him to pick up a guitar, had at times and in various guises gradually given way to something altogether less inspiring. Targeting his vitriol in particular towards bands such as Duran Duran who were still relatively successful at the time.
I've experienced similar moments too. When Joy Division's classic 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' failed to make the Radio One playlist, whilst Racey's insipid 'Lay Your Love On Me' achieved round the clock airplay in the UK. Or the rise of manufactured pop, reality television talent contests, and the coronation of Simon Cowell as a cultural tastemaker each felt, at the time, like another small surrender to the powers that be. Whether those concerns were justified is beside the point. What mattered was the growing suspicion that something authentic was being replaced by something artificial.
That is why Sting's song continues to resonate. It reflects back to the listener a feeling that many of us carry but rarely articulate: the sense that too many of the things we once believed in have let us down. Over time, cherished certainties begin to fray. Institutions disappoint. Heroes fall. Ideologies reveal their contradictions, and family bonds disappear. I have felt this quite acutely in my own life, where beyond my immediate family and close friends, there have been times when there appeared to be little left to believe in.
To find an escape from the relentless noise of the modern world I've always found comfort and solace in nature. Trees, in particular, have never failed to lift my spirits during a morning walk. Yet even that source of inspiration has become harder to embrace unreservedly. The relentless assault on the natural world leaves the uncomfortable impression that humanity values profit more than beauty, consumption more than stewardship. We marvel at nature's wonders while simultaneously dismantling them. So what does today's world have left, if anything, to provide hope?
For a long time, I believed education was one of society's great redeeming forces. The idea seemed noble enough, simply equip future generations with knowledge and critical thinking, and the country will gradually improve. Yet education, like every other institution, has its contradictions. Some of history's most destructive figures were highly educated. Brilliant lawyers, politicians, financiers and scientists have often used their talents not to serve humanity, but to enrich themselves or advance destructive causes.
Sport presents a similar dilemma. Few spectacles are more inspiring than a great football match or an Olympic athlete at the peak of his or her powers. Yet modern sport is littered with stories of corruption, greed and performance-enhancing drugs. Ben Johnson. Lance Armstrong, Diego Maradona and countless others. Athletes who knew they were cheating but carried on regardless because the rewards were simply too great. In many cases, the lure of money proved stronger than the pursuit of excellence. So much so that we are left with a lingering cynicism, where world records that once seemed sacred now come with a mental asterisk attached.
For years I believed art and especially music represented the last refuge of authenticity. Politics could be corrupted. Business could be corrupted. Sport could be corrupted. But creativity seemed different. Great art emerged from a uniquely human combination of talent, inspiration, discipline and imagination. It could be imitated, certainly, but never truly replicated. No doubt over the years there were warning signs. Drum machines gradually replaced drummers. Technology increasingly blurred the line between performance and production. Every generation complained that something essential had been lost. Yet for me, my dear mother's old saying still rang true: 'The cream always comes to the top'. Genuine talent would eventually distinguish itself from imitation.
Today, however, that assumption feels less secure than ever. Even the legendary producer George Martin, eventually accepted back in the nineties that modern technology had reached a tipping point where it could compete with some of the finest creative minds in the industry. And he should know having produced the Beatles. What once seemed impossible, the actual replication of human creativity itself, no longer belongs entirely to the realm of science fiction.
It has been said that time is money, so if you can reduce the time it takes to complete a particular task, it will ultimately lead to a positive outcome. However, I believe time spent crafting a song, painting a picture, or writing a book is not wasted time. Amongst other things it's cathartic, it assists with personal growth. It is hard work, but fulfilling, where you grow as a person, as you immerse yourself in the infinite connection with the divine. Are we going to throw all that away so we can mass-produce AI music and videos for a profit? And what then? Make endless amounts of cash that we can spend on things we neither want nor need, but because of the corrosive impact of advertising we are brainwashed into believing that's what we want?
Apparently thirty percent of music on Spotify is considered to have been created using AI. Well, that's all well and good, but at what point will it increase to fifty percent, or seventy percent or worse? Bearing this in mind, about ten years ago I visited the famous house of the Bronte sisters in Yorkshire. In something approaching an epiphany I stared down at the desk where a young Charlotte Bronte was said to have crafted Jane Eyre, mesmerised by the energy that seemed to permeate the room. I can't imagine in years to come anyone is going to be similarly moved by visiting the house of an individual who pressed a few buttons, claimed artistic ownership and then went out shopping.
I was recently approached by someone who will remain nameless, but who had already created seven albums which had been released into the world all at once, just two days earlier. That is a huge body of work for a new artist. They informed me that the project was created using Suno and wanted to be considered for a review. To be fair, they were honest enough not to hide the fact that Suno had been used, and their email made it sound as though they genuinely believed an artistic process had been employed. However, after looking at their YouTube channel where the albums had been released, and listening to the tracks, I didn't agree. There was a distinct soulless, generic, mass-produced feel to both the sound and the artwork, so I decided to pass on reviewing the project. It did make me wonder where all this will lead though. The next generation may no longer be tempted to pursue artistic endeavours at all. Why would they, when they can go online and get everything they require with a simple touch of a button? Clearly, the tail is wagging the dog.
Yes I agree, it's fast, it's convenient and it clearly saves time, but in using it does it threaten to destroy the very fabric of creativity? Artificial intelligence describes exactly what it is, that it is artificial. Furthermore, if one of the most important lessons we can learn in life is to learn to think for ourselves, are we are in danger of allowing imagination to be displaced by AI? Why write lyrics when LyricStudio can write them for you? Why learn how to compose music when you can use Suno? Does AI have to be inevitable? Or if it is here to stay, should more effort be made to implement safeguards? These are all important questions that deserve our attention. Surely we need to educate ourselves on the pros and cons of this technological revolution, and be aware that the light at the end of the tunnel may well be an oncoming train.
I read somewhere recently that in ten years time there could be as many as one hundred million active robots in society. Well, all I can say is, good luck finding a job under such circumstances. While some people may regard this as a good thing. After all, oiling the wheels of the capitalist system is no great loss, if other means of production can be discovered, and where a universal basic income has been promised. There is some credence to this despite the fact that I have little confidence that the likes of Elon Musk care one jot about the welfare of ordinary people going forward.
Furthermore, there is more to work than simply making money. People all over the world find tremendous value pursuing a job worth doing. Through self-esteem, giving back, adding value and finding a much needed purpose. I agree that not all jobs offer this, but there are jobs that do. I would certainly include my job as a teacher as one of them. I agree that this is a particularly nuanced argument, involving many competing factors. Nonetheless, the fact remains, that work provides intrinsic purpose, and also creates the type of discipline and self-reliance that enables personal growth and a genuine feeling of belonging.
So, where do our loyalties lie, and who are we betting on? When it comes to choosing between a shared humanity and the validity of the artistic process, or alternatively the pursuit of profit for little, if any, effort. Because the danger is that if we strip away the artistic process and allow our thoughts to be controlled by technology, what is left? And that's before we begin discussing the damage to the environment, and the disastrous consequences for future generations. Seemingly destined to inhabit a world devoid of art, culture and artistic integrity, where the last refuge of a beating heart is left to perish on a dying planet. Because for me the artistic process is sacred, the planet we inhabit is sacred, human dignity is sacred and human intelligence is non-negotiable. If we fail to grasp this, we are in danger of living in the kind of dystopian society Orwell so famously articulated in 1984.
We are now experiencing in real time a David and Goliath story for the twenty-first century. With genuine artists struggling to make a buck versus the grasping tentacles of the tech giants. Will the artistic process survive, and stand up to these billionaire disruptors? Don't make me laugh, the supine response to vulture capitalism and the pursuit of profit has become no more than a race to the bottom, a zero-sum game where AI is the steamroller and music is the road. Governments will no doubt pay lip service to the problem with all their inept meddling of dubious merit, but the end result will no doubt be the 'same as it ever was', as David Byrne once famously declared in song. Bearing this in mind, I can't imagine that it will be long before a so-called AI artist approaches me for a review of their album. Oh, sorry, I stand corrected, that's already happened!
AI – Artistic Intrusion.
