A distributor I know got a takedown-adjacent question from a platform last quarter: prove this catalog of 400 tracks is human-made. Not "confirm you hold the rights" — that they could do.
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There is a line you hear at every ticketing panel, delivered with the confidence of a weather report: regulate the resale market and you will destroy jobs.
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A distributor made headlines when it said something like a third of the tracks arriving through its pipe each day were AI-generated.
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Last month I fed eight bars of my own singing — a scratch vocal from a film cue I scored in 2016 — into a voice-cloning tool to see what would happen.
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You have heard the obituary by now. Mid-tier acts pulling tours mid-routing, club promoters underwater, a venue circuit that can't make rent between the 800-cap room and the 4,000-cap theater.
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You turn the filter knob on the FLX4, and there's a beat — not a musical one, a dead one — before the audio answers. Three hundred milliseconds, maybe four hundred. In a studio that's nothing.
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It's 2 a.m. and I'm rendering a 38-second vertical clip for a friend's single that drops in nine hours.
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