The morning I realized I was being fed AI music

It started in other places first.

You’ve seen those videos. A kitten doing something impossibly cute with its human. A heartwarming scene that grabs your attention for three seconds, gets a like, maybe a share, then vanishes from your mind completely.

AI-generated content is everywhere now. We scroll past it, react to it, forward it to friends. It’s engineered to capture attention. And it works. But when it’s gone, nothing stays. No memory. No resonance. No connection. No real stories.

I noticed it in video first. Then, one morning, I realized it was happening in music too.

A gut feeling

I was listening to my Discovery playlist on YouTube Music. A track came on. Good vibe, solid rhythm, deep bass. I liked it. I wanted to look up the lyrics. None available. I looked at the artist page. Cryptic. No bio, no history, no trace of a human story.

I thought: she sounds too perfect. The production is too clean. Something’s off.

I asked Google: is this AI music?

High probability.

Calisse…

I moved on to the next track. Same pattern. Same vibe. Same question. Same answer.

That’s when it hit me: I’m not discovering music anymore. I’m being fed something.

The Algorithm doesn’t care who made it.

Here’s what I think is happening. AI-generated music is flooding platforms like YouTube and Spotify. It’s cheap to produce, infinite in volume, and optimized for one thing: keeping you listening. It doesn’t need royalties. It doesn’t negotiate contracts. It doesn’t complain.

The algorithm promotes what works. And AI music works. It’s rhythmic, inoffensive, designed for passive listening. Perfect for background. Perfect for retention metrics.

I’m not saying YouTube is secretly producing this music under fake labels. They don’t need to. Thousands of creators are uploading AI tracks through distributors, and the system just lets them rise. No conspiracy required. Just incentives doing what incentives do.

And transparency? Don’t hold your breath. Labeling AI music would create friction. Users might skip it. Artists might demand differentiation. Platforms have no reason to volunteer that information. If it ever happens, it will be because regulators forced it, not because Spotify had a change of heart.

What AI music sounds like (once you hear and recognize it)

I’m starting to recognize the pattern now. Heavy rhythm. Deep bass. The voice sits inside the mix, not in front of it. It’s not singer-forward music. It’s texture. Atmosphere. Mood.

It’s not bad. That’s the uncomfortable part. It’s pleasant. It’s catchy. It fills the room nicely.

But something is missing.

Why I still need human music

After a few hours of this, I went looking for something different.

I found Pentatonix performing The Sound of Silence. Five voices, no instruments, every harmony built from human breath and precision. The beatboxer alone floored me. Pure talent, impossible to fake, years of discipline compressed into every beat.

Then I listened to Calum Scott singing You Are the Reason. Voice raw and exposed, every note carrying weight. I looked him up. His story was full of pain, rejection, years of struggle before anyone noticed him.

And I realized: that’s what I’m missing.

AI can generate music. It can even generate good music. But it doesn’t suffer to create. It doesn’t feel joy or heartbreak. It doesn’t spend years failing before it finds its sound.

When I listen to a human artist, I’m not just hearing notes. I’m hearing a life. A narrative. A person who fought to get here.

I can admire AI output. But I can’t connect to it. Not the way I connect to someone who bled for their art.

I’m not angry. I’m confused.

I don’t know exactly how I feel about all this. I’m not here to condemn AI music or demand it be banned. That ship has sailed.

But I’m unsettled. Something I trusted, the discovery algorithm, now feels suspect. Something I valued, the authenticity of finding new artists, is being quietly diluted.

I’m also fascinated. This is a revolution. The tools are getting better. The volume is exploding. The line between human and machine is blurring in ways we’re not ready for.

I don’t have answers. But I have a new habit now: when a track feels too smooth, too perfect, too algorithm-friendly, I pause. I look closer. I ask the question.

And sometimes, I go find a human instead.

Human thoughts, AI-assisted writing. But the confusion, the fascination, the need to find something human in all this noise, that mess is entirely mine. Thank you.