Don't Let AI Replace Your Curiosity

My Guiding Philosophy Around AI in Music—and a Plea to Fellow Creatives

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to attend MixNik, a conference that brought together recording engineers, producers, mixers, songwriters, and creatives from all over the country. It's one of those events that reminds you why you fell in love with music in the first place. The conversations are genuine, the ideas flow freely, and everyone is there because they're passionate about the craft. Whether someone has been producing records for thirty years or is just getting started, there's a shared excitement that comes from being surrounded by people who understand the creative process. Unsurprisingly, one topic found its way into nearly every conversation I had: artificial intelligence.

The opinions couldn't have been more divided. Some people viewed AI as the greatest creative breakthrough of our generation, convinced it would open doors that had never existed before. Others saw it as a threat to musicianship, songwriting, and the authenticity of art itself. I found myself doing more listening than talking. Rather than deciding who was right, I wanted to understand why so many talented people felt so strongly. By the end of the conference, I realized something unexpected. I didn't fully agree with either side.

A few days after returning home, I came across an article from Ari's Take titled "AI Music Is An Abomination – It's Time We Stop Normalizing It." The article makes a passionate case that the music industry should be far more cautious about embracing AI-generated music and raises important questions about what we may lose if we continue down that path. While I didn't agree with every conclusion, I appreciated that it challenged me to examine my own beliefs instead of simply reacting to someone else's. Sometimes the most valuable articles aren't the ones that convince us they're right; they're the ones that force us to ask better questions. You can read the article here: AI Music Is An Abomination – It's Time We Stop Normalizing It​

As I reflected on the conversations I had at MixNik and the thoughts shared in that article, I realized I wasn't really asking myself whether AI belonged in music. Technology has always changed the way music is created. From multitrack recording to drum machines, samplers, Auto-Tune, and digital audio workstations, every generation has experienced innovations that were met with excitement by some and skepticism by others. The real question I found myself asking was much more personal: What kind of creative do I want to become in an age where AI can do so much?

The answer wasn't as straightforward as I expected.

The truth is, I use AI almost every day. It's become part of my creative workflow in ways I couldn't have imagined just a few years ago. I use it to brainstorm song ideas, organize notes, refine lyrics, develop marketing campaigns, write outlines, generate graphics, and even help me think through business challenges. In many ways, AI has removed friction from the creative process. It helps me move past creative blocks, explore new perspectives, and spend more time creating instead of staring at a blank screen.

Because of that, I can't honestly say I'm against AI. In fact, I think it's one of the most exciting technological advancements I've witnessed during my lifetime. Like any powerful tool, it has the potential to improve the way we work and expand what's creatively possible. I don't believe the answer is rejecting it out of fear or pretending it doesn't exist. AI is here, and it's only going to become more capable over time.

But somewhere along the way, I realized my concern wasn't really about artificial intelligence.

My concern is curiosity.

When I first fell in love with music, I wasn't searching for shortcuts. I was searching for understanding. Every time I heard a record that moved me, I wanted to know why it moved me. If I loved a drum groove, I wanted to figure out how it was programmed. If a vocal harmony gave me chills, I wanted to understand how it was arranged. If a producer created a sound I'd never heard before, I became fascinated with the process behind it. I wasn't satisfied simply enjoying the finished song. I wanted to peek behind the curtain.

That curiosity shaped everything that followed. Long before tutorials were available for every question imaginable, learning meant experimenting. It meant making mistakes, trying again, and sometimes spending hours chasing an answer that seemed just out of reach. I'd listen to songs over and over, trying to identify every instrument, every effect, every subtle production choice. I'd attempt to recreate what I heard, knowing full well I probably wouldn't get it right the first time. More often than not, I failed.

Looking back, those failures were never wasted time.

Every unsuccessful attempt taught me something I didn't know before. Maybe I discovered a better way to layer drums. Maybe I learned how a certain chord progression created tension and release. Maybe I stumbled onto a sound that eventually became part of my own style. None of those lessons came from finding the quickest answer. They came from asking questions and refusing to stop until I understood what I was hearing.

I've come to believe that this is one of the greatest gifts creativity has to offer. The process of figuring something out changes us. It develops patience, critical thinking, persistence, and confidence. It teaches us how to solve problems that don't have obvious answers. Most importantly, it reminds us that growth rarely happens in moments of convenience. It happens in moments of curiosity.

That's why I worry when I see conversations about AI framed entirely around speed and efficiency.

There's nothing wrong with working faster. There's nothing wrong with using tools that eliminate repetitive tasks or help us organize our ideas. But if every obstacle is instantly removed, every answer immediately generated, and every creative challenge solved before we've had a chance to wrestle with it ourselves, what are we losing along the way? What experiences are we giving up that might have made us better artists?

Those questions matter to me because I've learned that the journey is often more valuable than the destination. The songs I've written are meaningful, but the person I became while learning to write them means even more. The mixes I've completed matter, but the hundreds of mistakes I made while learning to mix taught me lessons that no software ever could. Every creative milestone in my life was built on countless hours of curiosity.

The relationship with AI I hope more creatives will develop.

Use it to brainstorm. Use it to organize your thoughts. Use it to break through writer's block. Use it to challenge your assumptions and expose yourself to new ideas. Let it become another tool in your creative toolbox. But don't allow it to replace the experiences that shape you into the artist you're capable of becoming. Learn an instrument. Study songwriting. Learn how to produce. Learn how to record. Learn how to mix. Recreate songs you admire. Collaborate with people who know more than you do. Stay willing to ask "why" long after everyone else has settled for "good enough."

My hope is simply that AI becomes the beginning of someone's creative journey rather than the end of it.

If AI helps you write your first song, learn why the song works. If it helps you generate a beat, explore how beats are built. If it gives you a lyric that resonates, ask yourself what makes those words connect emotionally. Let AI spark your curiosity, not satisfy it.

Technology will continue to evolve. New tools will appear, old tools will disappear, and every generation will debate whether innovation is helping or hurting creativity. That's nothing new. What has always separated great artists isn't the technology they used. It's their willingness to keep learning long after everyone else stopped asking questions.

If there's one philosophy I hope continues to guide me throughout my creative journey, it's this:

Don't let technology take away the joy of discovering something for yourself.

Don't let convenience replace craftsmanship.

And above all, don't let AI replace your curiosity.