The airwaves, once the sacred domain of human artistry and the tangible strum of guitar strings, are now humming with a novel, almost spectral sound. Whispers have evolved into a full-blown chorus, and the source is as unsettling as it is undeniably disruptive: artificial intelligence. The revelation that The Velvet Sundown, a band boasting nearly a million monthly listeners on Spotify, is the brainchild of a sophisticated algorithm – a “synthetic music project,” as their updated bio chillingly states – has sent tremors through the music industry and sparked a philosophical debate about the very soul of creation.
The Velvet Sundown materialized onto the streaming scene in June with the eerie fluidity of a digital phantom, their 1970s-tinged indie rock slipping onto popular playlists with an almost preternatural ease. Their sudden ascent, marked by two full-length albums and a sound that, to some ears, evoked familiar yet indistinct echoes of the past, ignited curiosity and, eventually, suspicion. Savvy listeners noted the band’s complete absence from the physical realm – no tour dates, no interviews, no discernible history beyond their digital footprint. The very image associated with the band, a quartet of shaggy-haired musicians, carried the uncanny sheen of generative AI, a subtle discord in their perfectly imperfect features.
Yet, as is often the case in our hyper-connected age, the truth arrived in a cascade of online intrigue and a healthy dose of calculated deception. Enter one Andrew Frelon, a Canadian web safety expert who, under a pseudonym, orchestrated an elaborate “social engineering” experiment. Frelon initially claimed to be the mastermind behind The Velvet Sundown, a провокация designed to test the media’s credulity in the face of increasingly sophisticated AI-generated content. His pronouncements to Rolling Stone, detailing the use of AI platform Suno to create the band’s music, sent a jolt through the burgeoning narrative.
But the rabbit hole deepened. Just as the mystery appeared solved, the official (and until then, suspiciously silent) Velvet Sundown X account vehemently denied Frelon’s claims, accusing him of hijacking their identity. The plot thickened further when Frelon himself confessed to CBC News that his entire persona, his connection to the band – even his name – was a fabrication. His motives, he claimed, were artistic, a desire to “exploit the uncertainty” surrounding AI and witness the ensuing media frenzy.
The layers of deception, while undeniably unsettling, inadvertently amplified The Velvet Sundown’s enigmatic allure. Their listener count on Spotify soared by an astonishing 700,000 during Frelon’s grand performance, peaking at a million just as the band finally, officially, unmasked themselves as an AI endeavor. “The Velvet Sundown is a synthetic music project guided by human creative direction, and composed, voiced, and visualized with the support of artificial intelligence,” their revised Spotify bio now declares, a stark admission that simultaneously demystifies and re-mystifies their existence. “This isn’t a trick – it’s a mirror. An ongoing artistic provocation designed to challenge the boundaries of authorship, identity, and the future of music itself in the age of AI.”
The implications are profound. Glenn McDonald, a former data alchemist at Spotify, astutely pointed out that the streaming service’s current model, which includes paid playlist boosting and an increasing reliance on algorithms for recommendations, inadvertently creates a fertile ground for AI-generated entities. These digital bands, unburdened by the logistical and financial constraints of human musicians, can be strategically placed and algorithmically favored, potentially crowding out human artists in the increasingly competitive digital landscape.
The Velvet Sundown is not an isolated incident. Other AI-driven musical projects, such as the hard-rock act The Devil Inside, the “dark country” persona Aventhis, and the provocative soul singer Nick Hustles, have similarly revealed their artificial origins, often after amassing significant online followings. These projects typically involve human guidance in the creative direction, acting as curators of the AI’s seemingly limitless output.
As Nova Scotia-based singer-songwriter Ian Janes observes, the music industry’s embrace of technology-assisted techniques has, in a way, paved the way for this algorithmic infiltration. The pursuit of “perfect” recordings, achieved through tools like quantizing and pitch correction, may have conditioned listeners to accept a level of sonic flawlessness that AI can effortlessly replicate, making it harder to distinguish the genuinely human from the meticulously synthetic.
Winnipeg music critic Darryl Sterdan offers a more critical assessment, labeling The Velvet Sundown’s music as “generic” and “forgettable,” arguing that AI, in its current state, cannot replicate the “soul and indefinable humanity” that underpins truly resonant music. However, his prediction that it is only a matter of time before an AI-generated track becomes a global chart-topper is a sobering one, potentially forcing established institutions like the Grammys and Junos to grapple with the unprecedented question of how to recognize and reward non-human creativity.
The rise of AI bands like The Velvet Sundown forces us to confront fundamental questions about art, authorship, and authenticity in an increasingly digital world. Is music truly defined by its human origin, or can algorithms, guided by human intention, create something that resonates, even if it lacks a beating heart and a shared history? Is the “mirror” that The Velvet Sundown holds up to us a reflection of our evolving relationship with technology, or a harbinger of a future where the lines between creator and creation become irrevocably blurred? The silence that follows these questions is perhaps the most unsettling sound of all.