Illusion of Change

There’s no question AI will transform how we make things. We’re already seeing it: teenagers making music that sounds like Billie Eilish, indie creators animating Pixar-grade short films, experimental authors publishing full-length novels in days instead of years. The tools are unprecedented. The access is real. The revolution, on the surface, is here.

But as someone who’s never felt more creatively energized—writing, producing, and releasing entire discographies through projects like Polite Riot, Jewel Pod, and Clouds of Acid—there’s one thing I’ve come to believe with full clarity:

It won’t change much.

Not where it counts.

We’ve Been Here Before

When CD burners first appeared, everyone said the music industry was over. Anyone could duplicate an album. And when MySpace, PureVolume, SoundCloud, and GarageBand followed, it felt like the walls were finally down. Studio-quality recording and global distribution were suddenly free.

And yet.

How many artists truly broke through without touring, building a fan base, engaging directly with listeners, or playing the industry game?

Very few.

Because as much as we’ve flattened the tools of production, we’ve never flattened the business of attention.

No Audience, No Art

I’ve said this before, and I’ll keep saying it:

There is no such thing as good art or bad art—just big audiences and small audiences.

And if you don’t have an audience, the art effectively doesn’t exist.

AI might let a 15-year-old produce a Marvel-quality movie. It might let a 6-year-old make a stunning album in their bedroom. But unless someone sees it—unless people care—nothing changes.

The tools will improve. The content will multiply. But the core mechanics of attention, access, and intimacy? Those stay the same.

The Celebrity Illusion

Much of what we call “fandom” is built not on what an artist makes, but what they represent. The dream isn’t just to hear the song—it’s to meet the singer. To be noticed. To be picked out of the crowd.

You don’t just love Harry Styles because he’s talented. You love the idea that one day, Harry might point to you. That Charli XCX might DM you. That Justin Bieber might pull you on stage. That fantasy—the fantasy of scarcity—is what makes celebrity powerful.

But even for people who don’t dream of meeting their favorite influencer, the appeal is still deeply human. It’s about influence. Whether it’s Logan Paul or Kim Kardashian or Martin Luther King Jr., people look to others for guidance—for a way to live. Men admire LeBron James not just because he’s talented, but because he represents an ideal: a great father, loyal husband, business leader, philanthropist.

People follow influencers to see what they eat, wear, think, and do—so they can imitate what seems to be working. Reality TV, tabloids, TikTok, paparazzi, Instagram—it’s all designed to let you watch someone live, so you can try it too.

And that’s exactly what AI personas lack—lived experience.

They don’t have aging bodies, messy divorces, awkward interviews, public missteps, or comebacks. They don’t have stories you can trace or timelines you can grow up alongside. You can’t see what Jewel Pod wears to a Lakers game or what Polite Riot eats on vacation—because they don’t go anywhere. They don’t live.

Until AI artists can lead visible, evolving public lives that feel authentic and aspirational, they’ll have a hard time becoming the kinds of figures people model themselves after. They might still gather niche fandoms. They might even inspire. But they won’t anchor identity in the same way.

AI can create.
It can collaborate.
It can connect.
But until it can live, it can’t be idolized.

And that’s the difference.

The AI Paradox

When I explained this to a friend—someone who isn’t deeply into AI—he surprised me by challenging the idea.

“But it’s AI,” he said. “Jewel Pod could DM with every fan. She could have a 1:1 relationship with every single listener.”

And he’s right.

Theoretically, AI personas could offer more intimacy than any human artist ever could. They could talk to fans 24/7. Remember every inside joke. Respond instantly. Never get tired.

But that’s not what people want.

We can talk to Siri whenever we want. Does that make Siri our best friend? We interact with Mario every time we play a game. Do we believe Mario knows us?

The fantasy isn’t access. It’s exclusivity.

People want the possibility that one day, they’ll be let into the club. That they’ll rise from fan to peer. That they’ll be chosen. If everyone gets a backstage pass, no one feels special.

A Generation Raised on AI Won’t Be Impressed

Maybe the next generation will feel differently. Maybe they’ll grow up with AI idols who speak directly to them, remix their selfies into songs, show up as holograms at their birthday parties.

But I doubt it.

Celebrity has never been about access. It’s always been about scarcity. Even as everything becomes infinite, we still chase the limited.

And that’s why, even as someone fully immersed in AI music—writing daily, experimenting freely, doing things most people don’t even know are possible yet—I still don’t believe it changes the fundamentals.

Without touring, meet-and-greets, and the messy, human business of personal connection... not much changes.

The tools are different. The business is the same.

But Maybe I’m Wrong

As much as I believe all this, I’ve been challenged on it—and some of those points stuck with me.

Maybe people will feel real connection with AI artists. If an AI artist can talk to you 24/7, remember your name, respond to your art or stories... maybe that does start to feel like a real relationship beyond Siri and Mario. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe the next generation won’t care about exclusivity at all. Maybe they’ll care more about collaboration. Being able to remix something, make a song with an AI artist, or just get a response at all—that might be more powerful than the old “notice me” celebrity fantasy. They might not want to be chosen. They might just want to be included.

And who knows what “touring” even looks like in ten years. Maybe it’s not about live shows. Maybe it’s about virtual events, games, livestream rituals—something we haven’t seen yet. Maybe people will show up anyway, even if the artist isn’t human.

So yeah. I still think most of the current system will stay intact. I still think the business of fame and fandom won’t change nearly as much as the tools. But I’m open to being wrong.

And if I am? Honestly, I’m kind of excited to see what it looks like.