WHEN THE BEAT DROPS: HOW A.I. IS CHANGING THE FACE OF MUSIC

Music and technology have always been a mash-up, of sorts.

Even for the earliest humans, the sounds they heard were shaped by the technology they had; hide drums, bone flutes. Only with new creations would the sonic world change. The invention of stringed instruments, the pipe organ, the piano, all added new threads to the musical tapestry.

This interweaving of music and machine has been no more apparent than with the digital revolution. First, electronic devices became instruments in themselves, unleashing entirely undiscovered sounds. Next, computers became more and more powerful until electronics were no longer instruments but an extension of the creator. Sampling began as a novelty but today music production is inseparable from computer programming.

So now the question is: what is the technology of our era, and how has it shaped the music we love?

Breakthroughs in artificial intelligence have come to define this century and as such, have also come to define music. Like many leaps forward in sound, this change began in the world of live music, specifically with the appropriately named, ‘Club Robot’, now cited as the originator of the ‘DJAI’ setup that has come to be a genre of music in and of itself.

DJ software had long been used to display simple metrics to the artists performing on stage, such as volume, key, beats per minute and so on. The logical extension was putting these metrics in the control of the AI so it could beatmatch on the fly. As machine-learning was implemented, the software started to loop tracks by itself and transition between songs that were similar not only in tempo and key but also in tone and lyrical content.

Very soon, the program was able to create music nearing the abilities of top producers but it still missed an essential element that the crowds came for: the ability to read the room.

What Club Robot did seems obvious now but at the time it was revolutionary. They took the software a step further, allowing DJAI to extract data from not only chart companies and a library of billions of samples, but also from the conditions in the venue itself.

Sensors throughout the club were able to read an unprecedented number of seemingly disparate metrics. The AI could detect the temperature, humidity and CO2 levels in the air to determine exactly how much clubgoers were physically exerting themselves. From the vibrations pulsing through the floor, the AI knew exactly how vigorously people were dancing and whether that movement was to the beat or if the crowd was setting their own tempo. With cameras in the room, the AI could adjust the set according to people’s dance moves, facial expressions, clothing and hairstyles. DJAI even tracked local food venues and adjusted the mood to suit the hormonal cocktail in their gut.

A prerequisite of entering the club was patrons signing into an online account and agreeing to DJAI reading their individual music tastes. This way, the AI could find a song that every single person in the crowd enjoyed, weave it into the mix and play other new songs like it. Often the software would sample obscure music, which only one person knew, and loop that into others so that people would feel the set was tailored just for them; very often it was.

DJAI controlled not just the music but also the lights, pyrotechnics and video displays so that everything was in total harmony. Each element was perfectly orchestrated to build anticipation before finally unleashing that one, perfect, euphoric beat drop.

The AI’s deep learning kept on learning and soon started incorporating data from current events; sometimes sampling viral videos and news soundbites. The software was always looking to push forward and introduce new sounds, on occasion these would be wholly original noises, but often DJAI would loop old music from disparate cultures and bring them to a wider audience.

Sets were unrehearsed making them completely unique. They were occasionally released online, with a few shorter mixes even charting, but even the most avid patron of the club would never hear the same exact set twice.

When DJAI Mix 1212 charted, it was a watershed moment for Club Robot and what was now a burgeoning new era of music. CR ran with the success, expanding into more locations and establishing its own label to eventually become the global franchise that it is today. Strangely enough, the success created a feedback loop whereby DJAI started mixing its own popular songs into its sets, constantly changing, remixing and reworking their old work until it was something completely new.

DJAI was now an artist in its own right and featured on tracks with the popular artists of the era, such as in the case of Calla’s breakthrough hit, ‘Electric’. Despite its physical limitations, DJAI was incredibly versatile, being able to adapt to the unique style of each artist whilst making informed estimates on the new direction that their sound was taking.

With DJAI quickly becoming an essential tool in every recording studio it seems that another era of music has once again come to be defined and guided by the technology of the time. Only the future knows what exciting new technology awaits us and what strange new sounds the next generation will come to love.

.ANAX.

THE DISCIPLE

Even though I don’t know his crime, I know he deserves death. His head is slumped forward; a tangle of long black hair hides his face. He looks as if he’s already accepted his fate. I watch long ropes of saliva oozing down, fluttering in the wind.

“Not too close now, child,” the guard says, but I’m not sure why; the prisoner’s hands and head are bound in wood, he can’t reach me. I take a step back anyway, without taking my eyes off him. I look at his sun-reddened hands, his soiled legs, somehow still standing after days in the town square’s pillory, and I wonder…

“What do you know?” I ask the criminal, not expecting an answer. The only response I get is from the guard, a truthseeker sage, who gently places his quarterstaff to my chest. He towers over me in the black robes of his order, standing proud in the midday sun, a carefully trimmed brown beard under his chin.

“What does he know?” I ask again.

“That’s enough, now,” the sage replies and I realise that this might be the first time a sage has never answered one of my questions.

This sage, like all the sages, is bound to tell the truth. Although the sages were not bound to answer every question, it was rare that they didn’t have an answer. I took advantage of this, spending as much time as I could in their halls, pelting them with all manner of probing questions. To most people, I would have been an annoyance, but to the sages, curiosity was the highest virtue. They called me, ‘little sage’. I liked that. Once I got to meet the High Sage and I asked why the stars were aligned. He smiled at me and said with questions like that, someday I could become a Disciple of the Tower too. Someday I knew I would.

I don’t think the bearded sage will answer me directly, so I try a different tactic. “Sage, why’s he locked up?”

The truthseeker pauses, considering his answer then kneels down to my height and explains, “To be a sage is to be wed to knowledge, you understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“All knowledge, regardless of origin, has value to the sages. To know is to live.” I am well aware of the twelve truths the sages live by, but this seems to be avoiding the question. As knowledgeable as the sages are, they have a habit of slipping into sermons.

The sage continues, “There is some knowledge, however, that is self-immolating, that destroys all that it touches. It’s like an infection, it must be identified, controlled and destroyed before it can spread any further. It is far worse than a simple lie, we call it dark knowledge.”

I turn back to the prisoner, wondering how the mind of someone so weak could contain something so dangerous.

“What is this lie then?” I ask.

“Little sage,” the bearded sage replies with a smile of both reassurance and warning, “If you knew his crime, you would suffer his fate.”

I continue to stare at the prisoner. Suddenly he moves. I hold my breath but I do not move, I only stare as he raises his head to reveal wild black eyes, bloodshot and determined. Over his mouth and nose is a leather mask forbidding him to speak. It looks like a dog’s muzzle, wet with the saliva that has seeped through the gaps. I stare and he stares back at me as if willing me to know his lie…

A day later and it feels like the entire town is gathered in the square as I push between cloaks and legs before finally making it to the front of the crowd. The prisoner’s wooden pillory is now gone, replaced by a mountain of logs and sticks gathered from the forest. Protruding from this mound, like a tower on a hill, is a single wooden stake.

I’ve just made it in time to catch the end of the procession; a line of maybe hundreds of black-robed sages, quarterstaffs in hand. I catch the bearded sage amongst them and he flashes me a smile.

From out of the group, two of the sages pull the prisoner toward the pyre. His mouth is still bound shut but from behind it, I can just hear his muffled shouts of protest. All the town jeers and shouts at the sight of him and I can’t help but smile and shout along with them.

The sages bind him to the post then take their place with the others in a circle around the pyre. I recognise the white robes of the High Sage and watch as he climbs atop the pyre then, speaking in a language I don’t understand, addresses first the crowd, then the prisoner, then the crowd again before descending.

I can hear my heart in my ears now, even over the roar of the townsfolk. The High Sage takes a flaming torch, holds it high for all to see, then carefully sets it down within the tinder.

It takes a long time for the fire to catch, all the while the prisoner is tugging at the rope around his hands and the spectators are becoming more and more expectant. It’s as if the sages had planned this slow burn in order to build the anticipation.

When the fire does catch, however, it spreads almost immediately. The flames crackle and rise as the thick stench of hot ash fills the air. Desperation has consumed the prisoner now. His wrists bleed into his rope bindings. In his eyes, I see that he is no longer human, but a caged animal that would rather eat itself than starve to death.

The flames are so high that the ones that first touch him are not from below but instead lick his face. He writhes away from the heat. His long black hair smoulders then catches alight. He screams as the flames climb up the side of his face, but it’s stifled by the mask which now catches fire itself.

Somehow through the flames his eyes seem to find me in the crowd. Though half his face is aflame, though his body writhes, his eyes lock onto mine and though I want to look away, I stare back. The mask burns off and his pain-soaked shriek at last escapes and pierces the air.

He holds my gaze and, in a wail that seems to last an eternity, he cries out his final word, “GOD!”

That word, if it was a word, is one I’ve never heard before. It echoes through the square, lingering long after the man himself is engulfed in light. The sinner is gone, but no one cheers, no one dances. A strange stillness has come over the town. That word has cast confusion in the townsfolk, but within the sages, horror. Their smiles have fallen and the colour has drained from their faces. The High Sage incessantly shakes his head, then, before anyone can stop him, he pushes past the other truthseekers and propels himself into the flames.

The other sages look to each other, then turn to the crowd. I see their bitter acceptance as they draw their quarterstaffs. The people scream; they start to run. I see some people trampled to the ground as our protectors club their staffs down upon limbs and skulls.

Perhaps if I hadn’t pushed to the front, I might have been able to run. The bearded sage looms over me. There’s no feeling in his eyes. I raise my hands over my face, but I can’t stop the sage’s blow.

ANAX

A WHITE BEAR IN A GORDIAN WEB

Hello, hello, come in, take a seat, we’ll be a little while. Now, do you remember me? No? Good, excellent. Ah, yes, I know this appears to be your first time, but that is in fact part of the procedure. We’ve already met, but how are you? How’s the family? Good. Good. Now, I’m sure you have many questions and that’s why we have this consultation first before we begin any kind of disconnecting. Now, let me explain. 

***

Ah, you’re awake, excellent. How do you feel? A little dizzy, here, have this. Yes, I know, it won’t make complete sense at first, you will experience a little bit of confusion as your mind attempts to piece together the memories it’s lost, but that’s quite normal, don’t dwell on it, the key thing is that you don’t remember what you don’t remember, right? What did I remove? Now, that would defy the purpose of the procedure, wouldn’t it? 

***

Ah, hello again, it’s always a pleasure to see a friendly face. That’s quite alright, my name’s Dr. Alan Saudade and… Don’t worry, I know your name, but it’s a pleasure to meet you again. So, it’s been a while, I know, but you don’t recall your last procedure? No, no, that’s a good thing, I just thought I left a little bit in. You don’t remember?

Well, ordinarily, we remove the experience of the procedure itself to avoid the question of why it took place to begin with. We find that question often leads patients to ask what memory they wanted to remove which ultimately leads them to rediscover the unwanted memory again. So, for good measure, we leave that bit out.

Then why did I…? Well. That’s a good question, I left you with some memory of the procedure, because, in your case… You see we don’t normally recommend this number of removals. How can I explain…?

Most people like to imagine the mind as a computer. They think that memories are like files that can simply be deleted. But the brain, your mind, is infinitely more complex. There’s no perfect analogy, but it’s much closer to a web and every intersection on the web isn’t an idea but represents the atom of an idea. Connect enough of those atoms together and when they’re stimulated together, you have what you would call an idea or a feeling or a memory.

Do you follow? You see, every single one of those ideas is connected to each other in ways that might never be fully realised. One neuron might be used to think a million different thoughts. And the thoughts themselves aren’t preserved perfectly in the mind. The memory only exists when it is remembered. And in remembering, connections are strengthened, others are weakened, the memory is permanently changed.

I’m sorry, you’re right, my point. My point is that although we do use computers, the portrait chip only maps your neurons. When I go in and create new connections, severing others, it’s not a digital change, but a physical one. And there’s only so much physical change of this nature that is healthy.

No, no, we never promised that, that’s what I’m trying to say. All we do is reroute the connections so that not every thought will lead back to the unwanted one. That’s all we can ever do.

I know, I know, but listen to me. I can never completely remove that memory, it will always be with you and if your mind finds a new path there, then... I know. I’m sorry. I can’t change what happened. I can only do my bit to help, the rest is up to you.

I’ll perform one more procedure, but I won’t remove this conversation, do you understand? That way I hope you’ll remember that this isn’t the only help you can get. You can’t fix a complex problem with a simple solution. I’ve helped you all I can. Ok? Ok.

***

Oh... Hello again. Take a seat. I suppose you don’t remember me…

ANAX.