New technologies always seem to scare us.
I remember when computers first came into the workplace. There was fear in the air—real fear. People warned that we'd all be out of a job. That the machines would take over and humans would be left behind. Of course, the opposite happened. We didn’t lose our roles—we evolved them. Computers became tools, not threats. We adapted, we learned, and in the end, we became more productive, not less.
We’ve come a long way from flipping records or building playlists one track at a time. These days, I can open Qobuz or Spotify and ask for a premade playlist to suit the mood—or at least try to. But too often, the results fall short. Either I’m tired of hearing the same rotation, or the selections feel like they came from a machine that knows the what, but not the why.
I want to be surprised and delighted.
What excites me about AI isn’t what it does today—it’s what it could do. Imagine a system that understands not just your favorite artists, but your emotional state. That listens to the room and adjusts selections based on time of day, lighting, or even your recent listening history. That understands your system’s character—your speakers, your acoustics—and serves up music that brings it all to life. An AI that doesn’t just play what you’ve liked, but introduces what you might love.
Still, I understand the worry. When discovery becomes a process of automation, do we lose something essential? Music used to take effort. We searched it out, asked friends, wandered into record stores and took chances. That friction created deeper connections. We weren’t just listeners—we were explorers. With AI, there’s a real risk of letting go of that curiosity in exchange for convenience.
Can a machine know what moves us? Can it feel the breath catch in your throat when a melody hits just right?
Maybe not yet. But maybe one day, it can help get us there. That’s something worth noodling on.
Like computers before it, I believe AI won’t replace the human experience—but it might just expand it.
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