Forty-five years ago, I dreamed of a machine. Not a computer. Not a device. A passage. Something that could do what I couldn\u2019t \u2014 take what I heard inside and let it sound outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It never quite worked. There was always something in between: technology, time, money, people. Friction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I worked with an imaginary band, not by choice but by necessity. Because there were only notes. Music had to be passed on in symbols \u2014 written, read, played. Black on white. A code. What you heard inside had to fit what could be written, and what could be written was never quite what you heard. Music could only live in real time. A performance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then there was the studio. Tape, reels, splicing, noise. Real musicians, real rooms, real time. Everything had to happen at once, or not at all. It was alive \u2014 but expensive, slow, out of reach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then: Digital. MIDI. DAWs. Samples. Autotune. Beat Detective. Human feel. Band-in-a-Box! Each step promised something: more control, more precision, more possibility. And each step added something else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Between the idea and the sound. Between intention and result. I learned to program feel, to quantize looseness, to simulate breath. Sometimes it worked. Often it didn\u2019t. It was always close. But never quite there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I don\u2019t want my music to fit the tools I have. I want to hear it as I mean it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Until my Poormansband started to play.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now I hear my songs as I mean them. Not perfect, but alive. As if they\u2019ve been there for years. As if I\u2019m not making them, but finding them. A voice that leans into the line. Chords that carry. A melody that unfolds. All at once. Interpretation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a girl who listened to a song of mine. She listened to the end \u2014 not a word, not a blink. Just listened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the end she said: \u201cThat\u2019s really good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she asked: \u201cHow did you do that?\u201d Not: \u201cIs it real?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I said: my song, produced with algorithms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Of course, then the discussion started. But the first reaction \u2014 that was gold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It\u2019s about tasting, not about the cooking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They say: why don\u2019t you just play it yourself? You\u2019re a pianist. You can sing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yes. I can play the piano, but I\u2019m not a pianist. I can sing, but I\u2019m not a singer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And that\u2019s the point. I don\u2019t want to hear me. I want to hear the song \u2014 carried by someone else, given a voice I don\u2019t have. Something beyond me. What I hear is bigger than my hands, bigger than my voice. This doesn\u2019t replace me. It lets the song become itself. I want the song to live beyond me. I need distance. Only then can I hear what it is. Only then can I know if it holds \u2014 or not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They say: it\u2019s not real. Just words. Notes. Statistics. A program putting things together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But what I hear breathes. What I hear moves me. For the first time, I hear what I mean.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I spoke to a sound designer. He doesn\u2019t use AI.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not real,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought of his work \u2014 perfect, tight, controlled, and often lifeless. No breath. No friction. None of that small thing that makes it live.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
To him, AI wasn\u2019t real. To me, it was the first time it wasn\u2019t dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
AI doesn\u2019t understand me, but it follows me \u2014 fast, without ego, without resistance. What used to take weeks now takes hours. What used to cost money now costs time. What used to be out of reach now sounds like it\u2019s always been there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A Poormansband, with a rich sound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes I want resistance. Surprise. Something that pushes back. There\u2019s a knob for that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weirdness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d call it inspiration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Where resistance used to be an obstacle, it\u2019s now a choice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They say: AI makes mistakes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
AI?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It\u2019s just like a human.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I don\u2019t use it to outsource my work. I use it to get closer to myself. Less friction. More flow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A Dreammachine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe it\u2019s not a machine that simulates dreams. Maybe it\u2019s an instrument that finally lets them be heard. I want the song to live beyond me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And I hope that one day someone says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s really good.
I want to sing it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Contact:<\/p>\n\n\n\n