I’m sitting on a plane from Budapest to Zürich. From there I’ll fly to Los Angeles. We’re a few seconds before takeoff.
Every time I travel to the U.S., I start to reassess my life.
I woke up at 4 a.m. and left for the airport in Budapest at 4:30.
The drive took me three hours.
We’re gaining speed now. Already in the air.
I don’t really like this feeling.
Noise-cancelling headphones make life in the airplane a bit more bearable.
Just a bit...
I’m thinking about artificial intelligence.
These last few weeks I’ve been wondering if it can steal my job.
Though I wouldn’t call what I do a “day job” or a “trade.”
Some professions can be retrained into something else.
A factory worker can become a bricklayer or a truck driver.
Today you can retrain for almost anything —
from technician or plumber to someone who, after a few months of a course, calls himself a specialist in programming or AI.
The plane makes a sudden turn.
I’m thinking about how I could retrain myself.
It’s practically impossible to switch into what I do from any other job.
A builder, doctor, nurse, pilot, or scientist — none of them can compose music.
Maybe with AI they can generate something generic, yes,
but creating something serious and continuous? Probably not.
At least that’s what I think.
Still, I keep wondering what the future will bring.
Maybe less work on films.
Right now, I could easily handle five times more than I actually get.
Will AI compose film scores? Probably yes. Definitely yes.
But I don’t think I’d work with that kind of director.
We simply wouldn’t meet.
It would likely be a project where authenticity in music doesn’t matter.
Maybe only as an experiment.
When it comes to my own projects, I’m more skeptical.
There’s so much music on streaming platforms that it feels like there’s one listener for every artist.
And there’s way too much AI music.
I think Spotify recently removed around eighty million AI-generated tracks from playlists.
Copyrights are being claimed by people who have no heartfelt relationship to music.
On the other hand, I’m intrigued by something Rick Cox once said.
I’m flying to meet him in Los Angeles.
He said,
“Now, a lot more people will be able to make uninteresting music.
That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
Rick is right.
I understand that there are people — and not a few —
who don’t think about music at all.
They use it as background noise.
Those people would never listen to what I make.
They would see it as the product of a confused person.
Music, they believe, should be short, simple, and pleasant.
It can be, but it doesn’t have to be… or does it?
What has always fascinated me about music is the story.
Whether it’s the story an album tells, a composition,
the story of its creator,
or the one that connects with the listener.
“Listen to this album — it’s wild.
The guy improvised for forty minutes on two strings.”“I found this album on a shelf at his place.
The cover caught my eye, I played it,
and I’d never heard anything like it before.
I don’t know if I love it or hate it.
I need to listen again and read about it.”
When I think about music like that, it gives me hope that it still has a future.
In a world ruled by algorithms, the story behind an artist — and the live performance itself — will become something rare.
In the future, that will be gold:
not creating with AI, but against it — alone, with yourself.
The question is, how many people will care?
That’s the real fear:
can you still make a living that way — by creating like this, by living like this?
Maybe I could retrain as a plumber or a nurse.
Maybe take care of the old and sick.
Most people would probably tell me to make something that pleases everyone.
There are plenty who try,
but only a tiny percentage become successful.
This naive idea of one single kind of music
that everyone loves and that makes everyone successful
is as unrealistic as a sign above a slot machine saying:
“If every machine paid out, the world would be paradise.”
Recently, I went out to buy new shoes.
In three stores I couldn’t find any that fit me.
I finally found them in the fourth one.
It made me realize how different people’s tastes are.
Everyone looks for something that reflects their own identity.
Some like colorful Jordans, bright and loud.
They try them on in front of a mirror,
ask their partner what they think.
You often hear,
“That’s not your style. They look weird.
If you buy them, I’m not going out with you.”
There are so many moments like that.
It’s the same with music.
“Buy these, everyone wears them.”
Maybe everyone does,
but when I put them on, I feel wrong.
Ashamed. It’s not me. They don’t fit.
That’s how it is with my music.
That’s how I’m built.
That’s how I express my musical thoughts.
My world. My identity. My truth.
I know it’s not easy.
But it hasn’t been easy for sixteen years,
ever since I became self-employed.
Maybe even my son David’s university degree won’t guarantee him work —
he’s studying management.
He’ll either have to be really good, or he’ll have to work manually.
It looks like manual professions will soon become expensive and in demand again.
People will always need plumbers, builders, electricians, nurses,
repairmen of every kind.
In the world of live work, I still see a place for music.
Somehow it belongs there too.
(We’re landing in Zürich.)
And if I exaggerate this whole image,
I see it behind glass — like a Dutch prostitute.
An artist on display.
Playing guitar behind a window,
a Vox AC30 humming behind him,
something like the soundtrack to Jarmusch’s Dead Man.
I can hear that British tube overdrive crunching.
A mother tells her son,
“See? He’s really playing. Look how his left hand moves. That’s a real person.”
The boy looks bored. They move on.
Of course, I’m exaggerating. Unless I’m not...
I’m thinking about what my profession really is.
A way of life? A style of life?
I don’t know. Maybe I don’t even want to know.
It’s a path.
I walk it not knowing where it leads.
I walk and walk, mostly alone.
The longer I walk, the better I understand myself.
I walk, I walk, I see where it’s going.
When I get there, I realize I’m lost again.
So I keep walking. I don’t look back.
I go on. Day and night.
Night after night. Somewhere.
I think it’s important to love what you do —
or better said, to have work you truly love and that fulfills you.
Over time, you get better at it.
You learn to improvise, to adapt, to weave your way through just to survive.
And I believe that AI — or rather, generic AI —
is something we need to start using as soon as possible
if we want to stay competitive in what we do.
I’m looking forward to seeing Rick.
We’ll play, record,
meet Thomas Newman,
and I’ll finally get to know Rick’s friend, Skype.
Life is great.
Sometimes it reminds you it exists —
and makes you stop and think.
David
“the boy looks bored, they move on…” PERFECT!
It’s a path.