The poet is still the one holding the pen

AI is everywhere. In headlines. In studios. In whispers of panic from creatives afraid of being replaced. Is it a tool? A threat? Is it writing your next hit — or writing you out of the industry?

Right now, we’re in limbo. The laws haven’t caught up, and most people don’t know where the lines are drawn. But the question isn't just legal — it’s artistic. Who’s really creating the song? Who’s in control?

People are afraid of new things — and I get it.

It’s natural. It’s in our DNA to meet change with suspicion. But what if we approached it differently? What if, instead of fearing the unknown, we learned how it worked — learned to use it? Not to replace what we do, but to help where we fall short. To support the parts of the process we can’t do alone.

Let’s say a songwriter has a lyric. A melody. A vision. But they’re not a producer. They don’t know how to build a full track on their own.

In that case, using an AI tool like Suno could be a way to bring that vision to life. To hear how their idea might sound fully produced. To shape dynamics, test arrangement, and prepare something pitch-ready. It’s not about asking AI to write for you — it’s about using a tool to enhance your own creativity.

But that AI-generated version? It can’t be released. Not on streaming platforms. Not commercially. It’s a demo, not a master. To release it properly, you’d still need to reproduce everything from scratch — with a human producer, with real vocals, with real intention. Use AI as only a tool for ideas, not to create full songs.

AI systems like Suno are trained on copyrighted content and can memorize and reproduce recognizable melodic patterns—even if you change instruments or vocal style. Courts have found AI-generated music can too closely mimic copyrighted works, risking infringement. Major labels—including Universal, Warner, and Sony—are suing Suno and Udio AI for training on copyrighted recordings and producing near-clones of existing songs.

Only a human can hold copyright. Only a human can own a song. A prompt can’t feel heartbreak. A loop doesn’t carry grief. A button can’t write your truth.

And AI? It won’t make you better. If your lyrics are shallow, they’ll still be shallow. If your melodies don’t move people, AI won’t fix that. It’s not an A&R. It’s not a muse. It’s not magic. It’s a mirror — it reflects what you give it. It might sound like a hit — but if there’s no story, no feeling, it still won’t matter.

Because a hit is more than production. It’s a story. It’s a feeling. It’s timing. It’s the artist behind it.

The right way to use AI in music isn’t to replace the human voice. It’s to support it. Clarify it. Shape what’s already there. To take the spark — and help it become a flame.

And at the end of the day, if you’re the one who wrote the lyrics, if you’re the one who shaped the melody, if the idea is yours from the start — then it’s still your song.

Because the poet is still the one holding the pen.