147: Ghostface Killah // Fishscale
Fishscale
Ghostface Killah
2006, Def Jam
A.I. & Hip-Hop (& Art &): A Lengthy Digression
Back in April of this year, a bunch of A.I.-abetted fake Drake tracks dropped, generating millions of streams and twice as many takes. I’ve had this little quote-tweet exchange open in a tab for months now, not because either take is the worst of its kind but because they’re a good representation of the two biggest camps.
One side, you’ve got tech-evangelists like this guy:
And on the other you’ve got humanists like this one:
The tech-evangelist take is self-evidently repellant in its vision of a fully memefied, de-personalized future for artistic expression,* but our humanist friend @images_ai chooses to focus on the least viable argument against it. They argue that, for a discerning listener, A.I.-generated music is now and always will be instantly identifiable as such. That’s a total cope, absolute sucker shit. When you take into consideration where A.I.-generated content was only a few years ago, the fact that it can now produce something that sounds convincingly enough like a leak of a Drake-on-cruise-control demo that we’re having this conversation at all, means that we will have soon reached an inflection point. When it comes to the most commercially popular forms of music, it will one day no longer be possible to be certain whether a given new release is of human or mechanical origin.
Let’s go with that as claim number one.
There may be some musicological reasons Drake and his fellow streaming royalty are more vulnerable to replication by today’s A.I. than like, Os Mutantes would be, (e.g. reliance on digital instrumentation; formulaic structures) but the main reason A.I. creators came for them first is because they are popular. In a parallel universe where Robert Pollard was the biggest pop star in the world, then Tik Tok would be awash in shitty Alien Lanes knockoffs right now because the machines would’ve been trained on the several thousand hours of Guided By Voices music that is readily available. Maybe that’s an axiom with renewed force in the current environment: If there is sufficient demand to rip off an artist, someone will figure out how.
That’s claim two.
I happen to like Drake and, when he’s in the mood to be, he’s an original and idiosyncratic artist. There isn’t yet an A.I. tool that can spit out something as good as “Nice for What” or “Tuscan Leather” on-demand. It’s entirely possible that A.I. may not be capable of doing so without significant handholding from a human collaborator. But the potential of these tools may make it so that it becomes more profitable for an aspiring producer (or A&R man) to slap a fake Drake over a promising new beat than to find a new voice to spit on it. (Grimes’s notion of licensing out her voice as a sample pack is cunning, but she ceased to be a significant enough pop music figure to truly capitalize on it as a revenue stream around the time Azealia Banks said she smelled “like a roll of nickels.”) And that sounds a lot like death to the organic development of significant new popular artists, at least as we’ve heretofore understood it.
Summing up claim three, we can say: The recording industry will take the path of least resistance to making more money, and artificially reusing the voices and likenesses of existing stars is more cost-effective than developing new ones.
@images_ai’s argument that the A.I. Drake tracks are clearly fake and therefore that they do not augur a paradigm shift in art production is absolute troll-bait, because it makes the larger debate contingent on one question: can I fool you? @images_ai goes on in their tweet thread to argue that art is about communicating something of substance: but if that argument is hinged on an ability to discern the “substance” in a “real” Drake song then all you have to do to topple it is make a simulated Drake song that passes a blind listening test. This kind of thing is aesthetic philosophy 101 shit, old old old questions that now have a sufficiently actualized hypothetical, and I don’t have a bold satisfying solution to any of it.
As a self-styled facts-and-logic type, I’ve been unbearable to argue with about like spirituality or astrology or whatever, but I also know that over the course of one’s life there are only so many cultural and technological sea changes the average person can experience before the world becomes a fundamentally unrecognizable place to them. I think the coming shift in our notions of what constitutes art and artistic production will ultimately be a bridge I will be unable to cross—or, more accurately, that I will be unwilling to cross. The only way to go on with a personal system of aesthetics which has been undermined at its foundation, is to accept that part of the system which is irrational. At present, art produced by talented human minds remains self-evidently superior to what a machine can generate, but I will still hold that it is more worthwhile even when and if that gap closes.
Whatever comes along, I will continue to seek out human art according to the faculties at my disposal. It’s the stories of music, and musicians that activate me; the peculiarities of artists too weird or hopeless for anyone to want to simulate. And if from time to time I’m fooled by some supposedly lost Big Star demo cooked up in Ableton or whatever, so I’m fooled; I’ll keep to my ways. There is so much richness in what has already been, and in what artists using familiar methods of creation will make in the future. If I deny myself the unimagined pleasures of sublimely optimized future pop, alright. Less, but deeper; some lines are helpful to draw.
To Build a Better Ghostface
Anyway, the reason I wrote all that is because if there’s one rapper an A.I. would be pressed to rip-off, it’s Ghostface Killah. To do so, it would need to snort a lot of Fishscale bars. Here’s a small selection of what you’d need to feed the machine:
"I muffle motherfuckers up like Meineke
And write a thousand bar verse that all rhymes with 'E'"
"I took notice, SpongeBob in the Bentley Coupe
Bangin' the Isleys, he slow backed up
Then he passed me swoop, seen his chick eyein’ me hard
He got vexed and smacked his boo"
"And this one bitch called me Fat Albert
The way my pockets had the mumps, you know that Ghost is 'bout it
Then I asked these young ladies do they buff helmets
They said "fuck you", took a sniff and then they didn't tell me"
"Made my usual gun check, safety off, come on Frank
The moment is here, take your fuckin' hood off
And tell the driver to stay put
Fuck them niggas on the block they shook, most of them won't look
They frontin', they no crooks they fuck up they own jux"
"AHH! Didn't I tell you don't touch the sides? I'm goin bald on top!
You lucky you cool, I'mma let it ride
Slide, you played me so you can't get paid
How you gon' fuck up a Don and cold dog his fade?
I look like UTFO one of them dudes from back in the days"
"Had a 2 o'clock appointment with this girl name Dawn
She ain't the Avon lady but her beauty was strong"
"We hold the weight of four Synagogues
Jelly'd uptown in them beat down rented cars"
"But then came Darryl Mack lightin' all the reefer up
Baby caught a contact I'm trying to tie my sneaker up
I'm missing all the loops strings going in the wrong holes
It feels like I'm wobbling, look at all these afros
Soon as I thought I was good the joke's on me"
"Jaws is hanging, frauds is left in they drawers on the floor complaining
Bird ass nigga resemble Keenan Ivory Wayans"
"Whip smelling like fish from 125th
Throwin' ketchup on my fries, hitting baseball spliffs
Back seat with my leg all stiff
Push the fuckin' seat up, tartar sauce on my S Dot kicks"
"Got a safe that hold more notes than Cortex singers"
"The Bag Lady will murk you and let off in the next town!
She struck two times, get caught, good luck blood, it ain't no Heinz
Blow a hockey puck hole in the back of your spine
She put two cut up mirrors in the place of your eyes
So when the cops look they see theyselves, they all gonna die"
A Fishscale Review
“Shakey Dog” is the greatest rap song of all time, and the standard I will follow into our war against Lil SkyNet and whatnot.
147/365
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* A further digression: The glee on the tech-evangelist side of the aisle is fueled by the prospect that, 1. A lack of ability will seemingly no longer be a barrier to making “professional” quality art, and 2. Producing art will no longer require dealing with artists. I envision these people as an army of small business owners absolutely over the moon about the prospect of putting all the smug freelance graphic designers and copywriters they’ve had to deal with on the dole, the “creatives” who had to condescendingly explain why the marketing concept they had in mind was impracticable, offensive, illegal, or all three. Just as selling handwoven baskets is now a bespoke industry, now creative work can be automated with variable degrees of competence, and those who insist on the “real thing” will largely be those who have enough money to be particular or to stand on the principle.
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