Suno AI, music, and the question nobody is asking properly

Fair enough.

But the more I sat with it, the more I felt like most people are arguing at the wrong level.

The real question, to me, is not whether AI can make music.

The real question is: why are you making music in the first place?

That is the seed.

And I think if that seed is sown properly, a lot of the confusion around all this disappears on its own.

There are two very different things I do when it comes to music

As far as my own functioning goes, when it comes to making music, there are basically two paths.

The first one is simple.

Somebody comes to me and says: this is the situation, this is the film, this is the product, this is the scene, this is the piece of content — and we need your expertise on music to help serve that.

And somebody is paying me to do that.

That matters.

Because the driving factor there is clear: this is service. This is work. This is business.

Call it freelance, call it commissioned work, call it whatever you want. At the end of the day, it is still a transaction. Someone has a need. I bring skill. There is a brief, a timeline, a deliverable, a revision cycle, an approval chain, and money on the table.

That is one path.

Then there is the other path.

The path where I am doing music for music itself. For myself. For life. For the world. No client. No brief. No product. No approval chain. No external ask.

I’m the first listener. I’m making it for myself. And if anybody else likes it, they can sit on the bandwagon behind me while I still hold the steering wheel.

That distinction is very important to me.

Because once that distinction becomes clear, a lot of drama around AI starts looking smaller than it is.

In business, emotion does not get the final vote

Let’s take the first path.

The business path.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: whether or not we like something doesn’t amount to much in business.

Liking and not liking is emotional. And emotion may exist in business, yes, but it does not get the final vote.

Results do.

So when it comes to commercial work, I genuinely do not look at Suno as some sacred enemy. I also don’t look at it as some god-level revolution that has now made everybody obsolete overnight.

I look at it as a tool.

That’s it.

A tool.

Mentally, I place it in the same broad bucket as anything else that may help a workflow: a productivity tool, a plugin, a VST, a file management system, whatever. Not because they are technically identical, but because in that context they are all being judged by the same question:

Can this help the work do the job better?

Can it save time?

Can it save money?

Can it help me mock up faster?

Can it help me get approvals faster?

Can it help me serve the brief better?

Can it help the business run more efficiently?

If yes, then good. It is helping the business.

That does not have to become some identity crisis.

And I think this is where a lot of musicians are getting unnecessarily triggered. They are taking personally something that, in that lane, is not personal.

If a business tool helps a business function better, why exactly am I supposed to get existential about that?

This is not the lane where my ego needs to sit at the table and ask to be respected. This is the lane where I solve.

That is all.

The deeper issue is not separation. It is motive.

Now let’s come to the second path.

This is where I think the real conversation begins.

Because yes, it is important to separate commercial work and personal art.

And yes, it is important to protect the border between them.

But even deeper than that, I think the actual root is this:

Why are you doing what you are doing?

Why are you doing commercial music?

If not for the money, if not for the brief, if not for the service being provided, then what exactly are you doing it for?

And if you are making music for the soul, for yourself, for life — then apart from that, what else are you doing it for?

That “why” is the root.

That is the seed.

If that seed is clear, then the tree that grows from it will be healthy. You won’t struggle so much to separate Path A and Path B. You won’t struggle so much to protect the border between them. You won’t keep dragging one mindset into the wrong room.

And if you are finding it difficult to separate them — if you are finding yourself confused, unsettled, misaligned — then to me that says the problem is probably not on the surface.

It is in the root.

Your why needs refining.

You are trying to solve a symptom when the actual problem is deeper.

And roots are uncomfortable. They are not pretty. But if you want to get somewhere real, you have to go there.

In soul-work, the point is not the final product

This is where everything changes for me.

When I’m making music in that second lane — the personal lane, the soul lane, the music-for-music-itself lane — the point is not the final product.

That is the biggest distinction.

In the business lane, yes, the final product matters. It is the point.

But here? Not really.

Here, the point is the journey.

It starts with some random 3 a.m. thought. A chord progression. A phrase. A line someone said in passing. A quarrel with a friend. Some strange moment in a studio corridor, in a theatre, in a washroom, in some utterly unglamorous place where a thing suddenly sparks.

It starts there.

And then what follows — that entire process — is the real thing.

Every little conversation.

Every clash.

Every argument.

Every ego clash.

Every accidental moment.

Sitting in a room with artists.

Trying ideas.

Both of us losing our minds over one idea.

Getting goosebumps.

Me hurling cuss words at the lyricist.

The lyricist telling me, “bro, this melody really sucks.”

All that friction. All that energy. All that life.

That is the point.

The final track is almost just what remains after all that.

It is the fossil.

That is why I think a lot of the discourse around AI misses something crucial.

Because people keep talking as though the final output is the entire game.

And for some kinds of work, yes, maybe it is.

But not for all of it.

Not even close.

“Why spend eight hours finding a harmony?” Because the eight hours are the thing.

One question that always sits underneath all this is: why spend so much time doing something AI can now do in seconds?

Why spend eight hours finding a harmony?

Why call the guitarist?

Why go through the pain?

Why not just arrive faster?

And to me, that question itself reveals the deeper difference.

Because the question is not “why call the guitarist?”

I won’t even have that question if my interest is deeper.

Maybe the guitarist just got a new PRS and I want to hear what lives inside that instrument.

Maybe I found some new Neural DSP plugin and I want to call him and see what tones come out of that thing.

Maybe I just want to sit in a room and explore.

So the driving force itself is completely different.

I’m not calling the guitarist as a means to an end.

I’m calling the guitarist because that is the end.

That exploration is the point.

That curiosity is the point.

That rabbit hole is the point.

So when somebody says, “AI can do it in seconds,” my reaction is not anger. It is not panic. It is not some moral outrage.

It is basically: okay. Good for it. Carry on.

Because in that lane, I did not come here for speed.

I did not come here to arrive faster.

I came here for the journey itself.

If you shortcut the journey, you may still get a product. Sure.

But you may lose the very reason some of us came to music at all.

The unsettling part is not AI. It is misalignment.

Personally, the only time this whole thing feels unsettling to me is when the two paths get mixed up.

When I start bringing Path B into Path A in a way that makes no sense.

Or when I start bringing Path A into Path B.

When I start forcing sacred, deeply personal, process-heavy energy into commercial work where the actual need is clarity, utility, speed, and service.

Or worse — when I start bringing efficiency, delivery, approval-mindedness, and shortcut-thinking into something deeply personal.

That mismatch is what feels off to me.

That misalignment is what feels unsettling.

Not AI by itself.

Misalignment.

That is the real discomfort.

This is not an “AI bad” post

So no, I’m not interested in making this some dramatic “AI is killing music” rant.

And I’m also not interested in becoming one of those people who says “embrace the future” like a tech salesman who has never sat in a room and made anything with blood in it.

That’s not my point either.

My point is much simpler.

Be honest.

What are you here for?

If you are here for output, speed, utility, delivery, business — then use the tool where it helps. Shamelessly. Cleanly. Without fake moral panic.

If you are here because making music is one of the deepest ways you experience being alive, then no — this tool is not replacing that. Because it is not even participating in the same thing.

That is why I think most of the confusion people are having is not really about AI.

It is about motive.

They are not confused about the tool.

They are confused about their own why.

And when your why is muddy, every new tool will either threaten you or tempt you.

But when your why is clear, things become very simple.

You know what is business.

You know what is sacred.

You know what can be optimized.

And you know what should never be.

The real question

So no, the real question is not whether AI can make music.

The real question is:

What did you come to music for?

Because once you answer that honestly, most of the noise dies by itself.