There has been considerable discussion regarding the influence of generative artificial intelligence (AI) on education. Some express concern that we may be raising a generation unable to accomplish tasks independently. Meanwhile, AI enthusiasts argue that advancements in technology will alleviate mundane tasks, allowing humans to focus on what truly matters. In contrast, skeptics question whether the elimination of foundational experiences in learning might hinder the development of deeper skills and expertise. A quick glance at local open mic nights reveals the real benefits of creative pursuits, shedding light on this debate.
One, two… one, two
I reside in a quaint town in Gloucestershire, where I can think of at least six regular open mic nights within a short distance from my home. Over the past couple of years, there has been a surge of opportunities for musicians and performers to present their work to an audience—though admittedly, not every audience is enthusiastic. Sometimes, you even get a complimentary drink.
From beginners strumming their first Green Day song to semi-professional musicians testing out new and challenging material, the only requirement to perform is the courage to entertain a pub filled with strangers using little more than your talent, stage presence, and a microphone (often with help from the house band).
But why would anyone willingly subject themselves to this on a dreary Wednesday night? Options such as fame, admiration, or monetary rewards are noticeably absent. In my conversations with performers (including myself), three primary motivations stand out:
- To engage in something they love: sharing and creating music.
- To challenge themselves: to practice and gain confidence in their skills.
- To network: to connect with like-minded individuals who share similar interests and aspirations.
These motivations go beyond merely dusting off an old guitar; they apply to any endeavor that requires time, effort, and personal vulnerability.
How Suno is now
If you haven’t experimented with the many AI-driven song generators available, you’re in for a treat—they’re incredibly enjoyable. A few simple prompts can yield professional-sounding music with a polished, radio-friendly quality. Tools like Suno serve as a bridge to discovering your musical preferences.
However, I believe that much of the music produced by these tools remains private, rarely shared or replayed. They offer a playful environment to explore ideas but do not replace or challenge traditional musicianship.
While many users enjoy these generative AI tools, they lack the personal challenges and networking opportunities inherent in traditional music-making. They present a product that feels complete (or is a step toward completion) but may not motivate users to invest in the learning process itself. The desire to create stems from intrinsic motivation, rather than extrinsic measures of success.
While tools like Suno inspire musical creativity, they do not genuinely foster the development of musicianship. Although these AI platforms can differentiate musical styles, they don’t readily assist with more complex elements like chord progressions, rhythmic accents, or scale choices. Ultimately, you don’t need such knowledge to utilize the tool (though a subscription certainly helps).
Do you even lift?
Law professors often take pride in noting that most of their students won’t become practicing attorneys—law is not strictly a vocational degree. Nevertheless, nearly all law students are genuinely interested in law and justice. Regardless of their ultimate goals, their studies involve “practicing” law in various capacities. Students across disciplines engage in specific actions repeatedly, developing mastery whether it’s performing medical procedures, analyzing chemical reactions, constructing persuasive arguments, or mastering complex jazz solos.
People sign up for these courses only if they enjoy (or believe they will enjoy) the subject. Otherwise, they risk spending three years pursuing something unfulfilling, only to enter a career that also fails to bring them joy. Who would want that, even if they cling to employment statistics and data during sleepless nights?
Concerns about students using AI tools to write essays often center around the idea of “cheating.” Yet, even if a student were to navigate their entire degree dishonestly, they would ultimately face a career of doing what they didn’t enjoy during their studies. This path often leads to heightened feelings of imposter syndrome for these individuals.
I have yet to witness anyone perform a song created with AI at an open mic night. Part of this is cultural—typically, backing tracks are frowned upon, where solo performances stand out. More importantly, the effort required to prepare for a performance resonates most effectively with those who truly value the craft of performance.
A busy night, so only one song
I have been pondering why there are so many open mic nights in my town, and why they draw such large crowds. In our justified concerns regarding AI’s influence on students, we may overlook the true issue: the ability to perform consistently, regardless of circumstances. Yet, there’s a flip side to this abundance; the opportunities for paid gigs for musicians have diminished significantly, leaving open mics as the primary chance for public performances.
If you commit to pursuing a specific practice or field of knowledge, it indicates a willingness to invest your time and energy. As you develop proficiency, the desire to showcase your abilities typically grows stronger. You’ll naturally seek out connections with peers on a similar journey, whether for inspiration, support, or a hint of friendly competition (if you haven’t mastered those tricky parts, someone will be eager to share tips).
This dedication leads to the formation of a community of practice—a foundation for confidence and belonging. The cost of entering this community is the diligent practice necessary to fulfill your promises of competence. AI may serve as a helpful tool in understanding your artistic vision, but it won’t perform that first song alone in front of an audience. However, once you’ve experienced the thrill of performing, you’ll likely want to do it again—and improve each time.
Just don’t choose Wonderwall. Please.
