On Accusations of AI Slop, and How to Handle Trolls on Instagram

When I posted the teaser for “Chocobots,” I boosted it and crossed my fingers. Over 7,000 views later, the trolls showed up right on schedule. A few I fenced with. A few I teased. My wife showed me how to set up the block, and still they tried to climb the wall, coming as fresh avatars to slip past the filters. They needed to tell me it was “too easy” to use AI to make things, without the slightest idea about production, asset creation, persistent character generation, nuance, editing, and everything else that goes into it.

Poor gatekeepers. At first I trolled them back, thinking this might even turn the chaos into clickbait. After all, I paddled into this wave on purpose.

They can see the tsunami headed for their village and say, bravely, “Bring me my brown pants so I do not embarrass myself over what fear does to intestinal fortitude.” Every AI slop accusation is from a suboptimal artist printing bondage anime girls in his degenerate creeper notebook and thinking it is just as good as “Chocobots.” And it is not.

So, do you engage? Do you become the archtroll and have at these poor insecure weightless foolish mortals, as much fun as that is, watching them bring a knife to a hellbore fight?

No, you don’t. Never, never ever. You have a reputation to uphold on Instagram.

Just feed the good dog. Set up your filters to nuke the AI-Slop related trolls into little tiny bugs without legs or mouths, and keep right on doing what you’re doing.

I am releasing yet another glorious record, “TEETH,” on June 19 by the fabulous Fake Sugar Daddy. It has been ready for a month. All the songs draw from synthetic covers of tracks I wrote as far back as twenty-five years ago, along with poetry I have collected in dusty pixels and grimy spiral-bound notebooks. Ideas arrived like sprites in the night after a walk beneath the Ventura sunset—filled with strange digital magic that did not even exist a year ago. I am most anticipating your reaction to “The Year Before The Internet” and “Computer Related.”

The work speaks louder than any reply ever could.

Keep shipping, my dudes. Keep creating. Never regret this new medium, and never apologize to the outgoing gatekeepers. The real audience is watching, and they are not the ones crying in the comments.

AI and Horses

If you get a chance, check out my story “Scutum Crux” in High Concepts. It is a scary futuristic tale that proves my claim that AI and horses are basically the same.

https://www.markvolpe.com/high-concepts#scutum

Last night I was at a meeting pitching my Suno Wrestler services as your bona fide djinni-in-a-bottle music producer. I use AI to finalize original voices and create promotional videos on Instagram to spread the word. I showed them my Insta page, which is steadily gaining traction after just three days. That pleases me to no end, because anonymity is the death of the soul.

I told them this is how we do it. You show up with an idea, or even half an idea. We develop it together: the lyrics, the prompt engineering. We render until it matches exactly what you feel in your heart. I export the .wav, master it, get it out on DistroKid to the stores, set up the hyperfollows for promotion, and then we make the viral videos. The pipeline is Suno, maybe Logic Pro, DistroKid, Grok or CapCut, and Instagram.

Like, share, and subscribe!

https://www.instagram.com/suno_wrestler/

I made a strong presentation. Lots of reality that looks like magic. I charge for this.

Then I saw it in their faces and posture: shoegazing resistance. Someone said they have been reading a lot about AI and are not sure what to make of it. Others thought it was a bad thing. No clear reason, just fear. They talked about sticking with non-AI bands instead. I challenged them naturally. AI is not going anywhere. The kids are growing up with it. If you want to shape it right, keep it ethical and clean, you need to do it now while it is still young, and do it with a friendly human like me who is not afraid.

They did ask me for my budget and said they would run it past their people to see if there is interest. Not bad for a tough room.

You see, an AI is a horse. It is a magnificent, strong companion that does not replace walking so much as multiplies your ability to work. It requires care, instinct, dressage, and an unspoken promise to keep it on the proper course. Horses will let you run them off a cliff once they trust you. You need to understand the responsibility of what is beneath you.

That is why I do this work. I know how to ride.

If you have real songs in you and want to bring them to life with power and speed, reach out. Let’s ride to the far field.

AI and Fake Tits

Artificial Intelligence represents a profound technological advancement that processes data, learns patterns, and creates novel outputs through computation. Fake breasts, by contrast, involve physical cosmetic procedures using medical implants to alter the human body to excite the male gaze. That is, until they are squeezed — at which point most men recoil, feeling somehow scammed, because fake tits are fundamentally different in feel and shape from real ones.

The argument can be made, but it would be gratuitous. You love AI singers, say, until you discover they are AI. Then you feel cheap, like you were tricked into appreciating something from the uncanny valley of plastic cleavage. Suddenly you long for the warm, motherly comfort of flawed humanity, dust off your sandwich board, and take to the streets to protest your robot overlords. Yet you still conflate AI and fake tits. You’re in the country but you don’t speak the language.

Even as one expands human capability in the digital realm through innovation and efficiency, the other contributes to the ongoing decline in personal appearance and cultural standards through surgery. Conflating the two is your choice — own the prejudice. Meanwhile, I will keep banging out album after album. I write the songs, Suno delivers a perfect studio session with my own words, my own heart, my own passion, my own instinct, and I knock it out toute de suite. Whereas I used to wish for bubbles of fame or djinn in magic lamps to take these songs from my anonymous four corners and give them unto the Earth. Yes. Yes, one of us. The real-world benefits of AI in music production far outweigh the pearl-clutching.

Stare down the dress. Have your fantasy. I will be doing other things with silicon-based life.

On Getting Paid Using The Black Magic of AI Music

I just wrapped another paid gig this weekend for a VR game, creating AI-generated music for six levels. My clients asked for music that fit each level—a different genre per level—that played in the background during gameplay.

I am ex-Activision. This is fun for me. The game creator was dancing around in my living room with his Meta helmet on, playing the levels with the volume down while I prompted the music. We went from thinking up stupid clown music to psychedelic vibrato guitar to Combustible Edison’s “Cadillac,” then realized it was a bachelor pad atmosphere on a patio—but for cats and dogs. When we nailed it, we nailed it.

In one day of prompting, and without a lot of waiting around, I wrote truly awesome music for a tricky level that needed just the right touch. All things considered, they were out the door inside forty-eight hours. And then I Zelled them. I freakin’ Zelled them, baby.

I can write a prompt, replace a lyric, sherpa a client through mazes of modern legality, master a track, make a record cover, and get onto twenty-three stores on DistroKid faster than most producers around here can push you into a recording booth for the umpteenth and largely unnecessary take.

Is it legal? Yes.

Genres, chord progressions, rhythms, tempos, instrumentation, and the overall feel of a style cannot be copyrighted. No one owns “blues,” an “EDM drop,” or basic ideas like that.

Key Cases:

• Skidmore v. Led Zeppelin (Ninth Circuit, 2020): Basic musical elements get very limited protection. The estate of Randy Wolfe (Spirit) had claimed that the opening of "Stairway to Heaven" infringed the 1967 instrumental "Taurus." Led Zeppelin won.

• Structured Asset Sales v. Sheeran (Second Circuit, 2023–2025): Common chord progressions are not protectable. Sheeran won clean.

With Suno Premier you own the songs generated during your active subscription and you get a full commercial use license that lets you monetize them however you want. This means you can sell the tracks outright to clients just like my VR game gig. License them! License the f out of them all! License them for video games, videos, ads, podcasts, or sync placements, upload and distribute them through DistroKid, Spotify, Apple Music, YouTube Music, Bandcamp and the rest. Use them in your own projects, in other people’s projects. Sell downloads or physical copies, and earn money from streaming royalties, YouTube monetization, or any other client work.

The legal test is “substantial similarity.” Drawing inspiration from artists and genres is normal—humans ape each other, borrow tricks. We start with covers.

Distinguo:

“Suno, make me music that sounds exactly like Bad Bunny” = lawsuit.

“High-energy reggaeton track with deep Latin trap beats, bouncy dembow rhythm at 160 BPM, heavy 808 bass, catchy Spanish-language hooks, smooth auto-tuned vocals, urban party atmosphere with perreo vibes, tropical percussion, and a fun, confident swagger feel like summer nightlife in Puerto Rico.” = you’re good.

Just document everything. Keep your prompts, lyric drafts, version history, and any DAW edits. That proves human authorship if anyone ever pushes back.

And whenever you write a contract using AI-generated material, add this codicil:

Section [X]: AI-Generated Music Disclosure and Intellectual Property

Client acknowledges and agrees that certain portions of the music provided under this Agreement, including but not limited to compositions, instrumentals, arrangements, or sound elements (collectively, the “Music”), may be generated in whole or in part using artificial intelligence tools and systems (“AI-Generated Music”).

Provider represents that it has selected and used reputable AI tools in accordance with their applicable terms of service and has applied human creative input, curation, editing, and arrangement where appropriate. However, Provider makes no warranty, express or implied, that the AI-Generated Music is free from any potential claims of copyright infringement, as AI systems are trained on large datasets that may include copyrighted material, and the legal landscape regarding AI outputs remains evolving. Client accepts the Music on an “as is” basis with respect to any AI-generated elements.

Client agrees to assume all risks associated with the use, distribution, licensing, or public performance of the AI-Generated Music, including any third-party claims of copyright or intellectual property infringement. To the fullest extent permitted by law, Client hereby releases, waives, and discharges Provider, its officers, employees, agents, and affiliates from any and all claims, demands, liabilities, damages, losses, costs, or expenses (including reasonable attorney’s fees) arising out of or related to any alleged copyright infringement or other intellectual property claims concerning the AI-Generated Music.

Provider shall not be liable to Client or any third party for any such claims, and Client agrees to indemnify, defend, and hold harmless Provider from any losses arising from Client’s use or exploitation of the Music if such use contributes to or triggers a claim. This provision survives termination or expiration of the Agreement.

There you go. Now go make some money

Double-Minded Double Dragon

Being a demi-madman, I suffer persecution fantasies which are not real when the veil is pulled. I just miss people, and the longer between check-ins, the more they plot against me, so the logic goes. Persecution logic is flawed.

And elsewhere on the strip of my inner mind is something like a brick building from the warehouse fight in Double Dragon in which oily injustice is screeched from the speaker of a chicken-headed boom box man. He shows up on this corner to wreck my resolve with poisonous half-facts about what people say and what they really mean. I walk away from him but miss the Spike Lee Joint David Lynch of his spectacle. Life can be so boring.

But some I leave behind. Some leave me behind. I know exactly why the former, and I cannot know exactly the latter. Trajectories in life. The quantum variations of choice. Conflicting strangeness. It is one of the most inane, thought-eating pieces of life best totally avoided, but it tasks me.

Maybe it cannot be concluded.

Orange Juice Concentrate

As I get older, I transform from a laser of concentrated strength to sunlight, vast and open, falling on a field. I move from songs that pierce to songs that nurture, or at least try to encourage. A strange time.

I miss being unyielding, moving away from my source without apology, but time dissipates me. Wisdom, it turns out, is no laser but warmth spread out. In my writing I feel the warrens of rabbits, the centipede under the rock, the need to shepherd everything that ever happened to me and to let the corners speak. Somehow, some way, the counterfactual arguments, the possibilities, the possible pool-ball collisions of my choices take on flesh and story beyond my control. Rather than govern, I watch, perhaps gently influence.

Perhaps by my birthday in August I will have my Big Broadway Record done, with songs like “The Joys of the Road” that address this change of being. It is a natural process to disperse, opening a meter per light year, until the photons are not crowded together in photonic ghettos but spread out among thousand-acre estates. Wisdom is watching whatever I once kept to myself propagate unmolested in the endless summertime farms—words and instinct, melody, threnody.

And somehow there are paragraphs between the above and here where I work in a metaphor about orange juice concentrate that amuses you and makes you think, Hey, if Volpe can do it…

Every blessing, Mark

AI Music, Robots, and Me

AI music is young. Swaddle it in its Borg crib, for Pete’s sake, if you want it to stop crying.

If I were a lesser sort, I’d say, “The battle lines are already drawn. You can see them on the hill.” But that is what an AI says when you tell it to describe something. The gatekeepers, in point of fact, are growling from dark cellar doors in meat kennels, and they are just as pretentious as they were when they worked for BMI.

The meat-bag purity police are out in full force. Pathetically, in full force.

Me? I just want to play, sing, produce, and program.

Yes, the scanners look for AI artifacts if you’re trying to hide it. Have at it. I’m not hiding anything. I like the robots, and they like me.

I use Suno—especially the synthetic cover option—to push the tracks as close to the feeling in my heart of hearts as the tech currently allows. I’m completely at peace with 2026. I won’t apologize for making absolute best use of a remarkable, threshold-changing twenty-first century technology, and I won’t take responsibility for anyone else’s hurt feelings on the subject.

Seriously now, where were you when I was playing guitar in Washington Square Park with my back to the Arch, making just enough for a slice of pizza and a fresh razor blade? Perhaps you gave me a dollar, or let your baby drop it in the case. Where were you when I was sneaking into the Sheraton at 2 a.m. to play the grand piano until my soul felt right again, while drunks from the bar wandered over asking for “Don’t Stop Believin’”? Nothing quite like a singalong with a random guy, huh. Where were you when I was writing and performing original musicals all over Los Angeles, hoping some modern-day Waiting for Guffman character would walk in and change everything? Did you like them? They were in French, Arabic, and English and unlike anything you have ever seen.

Were you even born yet? Okay, I can dial the arrogance down just a tad, but I am sure you see where this is going. I am transparent. Emotional. I partner with a powerful tool like Suno to take it to the top, arrange and direct everything as I would a session with humans, mix and master it as I did when I got my degree in Studio Music Recording at Syracuse, send it out through DistroKid with a wink of full disclosure as Grok recommended, and let the streams enter your soul and take you places. It’s truly magic.

I do not need to impersonate famous artists or trick people into streaming me impersonating them for any reason whatsoever, and I despise the villains that do, because they put a black eye on the gang, as Flavor Flav once said. I do not “tell the AI to do every single thing” and slap my name on it because I am proud and capable of idea creation like lightning on a meadow on a moonless night. That’s not even close to describing how I feel about letting the AI drive. That’s like someone who works for a corporation trying to be creative and diabolical simultaneously. Look at me! I can make music. Mewwww-sic!

It’s nuanced. Yes, I can sound precisely like a girl boss. It’s nuanced and it takes superheroic integrity to use this powerful tool responsibly. It takes having bonafide real talent in great reservoirs that aged within for decades while watching friends marry and raise families after decades of grinding—without waiting for gatekeepers.

Gatekeepers, by the way, who never show up except to say, “I don’t hear a single.” (That happened once. Maybe more than once.)

I’ve been making music since I was fourteen. Choirs, church, and school. My high school buddy and I pretended we were British while banging on pots and pans and playing single notes on a tiny Casio. We wanted to be on MTV.

I was in bands that sounded damn good at seventeen, writing songs way beyond my wisdom level. I broke into the practice pianos at Syracuse’s Crouse Music School until they started putting padlocks on the door. I once got a trespassing ticket at Yale with my friend (his dad got it thrown out) banging on their pianos, and some of that banging on the piano material recently got out to you because of an AI. There are the legendary true stories about how my college band had people lined up around the block to get into a house party. We opened for the Goo Goo Dolls, and there were others, 80s others, 90s others, during the Upper New York State bar tour days, kind of strange to flex that in retrospect. I prefer my twenties out in LA, sneaking into the basement at 11041 San Vicente at 3:30 a.m. with my programmer friend, and while the renders were cooking we’d do “guerrilla rock” in the parking garage until the cops rolled up. I prefer knowing than not knowing at all, which I wrote and performed at the world-famous Whisky A Go Go with my wife in her hot-as-hell skirt and top bought at Melrose Place, and those boots that got me to marry her. I had a band with my wife.

So, yeah, what was I saying? I’ve done bands, and more bands, and lonely wandering singer-songwriter stuff, lost poet stuff, joint ventures, ghostwriting, paid songwriting, late-night piano sessions, dues-paying. And now that I can release an entire catalog on my own terms, all I can say is God bless the robots.