String Theories: Human Heart, Algorythmic Mind

I say "shut up" to naysayers who say AI takes the soul out of art, out of creativity. That's total bullshit. The ability to iterate quickly enhances creativity — and actually produce inspirational art that touches the soul. AI can give you nonsense or it can help you articulate yourself in ways otherwise impossible.

My main evidence is in my new collection of music, String Theories. The collection started some random Tuesday afternoon I wrote a quick poem, found a new tool, and found a completely new path for creativity. When I listened to one of my poems reinterpreted, set to music, in another's voice, I could feel myself shift, understanding the work in a way I could have never achieved without these tools. I'm not being dramatic here.

This collection didn’t just get produced from a prompt and handed to me. Over the years I've amassed a giant collection of audio samples, clips, songs, strange variants and remixes, and songs that I've cobbled together since I started working with music and songwriting. These songs emerged through very careful, specific, guided iteration. And lots of iteration. For every song that made it into the collection, there were often 10, 20, even 30+ different variants, each with its own energy and spark. Sometimes choosing between them was the hardest part. Suno.com played a huge role in this process. It wasn’t just about “making tracks” — it was about exploring possibilities.

The AI tool/service/software I've been leaning on most is Suno.com. It's brilliant and evolving really fast with new features being release very often. There were moments when Suno would generate a fragment — just a chord change, a vocal twist, or a beat — that lit up the whole creative process. Those sparks would evolve into entirely new songs or become the DNA for something unexpected. The beauty of it was how quickly you could follow a whim: What if this song had a jungle version? What if the breakdown hit harder, or the piano became crystalline instead of warm and fuzzy? Iteration that once meant hours of digging through samples or programming beats suddenly became a process of play and discovery.

This speed of experimentation opened doors. Variants that didn’t make the “final cut” often still felt too good to leave behind. They became B-sides, alternate takes, or even acoustic reinterpretations of electronic originals. In the past, those kinds of experiments would have required a studio, a band, or a budget. Now, they could be done at home, between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m., while my kids slept upstairs.

Of course, once the songs were ready, the question became: how do you release them? Is the “album” still relevant in a world of hyper-personalized playlists? For now, String Theories exists as a collection, but I plan to release singles and alternate versions as well — letting the music breathe in different forms.

Publishing is another part of the story, and was surprisingly easy and inexpensive. Thanks to DistroKid, a platform that distributes independent music to all the major streaming services, I was able to push String Theories out into the world. With just a few steps, the songs are now on Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon Prime Music, and more. A few hundred streams isn’t a commercial breakthrough, but for me, it’s proof that this whole experiment—making and sharing music on my own terms — is possible.

In the end, String Theories is about creative freedom. It’s about how iteration, play, and the right tools can take late-night ideas and turn them into something real, something shared. And whether it reaches a wide audience or stays a personal archive, it’s already been worth every minute.