Jaime David Music Posts

The Changing Landscape of AI Music: Let's Talk About It

2026-11-03T06:22:54.244-08:00

There's been a lot of discussion lately about artificial intelligence and its place in the music industry. And honestly, it seems like we're entering another major turning point in how music is created, distributed, labeled, and consumed.

AI music is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Streaming platforms are introducing new policies, music distributors are adjusting their requirements, and industry organizations are discussing how to distinguish human-created music from music generated with artificial intelligence.

Some platforms are introducing AI labels. Others are cracking down on spam and fraudulent uploads. There are also ongoing conversations about copyright, licensing, royalties, and whether artists should have control over how their work is used to train AI models.

And I think these are conversations worth having.

But there's something I'd like to address from a more personal perspective.

Some of my music uses AI. And I have absolutely no intention of hiding that.

Now, let's get something straight.

When I say some of my music is AI music, I don't mean that I simply type a couple of words into a computer and have it create everything for me.

That's not how I approach it.

I write my own lyrics. I come up with the concepts, the ideas, the themes, and the messages behind my songs. I put the words together myself. I decide what I want to communicate and what I want the finished product to sound like.

Then I use AI to help create the actual music.

In other words, the lyrics are mine, while the musical production is AI-generated.

Is that traditional music production? No. Is it entirely human-produced music? Also no. But does that mean there's no human creativity involved? Absolutely not.

I think that's an important distinction that sometimes gets lost in these discussions.

The music industry is changing

Let's look at some of the developments.

YouTube Music has started introducing labels to help listeners identify music that is fully or partly generated using AI. Spotify has been taking steps to address AI-generated spam and improve transparency. Tidal has introduced its own policies for identifying fully AI-generated recordings, including restrictions on monetization.

Meanwhile, the International Federation of the Phonographic Industry (IFPI) has introduced principles for determining whether recordings created using AI can qualify for official music charts.

These developments reflect a larger conversation about how AI should fit into the music industry.

And I understand why these conversations are happening.

There are legitimate concerns about people using AI to impersonate existing artists, reproduce someone's voice without permission, exploit copyrighted material, flood streaming platforms with thousands of low-effort tracks, or manipulate streaming numbers.

Those are issues worth addressing.

Artists deserve to have their work respected. They deserve transparency, appropriate compensation, and control over how their creative contributions are used.

I don't think supporting AI means we have to dismiss those concerns.

But I also don't think the solution should be to treat every person who uses AI to create music as though they're doing something wrong.

AI doesn't automatically mean there's no creativity

Here's where I think the conversation gets interesting.

Technology has always influenced how music is made.

We have synthesizers, digital audio workstations, drum machines, Auto-Tune, sampling, digital instruments, and countless other tools that have changed music production over the years.

People have disagreed about these developments, too.

Does that mean every new technology is automatically comparable to generative AI? No. There are important differences, particularly when it comes to training data, copyright, and the ability to replicate another person's voice or style.

But I think it's worth remembering that the tools used to create music have never been completely static.

AI is another technological development, albeit a particularly significant one.

And I think we should be willing to explore what it can do without automatically dismissing every creative application.

Consider someone who writes their own lyrics but doesn't play an instrument. Someone who has ideas for a song but doesn't have access to a recording studio, musicians, or the resources to produce a professional-sounding instrumental.

Does using AI to help bring that idea to life automatically make their creative contribution meaningless?

I don't think so.

That doesn't mean everyone has to like the finished product. It doesn't mean everyone has to consider it equivalent to a song written, performed, and recorded entirely by human musicians.

But I don't think we should pretend the human contribution doesn't exist.

Where I stand on all this

Personally, I'm supportive of AI as a creative tool.

I use it in my own creative endeavors, including music, and I don't see a reason to be ashamed of that.

At the same time, I'm not opposed to transparency.

If a platform wants to identify music that uses generative AI, I don't necessarily have a problem with that. In fact, I think listeners should have the ability to understand how the music they're listening to was created.

There's a difference between being transparent and discriminating against someone simply because they use a particular tool.

I'd also like to see clearer standards across streaming services and distributors. Creators should know what is expected of them, what needs to be disclosed, and what restrictions apply to their work.

And, importantly, AI companies should be held accountable when it comes to the rights of the artists and creators whose work may be used to develop their technology.

I'm not suggesting that AI should be a free-for-all.

I'm suggesting that we find a way to make room for technological innovation while respecting human creativity.

So, what about my music?

Well, I'll continue making it.

Some of my music uses AI-generated musical production, while the lyrics are written by me. I have other creative projects and musical ideas that I approach differently, too.

I'm not trying to pass off AI-generated instrumentals as though I personally performed every instrument. I'm not claiming to be something I'm not.

I'm Jaime David. I'm a songwriter, creator, and someone who enjoys experimenting with different ways of making music.

And if AI can help me turn some of my written ideas into actual songs, I'm going to explore that possibility.

You don't have to like AI music. You don't have to listen to it. You don't even have to agree with my approach.

But I do think we should be able to have a reasonable conversation about it.

The future of music is changing. AI is going to be part of that conversation whether we like it or not.

And rather than simply arguing about whether AI belongs in music, perhaps we should spend more time discussing how it can be used responsibly, how human creators can be protected, and how people who use these tools can be transparent about their work.

Because at the end of the day, I don't believe creativity should be defined exclusively by which tools someone uses.

Sometimes it's about the ideas you bring to the table and what you do with the tools available to you.

And that's something I intend to keep exploring.

Sources and further reading:

The Guitar Solo in Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” Sounds Like a Fucking Chainsaw

2026-10-24T04:45:42.947-07:00

Okay, so can we talk about the guitar solo in “Beat It” by Michael Jackson for a second?

Because HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

I swear to God, that guitar solo sounds like somebody took a fucking chainsaw, plugged it into an amplifier, and decided to go absolutely fucking feral with it. And I mean that in the BEST possible way.

The way that guitar just kicks in? The sheer aggression? The distortion? The speed? The way it practically sounds like it's tearing through the damn song? IT'S FUCKING INSANE.

And the thing that makes it even crazier is that this is a Michael Jackson song. You have this incredibly catchy pop-rock track, Michael delivering an iconic performance, and then suddenly the guitar comes in like it has a personal vendetta against every other instrument in the room.

And let's be real here: Eddie Van Halen absolutely went OFF on that solo.

That's the thing I love about it. The guitar isn't just there to add a little flavor to the song. It comes in and practically hijacks the entire fucking track for a moment. It demands your attention. You can't just casually ignore that shit!

And what's even more impressive is how it fits the song. It's aggressive, it's loud, it's wild, and it matches the rebellious energy of “Beat It” perfectly. It doesn't feel like some random guitar solo that was thrown into the song for the hell of it. It feels like the song was BUILT for that moment.

I don't care what genre of music you listen to. You could be into pop, rock, metal, hip-hop, jazz, country, or literally anything else. There is something genuinely incredible about hearing a musician pick up an instrument and absolutely DESTROY it like that.

And Eddie Van Halen did exactly that.

Now, I'm not saying that every guitar solo needs to sound like a chainsaw having an existential crisis. But goddamn, sometimes you need a guitar solo that makes you sit there and think, "WHAT THE FUCK AM I LISTENING TO?"

And the solo in “Beat It” absolutely delivers.

It's one of those moments that reminds me why I love music so much. Sometimes, you don't need to overanalyze anything. You don't need to dissect every note or explain every musical decision. Sometimes, you just need to listen to something and appreciate how fucking AWESOME it sounds.

And that guitar solo?

FUCKING. LEGENDARY.

Rest in peace, Eddie Van Halen. And thank you, Michael Jackson, for giving us one of the most iconic pop-rock songs ever recorded.

Seriously, go listen to “Beat It” again and pay attention to that guitar solo.

Tell me that shit doesn't sound like a chainsaw with a fucking PhD in shredding.

Because I don't know how else to describe it.

And I mean that as the highest compliment possible.

Music Is Bigger Than One Definition

2026-10-23T16:26:00.000-07:00

Is music lyrics?

Melody?

Rhythm?

Noise?

Silence?

Performance?

There isn't necessarily one answer.

People have been creating and experiencing music in countless ways across cultures and throughout history.

Maybe that's part of what makes music so fascinating.

Instrumental Music Can Tell A Story Too

2026-10-22T16:25:00.000-07:00

A song doesn't need lyrics to communicate something.

A melody can create emotion.

A rhythm can create tension.

A change in instrumentation can completely shift the atmosphere.

Sometimes music can tell you something without saying a single word.

AI Is Changing How Music Gets Made

2026-10-21T16:24:00.000-07:00

Technology has always changed music.

Recording equipment changed it.

Synthesizers changed it.

Digital audio changed it.

Now artificial intelligence is becoming another tool in the creative process.

The technology is new, but the relationship between music and technology is anything but new.

Why Do Live Performances Feel Different?

2026-10-20T16:24:00.000-07:00

You can listen to the same song hundreds of times.

Then hear it performed live and suddenly it feels completely different.

The crowd.

The room.

The imperfections.

The energy.

Live music is an experience, not just a recording.

A Great Beat Can Change Everything

2026-10-19T16:23:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the lyrics aren't even what grabs you first.

It's the beat.

The rhythm.

That first few seconds that makes you move your head without even realizing it.

A great beat can carry an entire song.

Genres Are Messier Than We Think

2026-10-18T16:23:00.000-07:00

Music genres aren't always neat little boxes.

Artists blend styles.

Songs borrow from different traditions.

New sounds emerge from old ones.

Sometimes trying to categorize a song is harder than simply listening to it.

What Makes A Song Feel Nostalgic?

2026-10-17T16:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a song can transport you somewhere instantly.

A particular year.

A childhood memory.

A person you haven't thought about in years.

Music has a strange ability to connect itself to moments in our lives.

And sometimes one song is all it takes to bring one back.

You Don't Have To Know Music Theory To Love Music

2026-10-16T16:22:00.000-07:00

You don't need to know what a chord progression is.

You don't need to read sheet music.

You don't need to understand every technical detail.

You can simply hear something and think:

"Wow. I like this."

That's enough.

Music Can Change The Mood Of A Scene

2026-10-15T16:21:00.000-07:00

Imagine a horror movie without its music.

Or an emotional scene without the soundtrack.

Music can completely change how we experience what we're watching.

Sometimes the same scene can feel funny, terrifying, hopeful, or heartbreaking depending on what's playing underneath it.

A Song Can Mean Something Completely Different To Someone Else

2026-10-14T16:21:00.000-07:00

You can write a song about one specific experience and someone else can hear an entirely different story in it.

That's one of the beautiful things about music.

Once a song reaches someone else, their own experiences become part of how they hear it.

Why Do Certain Songs Get Stuck In Our Heads?

2026-10-13T16:20:00.000-07:00

You hear a song once.

Then suddenly it's playing in your head all day.

Catchy melodies, repetition, rhythm, and other musical patterns can all contribute to songs becoming stuck in our minds.

Sometimes your brain just refuses to change the station.

Music Doesn't Have To Be Perfect

2026-10-12T16:20:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a song's imperfections are what make it feel human.

A cracked note.

A strange vocal take.

A little background noise.

Music doesn't always need to be flawless to connect with someone.

Eminem, What the Fuck Are You Doing?

2026-10-03T08:02:37.458-07:00

Okay, Eminem. What the fuck are we doing here?

So apparently Eminem is going to be featured on Kid Rock’s upcoming Christian album, Halfway 2 Jesus. The song is called “7 Sins,” and yes, this is actually happening. This isn't some fake track listing or AI-generated bullshit. Eminem's camp has confirmed that the collaboration is real.

And look, Eminem and Kid Rock have a history. Eminem appeared on Kid Rock's “Fuck Off” way back in 1998, and Kid Rock later appeared in the music video for Eminem's “Berzerk.” So this isn't exactly two complete strangers suddenly deciding to work together.

But here's the fucking problem.

Kid Rock is openly MAGA. He has been one of Donald Trump's most visible celebrity supporters. And Eminem has spent years being publicly hostile toward Trump.

Remember 2017?

At the BET Hip-Hop Awards, Eminem delivered “The Storm,” an entire freestyle aimed at Donald Trump. And he didn't just criticize Trump. He specifically addressed his own fans who supported Trump.

He basically drew a line in the sand.

If you were a Trump supporter, Eminem told you to fuck off.

That wasn't some vague “I disagree with Trump” statement. He explicitly told his fans that they had to choose between supporting him and supporting Trump.

And now, almost a decade later, he's appearing on an album by one of Trump's biggest celebrity supporters.

Come the fuck on.

Now, before somebody jumps down my throat, no, I am not saying Eminem is suddenly MAGA. I'm not saying he supports Trump now. I'm not saying working with Kid Rock automatically means Eminem agrees with everything Kid Rock believes.

Kid Rock himself has basically acknowledged that they don't agree politically. He says they're still friends despite their political differences and that he hopes the collaboration demonstrates that people can remain friends even when they disagree politically.

And that's where I have a problem with Eminem's old stance.

Because Eminem didn't merely say, “I disagree with Trump, but my fans can believe whatever they want.”

He drew a fucking line.

He told Trump-supporting fans to fuck off.

So if you're going to make that kind of statement publicly, and then years later willingly contribute to an album by one of Trump's most outspoken supporters, people are absolutely justified in looking at that and saying, “Wait a fucking minute.”

Because what exactly was that line supposed to mean?

Was it only about Donald Trump personally? Was it about Trump's policies? Was it about what supporting Trump represented to Eminem at the time? Did his position change? Does he now believe political differences shouldn't affect personal or professional relationships?

If so, fucking say that.

Because otherwise, it looks like Eminem is asking people to take a principle seriously when it's convenient and then making an exception when it's somebody he has known for decades.

And honestly, that's the part that bothers me more than the collaboration itself.

Artists can collaborate with whoever the hell they want. Eminem is a grown-ass man. Kid Rock is a grown-ass man. They can make whatever music they want together.

But when you've previously told your own fans to fuck off for supporting a particular political figure, you don't get to be surprised when people notice that you're now collaborating with one of that political figure's biggest celebrity supporters.

That's the consequence of drawing a line that fucking clearly.

And maybe there's something about this collaboration that I don't know. Maybe Eminem's verse addresses this exact contradiction. Maybe there's context that will become clearer once the album comes out. Maybe the two of them genuinely have a friendship that exists completely separately from politics.

Fine.

I'll listen to the song before pretending I know exactly what Eminem is saying.

But right now?

Eminem, you spent years telling us where you stood.

So forgive me if I'm looking at this collaboration and going:

What the fuck happened to that line in the sand?

Music can bring people together despite political differences. I actually believe that.

But if you're going to preach that message now, then you also have to reckon with what you said back then.

Because otherwise, yeah, Eminem is going to look pretty fucking full of shit.

The Heritage I Don't Hear in My Music (Or Talk About Enough)

2026-09-24T15:21:32.369-07:00

It's Hispanic Heritage Month.

And, well, fuck it.

I'm Hispanic. More specifically, I'm Salvadoran.

I've spent years writing about music, books, science, and whatever else is on my mind, and I almost never talk about this part of myself.

Here's the thing that makes it stranger: for a lot of people, music is where heritage lives loudest. It's the songs playing in the kitchen and the sounds that mean home before you can explain why. That isn't really how it went for me.

The Music I Grew Up On

The music I grew up on was rock, mostly. Later came metal, then hip hop and reggae. Barely any of it was Spanish music.

So my relationship to my heritage and my relationship to music have mostly run on separate tracks. I'm Salvadoran, and the soundtrack of my life has been guitars, distortion, and beats that came from other places. Both things are true, and I'm still figuring out what to make of that.

Being Mixed, Being Hard to Categorize

My heritage is mixed. I'm Salvadoran, but I also have Polish, Austrian, German, and French ancestry. For this post I want to focus on the Salvadoran side, the part I've rarely centered in my writing or my identity.

Music lovers know the feeling of an artist or song that won't stay in one genre. Record stores never know where to file it. It's a little of this and a little of that, and it refuses the box.

That's a pretty good description of my experience with race and ethnicity. Depending on who's looking, I can benefit from some degree of white-passing privilege. I've become more conscious of that over the years. Privilege doesn't mean you've never experienced discrimination. Sometimes you exist in a weird middle ground, benefiting from one part of how you're perceived while being vulnerable to another.

I can be perceived as white by some people.

I can be perceived differently by others because of my heritage.

Both things can be true.

I want to be clear that I haven't experienced a tremendous amount of racism for being Hispanic. That's my experience. It doesn't mean racism doesn't exist, or that other Hispanic people haven't dealt with far worse.

When It Becomes Real

The first time I clearly experienced something aimed at my heritage was around 2020 or 2021. A friend I'd had a falling out with contacted me after I'd made it clear I didn't want to hear from him, and he called me names related to my Hispanic background.

Then, earlier in 2026, I was on a train with my mom when a man began saying things to both of us, some of it aimed at my heritage. It was awful. I don't think prejudice stops being prejudice depending on who it comes from.

I don't want this to become a story about either of those people. It's about what those moments did to my sense of myself.

It's one thing to know intellectually that racism and ethnic prejudice exist. It's another thing entirely to have it pointed at you.

There Is No Single Experience

Because I've been lucky, I don't want to pretend my experience represents anyone else's. There isn't one universal Hispanic experience, one Salvadoran experience, or one experience of being mixed. People can share a piece of an identity and have completely different lives, shaped by what you look like, what your name sounds like, where you grew up, and what assumptions people make when they meet you.

It's like two people who love the same genre and hear completely different things in it. Same music, different lives underneath.

Jaime David

Which brings me to my name.

Jaime David is my pen name, and in hindsight it's oddly fitting. "Jaime" can be ambiguous depending on pronunciation. I say it "Jay-me," like the people who know me do. "David" probably conjures a pretty specific image for a lot of people.

I didn't choose it to make a statement about identity. It came from my middle name and my confirmation name. That's all I'll say about that.

Music has a long tradition of chosen names. Artists take stage names to reinvent themselves, to protect their privacy, to fit a genre, or just because the name feels right. Mine wasn't a costume, but it turned out to be a name that can be read more than one way. That's me. I'm mixed, I'm complicated, and I don't always fit the box someone expects.

Learning, Not Competing

The biggest change over the past several years is that I've become more socially aware. I've learned more about racism, prejudice, and privilege, and how different people's experiences can be even when they share a broad identity.

I've also learned I don't have to pretend I know everything. I can listen. I can recognize where I have privilege and where I don't. I can accept that someone else's experience may be completely different from mine, without turning it into a contest over who has suffered more.

If I have some degree of passing privilege, I think I have a responsibility to be conscious of it. Maybe it also gives me the chance to talk about things that others don't have the same freedom or safety to talk about. That doesn't make me a spokesperson. I'm one Salvadoran-American person with a complicated mix of ancestry, experiences, privileges, and contradictions.

Why I'm Writing This Here

I talk about music, writing, books, science, mental health, and society. I talk about whatever the hell is on my mind that day. Somehow I've rarely talked about this.

I don't need to make my whole creative identity about being Hispanic. But heritage can sit quietly in the background until you stop and ask what it means, the way a song you've heard a thousand times can suddenly sound different once you know what it's about.

For me, being Salvadoran is one part of a bigger identity. I'm also Polish, Austrian, German, and French. I'm mixed and ambiguous, and I'm still learning.

So, yeah. Happy Hispanic Heritage Month.

If you have a favorite Salvadoran artist, or a song that connects you to your own heritage, tell me about it. I'd like to hear it.

From one Salvadoran writer who probably should have talked about this sooner.

I guess I'm talking about it now.

I'm just going to be real with y'all about musicians, celebrities, and this whole “pro-Israel vs. pro-Palestine” thing.

2026-09-16T02:32:35.128-07:00

I've been seeing so many people online keeping track of which celebrities are pro-Palestine and which celebrities are pro-Israel.

And as someone who makes music myself, I'm looking at all of this from the perspective of an artist.

And honestly?

I don't fucking care.

I don't care which celebrity is supposedly on which side.

Because I'm going to be brutally honest:

I don't think most of them truly are.

Not wholeheartedly.

Not in the way people seem to think they are.

Why?

Because they're performers.

They're entertainers.

Their careers are built around audiences, attention, trends, popularity, and staying culturally relevant.

And yes, I'm sure there are celebrities who genuinely believe what they're saying. I'm not going to claim that every single person is secretly lying.

But when you suddenly see huge numbers of famous people jumping into the same political conversation at roughly the same time, I'm going to question it.

Why now?

That's my question.

Why now?

Why are some of these enormous artists suddenly talking about Palestine and Israel when they barely, if ever, talked about either before?

Where the fuck were y'all?

Where were these statements years ago?

Where was the concern before social media made certain positions incredibly visible?

And yes, I understand that people online helped bring these issues into the mainstream conversation.

I understand that artists can become more aware of something over time.

People can learn.

People can change their minds.

People can become politically engaged later in life.

Of course they can.

But I'm still allowed to look at the sudden wave of celebrity activism and think:

This feels fucking disingenuous.

Because let's be honest about what the entertainment industry does.

It follows waves.

It follows trends.

It follows what's getting attention.

And right now, you've got a very visible pro-Palestine vs. pro-Israel cultural divide.

So some artists are going to ride the pro-Palestinian wave.

Others are going to ride the pro-Israel wave.

And either way, they're getting attention.

They're getting engagement.

They're getting headlines.

They're getting people talking about them.

And that's where I start wondering whether we're actually looking at political conviction—or whether we're looking at performers performing.

Because that's literally what they do.

They perform.

That's their job.

And I'm not saying that as an insult.

I'm a musician too.

I fucking love music.

I love artists.

I love performers.

But that's precisely why I'm skeptical when we suddenly start treating musicians like they're political authorities.

They're artists.

They're not diplomats.

They're not historians.

They're not government officials.

They're not representatives of millions of people.

They're musicians who happen to have enormous platforms.

And I think we've started putting way too much stock into what celebrities believe.

“Oh, this musician supports Palestine.”

“Oh, this musician supports Israel.”

“Oh, this actor posted this.”

“Oh, this singer didn't post that.”

Who gives a fuck?

Seriously.

Why are we treating celebrity political opinions like they're the fucking scoreboard?

And here's another thing I've noticed.

We've seen this cycle before.

Look at Ukraine.

For a while, Ukraine was everywhere.

Musicians talked about it.

Actors talked about it.

Celebrities posted about it.

Everybody had a statement.

Everybody had an opinion.

And then, eventually, the conversation became quieter.

Not because the people disappeared.

Not because the situation magically became irrelevant.

But because the news cycle moved on.

The same thing has happened with Palestine and Gaza repeatedly.

People talk about it intensely.

Celebrities speak out.

Social media explodes.

Everyone has their position.

And then eventually...

It fades into the background.

And I'm telling you right now: eventually, the same thing is going to happen again.

Not because the people involved don't matter.

They fucking do.

But because that's how attention works.

There's always another crisis.

Another war.

Another election.

Another scandal.

Another celebrity controversy.

Another fucking thing for everyone to argue about.

And eventually, people get tired.

They move on.

And the celebrity posts stop.

Until the next major escalation happens.

Then the cycle starts all over again.

And honestly, that's one of the reasons I'm skeptical of celebrity activism in the first place.

Because attention isn't the same thing as change.

A musician can write a song.

A singer can hold up a sign.

An actor can post an Instagram Story.

A rapper can say “Free Palestine” from a stage.

Another artist can say something supporting Israel.

And then everybody online argues about which celebrity is morally correct.

But what actually changed?

That's the part I'm interested in.

Because I'm not saying I don't care about the people involved.

I do.

I want Palestinians to be safe.

I want Israelis to be safe.

I want people to have peace.

I want people to have dignity.

I want people to have a future.

I'm not fucking heartless.

I'm just being realistic about the entertainment industry.

And as a musician myself, I think we should stop treating musicians like they're the fucking messiahs of every political cause.

They're artists.

Let them make their music.

If they genuinely believe in something, they're free to speak about it.

But I'm also free to question their motivations.

I'm free to wonder why they suddenly care.

I'm free to wonder why they didn't say anything before.

And I'm free to look at the entire celebrity political machine and say:

“This feels like a fucking bandwagon.”

Maybe I'm wrong about some of them.

Maybe some of them genuinely mean every word.

Fine.

But I'm not going to blindly assume that because a famous musician posts a political statement, that statement suddenly carries more weight.

Because at the end of the day, they're performers.

And performers know how to work a fucking crowd.

So when I see everyone obsessing over which celebrities are pro-Israel and which are pro-Palestine, my response is simple:

Stop treating the celebrity roster like it's going to determine the outcome.

It won't.

The artists aren't going to solve this.

Their songs aren't going to solve it.

Their Instagram posts aren't going to solve it.

Their celebrity beefs aren't going to solve it.

And eventually, the internet is going to move on to something else.

Because that's what the internet does.

I'm not saying I don't care about the people.

I absolutely fucking do.

I'm just being real with y'all about the difference between caring about people and believing every celebrity who suddenly tells you they care.

Those are two very different things.

Did Music Get Tamer After 9/11?

2026-09-13T05:12:53.959-07:00

I've been thinking about something strange when it comes to music.

Did music get... tamer after 9/11?

Now, before anyone misunderstands me, I'm not saying music became clean after September 11, 2001.

Obviously fucking not.

There has been plenty of explicit music since 9/11.

Plenty of profanity.

Plenty of sex.

Plenty of drugs.

Plenty of violence.

Plenty of controversial lyrics.

Plenty of artists trying to piss people off.

There have been songs since 9/11 that are absolutely fucking insane.

So I'm not arguing that music suddenly became wholesome.

What I'm talking about is something harder to quantify.

A feeling.

Compared with a lot of music from previous decades, particularly the 1980s and 1990s, modern mainstream music can sometimes feel strangely tame.

Even when it's supposedly edgy.

Even when it's explicit.

Even when it's controversial.

Even when an artist is trying to shock people.

There often seems to be an invisible ceiling.

Artists can get close to it.

But they don't quite break through it.

And I find that fascinating.

Because if you look at music from before 9/11, especially certain corners of rock, punk, metal, hip-hop, industrial, alternative music, and even mainstream pop, there was sometimes an incredible willingness to be fucking weird.

Not just explicit.

Weird.

Angry.

Disturbing.

Provocative.

Uncomfortable.

Sometimes offensive.

Sometimes completely ridiculous.

Sometimes brilliant.

Sometimes terrible.

But there was often this attitude of:

"Fuck it. Let's make the song."

And I miss that.

There was a certain kind of musical recklessness that feels less common in mainstream music today.

Again, I'm not saying it disappeared.

It didn't.

There are still artists making incredibly weird music.

There are still musicians writing deeply disturbing lyrics.

There are still artists making political music.

There are still people experimenting with genre.

There are still musicians saying things that make people uncomfortable.

But sometimes it feels like the weirdness has become more controlled.

More marketable.

More calculated.

More aware of the audience.

More aware of social media.

More aware of public relations.

More aware of what might get someone "canceled."

And that changes things.

Because music isn't created in a vacuum.

The world changed after 9/11.

And music existed within that world.

Suddenly, certain words and images carried different weight.

War became a much more immediate subject.

Terrorism became a much more immediate subject.

Death and destruction became harder to treat as abstract concepts.

Artists responded to that.

Some became more political.

Some became more patriotic.

Some became more anti-war.

Some became more cynical.

Some simply ignored it.

But the cultural atmosphere had changed.

And then the music industry itself changed dramatically.

The internet exploded.

Napster and file sharing disrupted the industry.

iTunes changed how people bought music.

YouTube changed how people discovered music.

Streaming eventually changed how people consumed music.

Social media transformed how artists interacted with audiences.

And suddenly musicians weren't just musicians.

They were brands.

They were content creators.

They were social media personalities.

They were marketing campaigns.

They were expected to maintain an online presence.

And that can create a different kind of pressure.

Because when you're an artist today, anything you say can potentially become a headline.

A lyric can be screenshotted.

A concert moment can be recorded.

An old interview can resurface.

A joke can go viral.

Something you said ten years ago can suddenly be judged according to today's cultural standards.

And artists know that.

So naturally, some of them become more cautious.

Not necessarily because they're afraid to be artists.

But because there are more consequences to being publicly reckless.

And then there's the economics of the music industry.

Mainstream music is expensive.

Labels want successful singles.

Streaming platforms reward attention.

Algorithms reward certain kinds of engagement.

Artists are competing for playlists.

They're competing for TikTok clips.

They're competing for viral moments.

They're competing for the attention of people who have millions of other songs available at their fingertips.

So there's an incentive to make music that is immediately accessible.

Catchy.

Marketable.

Shareable.

And recognizable.

That doesn't necessarily mean bad music.

Far from it.

There is plenty of incredible modern music.

But it can sometimes feel like the music is being designed around the ecosystem in which it will exist.

And that's where the "tame" feeling comes from for me.

Something can have explicit lyrics while still feeling incredibly safe.

A rapper can say the most outrageous thing imaginable, but if the song itself follows every familiar convention, it doesn't necessarily feel transgressive.

A rock song can have screaming and distorted guitars while still sounding like something that was engineered to fit perfectly into a playlist.

A pop star can cultivate an edgy image while still operating within a very carefully controlled brand.

You can have rebellion that has been professionally packaged.

And that's a strange thing.

Because rebellion is supposed to be unpredictable.

It's supposed to be messy.

It's supposed to surprise people.

It's supposed to make someone say:

"What the fuck is this?"

But sometimes modern music feels like it has already anticipated that reaction.

The controversy is part of the marketing.

The shock is part of the brand.

The "edginess" is part of the aesthetic.

And once rebellion becomes an aesthetic, it can start feeling less rebellious.

That's not unique to music, of course.

It's happening throughout entertainment.

But music has always been one of the places where people could express things they couldn't say elsewhere.

Music could be angry.

Music could be sexual.

Music could be political.

Music could be nihilistic.

Music could be hopeful.

Music could be fucked up.

Music could be ridiculous.

Music could be whatever the artist wanted it to be.

And some of the music from previous decades really embraced that freedom.

Think about how strange some of the genres and subgenres that emerged during the twentieth century were.

Punk.

Industrial.

Noise.

Alternative rock.

Hardcore.

Death metal.

Black metal.

Experimental hip-hop.

Underground rap.

Weird electronic music.

Artists were constantly finding new ways to make sounds that weren't supposed to sound good.

And sometimes those movements eventually became commercially successful.

That's one of the beautiful contradictions of music.

Something can start as underground rebellion and eventually become mainstream.

But even then, the original spirit can remain.

And I sometimes wonder whether the mainstream music industry today has become too good at absorbing rebellion.

Something strange happens.

An underground sound becomes popular.

A major label notices.

The sound gets polished.

The aesthetic gets packaged.

The artists become influencers.

The rebellion becomes merchandise.

And eventually, what once felt dangerous becomes another genre category on a streaming service.

Again, I'm not saying this is inherently bad.

It's just interesting.

And perhaps 9/11 is only one part of this story.

Maybe the bigger shift was technology.

Maybe it was globalization.

Maybe it was the collapse of the old music business.

Maybe it was social media.

Maybe it was streaming.

Maybe it was all of those things happening simultaneously.

I don't think there's one simple explanation.

But I do think the atmosphere changed.

And sometimes I listen to older music and think:

"Jesus Christ, they actually fucking said that."

Not necessarily because the lyrics are more explicit.

Sometimes they're not.

It's because the artist seems completely unconcerned with whether everyone will like them.

That's the part I miss.

The willingness to be disliked.

The willingness to make something ugly.

The willingness to make something uncomfortable.

The willingness to make something that doesn't fit neatly into a playlist.

The willingness to make something that might alienate half the audience.

Because sometimes the best art comes from that place.

And that doesn't mean every artist needs to become an asshole.

It doesn't mean musicians should deliberately offend people.

It doesn't mean shock value automatically equals artistic value.

It doesn't.

Being offensive isn't inherently creative.

Being explicit isn't inherently rebellious.

Being controversial isn't inherently meaningful.

But taking genuine creative risks?

That matters.

And I think music benefits from musicians who aren't afraid to take those risks.

That's part of why I'm interested in making music myself.

I'm not interested in trying to recreate the past.

I'm not trying to pretend that music was automatically better before 9/11.

There was plenty of garbage back then too.

There were plenty of formulaic songs.

There were plenty of corporate pop stars.

There were plenty of manufactured acts.

There was plenty of boring music.

Nostalgia can distort our memories.

But I do think there was something special about the willingness of certain musicians to simply experiment.

And that's something I want to see more of.

Give me the weird song.

Give me the bizarre genre combination.

Give me the ridiculous concept album.

Give me the song that sounds like it shouldn't work.

Give me the artist who doesn't care whether the song fits neatly into a playlist.

Give me something that makes me stop and say:

"What the fuck did I just hear?"

That's what music is capable of.

And maybe that's the bigger issue.

Music doesn't have to be safe.

It doesn't have to be universally accessible.

It doesn't have to be perfectly polished.

It doesn't have to be algorithmically optimized.

Sometimes it just needs to fucking exist.

A weird idea.

A strange sound.

A bizarre lyric.

A saxophone playing something completely unexpected.

A song that combines genres that probably shouldn't work together.

A musician experimenting simply because they want to see what happens.

That's where some of the most interesting music comes from.

And maybe the weirdness isn't gone.

Maybe it's just harder to find.

Maybe it's living in independent artists.

Bandcamp.

SoundCloud.

YouTube.

Small labels.

Bedroom producers.

Experimental musicians.

People making music with whatever tools they happen to have.

Maybe the mainstream simply isn't where you go anymore when you want to find the truly strange shit.

And honestly, that's okay.

Because music has always found a way to escape the boundaries placed around it.

Someone will always come along and make something weird.

Someone will always make something uncomfortable.

Someone will always make something that doesn't fit.

Someone will always say:

"Fuck it. I'm going to make this."

And I hope that never changes.

Because if there's one thing I don't want music to lose, it's that sense of danger.

Not danger in the literal sense.

Creative danger.

The feeling that an artist might actually surprise you.

The feeling that something might go completely off the rails.

The feeling that you're hearing something that wasn't designed by a committee.

Something that wasn't engineered for an algorithm.

Something that wasn't created solely because the market research said it would work.

Something human.

Something weird.

Something imperfect.

Something alive.

So did music get tamer after 9/11?

Maybe.

Maybe that's partly nostalgia.

Maybe it's the changing music industry.

Maybe it's the internet.

Maybe it's streaming.

Maybe it's social media.

Maybe it's the increased commercialization of everything.

Maybe it's simply that I'm looking at different kinds of music now than I did when I was younger.

But I do think there was a cultural shift.

And whatever caused it, I hope we never completely lose the willingness to make music that feels dangerous, strange, unpredictable, and fucking weird.

Because sometimes the best song isn't the safest song.

Sometimes it's the one that makes you stop what you're doing and say:

"What the fuck was that?"

And then you listen to it again.

I Had to DIY Fit a New Saxophone Neck

2026-09-12T09:45:50.683-07:00

Sometimes, playing music means doing more than just playing the instrument.

Sometimes, you have to become a little bit of a mechanic.

Recently, I ordered a new neck for my saxophone. I was excited to try it out, but when I went to put it onto the saxophone, I immediately ran into a problem.

The connector portion of the neck wasn't fitting.

It was simply too tight.

At first, I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to do about it. I didn't want to force the neck into the saxophone, because that seemed like a pretty good way to potentially damage something. So I started looking into how other saxophone players deal with this kind of problem.

That's when I came across a BetterSax video explaining how to DIY-fix a neck that doesn't quite fit.

The solution was surprisingly simple.

Sandpaper.

I got some sandpaper and carefully worked around the tenon—the connector portion of the neck that goes into the saxophone's body. Rather than aggressively sanding it down, I slowly twisted the sandpaper around the tenon, taking off only a very small amount at a time.

The goal wasn't to reshape the entire thing. I just needed to remove enough material so that the neck could actually fit.

And eventually, it worked.

The neck slid into the saxophone.

Problem solved.

Or so I thought.

Because then I noticed another problem.

The octave loop on the new neck was sitting too high. The octave bar on the saxophone wasn't reaching it.

So now I had a neck that physically fit onto the saxophone, but the octave mechanism wasn't properly connecting.

Fortunately, I was able to figure out another DIY solution.

Duct tape.

I put a small amount of duct tape around the octave loop—just enough to build it up so that the octave bar could actually reach it.

And, once again, it worked.

Now the neck fit onto the saxophone, and the octave mechanism was actually engaging properly.

Was this the most professional saxophone repair job in the world?

Probably not.

But that's not really the point.

I'm still learning the saxophone. I don't have years of experience as a professional saxophone technician, and I'm certainly not going to pretend that putting duct tape on something automatically makes me a repair expert.

But I also think there's something valuable about learning how your instrument works.

When you play an instrument, it's easy to think of it as this thing that you simply pick up and play. You put your fingers on the keys, blow into it, and hopefully music comes out.

But there's an entire mechanical system underneath that.

The neck has to fit properly. The octave mechanism has to line up. The keys have to move correctly. Tiny adjustments can make a difference.

And sometimes, something doesn't work quite right out of the box.

In this case, I was able to make a couple of very small adjustments and get the new neck working.

The sanding part especially taught me something: sometimes the solution isn't about making a huge change. It's about making a tiny change carefully.

I didn't sand the tenon down excessively. I just worked around it slowly until I had removed enough material for it to fit. That distinction matters.

There is definitely such a thing as taking off too much.

Once you remove material, you can't exactly put it back.

So I was deliberately conservative with it.

The same goes for the octave mechanism. I didn't need some elaborate modification. I just needed to compensate for the fact that the octave loop was sitting a little higher than the saxophone's octave bar could reach.

A little duct tape was enough.

And now I have a functioning new saxophone neck.

It's kind of funny, because this wasn't what I expected when I ordered it.

I thought I was ordering a new piece for my saxophone.

Instead, I apparently ordered a small DIY project.

But honestly, I'm not complaining.

One of the things I enjoy about learning music is that there is always something new to figure out. Sometimes that means learning a new song. Sometimes it means experimenting with different sounds. Sometimes it means figuring out how to record something.

And sometimes it means sitting there with sandpaper and duct tape wondering how the hell you're going to get your saxophone to work.

That's part of the journey too.

I'm sure a professional saxophone technician would have a much more sophisticated way of dealing with what I did here. And if something is seriously wrong with an instrument, I'd absolutely recommend having someone who knows what they're doing take a look at it.

But for this particular situation, I was able to make a couple of small adjustments myself.

And now?

The new neck fits.

The octave key works.

And I can get back to making music.

Sometimes that's all you need.

The whole Pink and Macklemore thing is ridiculous.

2026-09-09T14:54:48.492-07:00

I'm sorry, but it is.

You've got Pink criticizing Macklemore over his statements about Gaza and Palestine, and now we're watching two musicians go back and forth over one of the most complicated and horrific conflicts on the planet.

And honestly?

It's kinda cringe.

Not because either of them are forbidden from having an opinion.

They obviously aren't.

But why the fuck are we turning this into another celebrity feud?

Macklemore is a musician.

Pink is a musician.

Neither one of them is an Israeli politician.

Neither one of them is a Palestinian politician.

Neither one of them is a diplomat.

Neither one of them is sitting at a negotiating table trying to figure out how to end the conflict.

So what exactly are we doing here?

You've got two American musicians getting increasingly involved in a conflict happening thousands of miles away, neither of whom is directly involved in it, and now we're supposed to watch them argue over which side is right.

That's where I start rolling my eyes.

And before someone says, “But celebrities have a platform!”

Yes, they do.

Use it however you want.

But having a massive platform doesn't automatically mean your involvement is useful.

Sometimes it just means you're making a complicated situation into a fucking celebrity spectacle.

And that's what this feels like.

There are actual Palestinians living through this.

There are actual Israelis living through this.

There are families, civilians, hostages, soldiers, displaced people, and countless other human beings whose lives are directly affected by what happens.

Meanwhile, we're sitting here watching Pink and Macklemore argue about it.

Come on.

This isn't a fucking rap battle.

There isn't going to be a winner because one celebrity gets more likes or has the better Instagram post.

And honestly, I think both artists need to take a step back.

Not because they can't care.

They absolutely can care.

I care.

I want the best for Palestinians.

I want Israelis to be able to live in peace and security.

I want innocent people on both sides to stop suffering.

But caring about people doesn't mean I need to turn myself into an unofficial spokesperson for a conflict I'm not directly involved in.

And neither does Pink.

Neither does Macklemore.

They're musicians.

They make music.

Let them make music.

If they want to advocate for humanitarian causes, fine.

But when it turns into celebrities publicly going after each other over Israel and Palestine, that's when the whole thing starts feeling fucking ridiculous.

Because at the end of the day:

Pink isn't going to solve Israel and Palestine.

Macklemore isn't going to solve Israel and Palestine.

And their beef certainly isn't going to solve Israel and Palestine.

It's just another celebrity argument for the internet to obsess over.

And frankly?

The people actually living through this deserve better than becoming the backdrop for a celebrity feud.

I Can Like Your Music and Still Be Disappointed in You: My Thoughts on the Bad Wolves and Skillet Drama

2026-08-29T05:00:28.738-07:00

I have a confession to make.

I like Skillet.

I also like Bad Wolves.

Well, technically, I should probably phrase that a little differently. I liked Bad Wolves, at least during the era of the band that I was familiar with. And when it comes to Skillet, I really like their older material. I haven't kept up with everything they've released in recent years, so I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I've heard every song they've put out lately.

But I know what I like.

And I know what I don't like.

And what I don't like is what has been happening surrounding these two bands.

If you haven't been following the latest rock and metal drama, Bad Wolves were supposed to be part of Skillet's upcoming fall tour, along with Escape the Fate. Then, seemingly almost as quickly as the tour announcement happened, Bad Wolves were gone.

The situation became particularly ugly because of Bad Wolves' new vocalist, Sara "KILLBOY" Skinner.

According to Skinner, after Bad Wolves were announced for the tour, some Skillet fans began digging into her personal life. She said that people began conducting what she described as a "transvestigation," with fans making claims about her being transgender and also focusing on her OnlyFans presence. She subsequently announced that Bad Wolves would no longer be joining the tour.

And honestly?

What the fuck are we doing?

I mean that sincerely.

What the fuck are we doing?

Because there is something deeply pathetic about a group of people seeing a woman they don't know, deciding they need to investigate her body, her identity, her personal life, her sexuality, her internet presence and whatever else they can dig up, and then deciding that this somehow gives them ownership over whether she deserves to share a concert stage with their favorite band.

That isn't fandom.

That's harassment.

And before anybody gets confused, let me establish something very clearly:

I am not writing this because I'm some lifelong Bad Wolves superfan.

I'm really not.

The main Bad Wolves song I knew was their cover of "Zombie."

That was the song that put them on my radar.

Back when Tommy Vext was the band's vocalist, I heard their version of "Zombie" and liked it. It was one of those covers that actually made sense to me. They weren't simply copying The Cranberries. They took a song that was already powerful and gave it a heavier interpretation.

That was Bad Wolves to me.

And that's pretty much where my familiarity with the band stayed.

The band has obviously gone through a lot of changes since then. Vext is no longer in the band, there have been other lineup changes, and now Bad Wolves have Sara Skinner as their new vocalist.

So no, I haven't spent the last several years obsessively following Bad Wolves.

But that doesn't mean I can't look at what is happening now and say, "This is bullshit."

Because it is.

And what's especially frustrating to me is that I also like Skillet.

I grew up listening to some of their older material. Songs from the era of albums like Collide and Comatose are the Skillet that I know best. Those songs were part of the soundscape of my life for a while.

I haven't really followed their newer material.

Maybe it's great.

Maybe it's not.

I don't know.

And I'm not going to pretend otherwise.

But I don't need to have listened to every album Skillet has released in the last decade to have an opinion about this situation.

Because this isn't really about whether Skillet's latest album is good.

It's about how people behave.

And that's where I have become genuinely disappointed.

I'm disappointed in some Skillet fans.

And I'm disappointed in Skillet itself.

Let's start with the fans.

There is nothing wrong with being a fan of a Christian rock band.

There is nothing wrong with having religious beliefs.

There is nothing wrong with wanting the musicians you support to share certain values.

But there is a gigantic difference between saying, "I don't personally agree with this person's lifestyle," and deciding that you need to publicly humiliate them, investigate their gender, insult them, spread rumors about them, or pressure a band into removing them from a tour.

Those are not the same thing.

Not even remotely.

And some of the stuff being thrown at Skinner was absolutely disgusting.

She has described the reaction as people deciding she was a "trans OnlyFans" woman and attacking her based on those assumptions. She responded by basically saying that the accusations weren't even accurate in the way people thought they were.

But here's the thing.

Even if every accusation had been true, I still wouldn't understand why this is anybody else's fucking business.

Let's say she was transgender.

So what?

She's a musician.

She's performing on a stage.

She's singing songs.

Did she suddenly become incapable of singing because of her gender identity?

Does a guitar riff somehow sound different because the vocalist is trans?

Does a drumbeat become less musical?

Does a concert ticket become invalid?

Of course not.

And if she has an OnlyFans account?

Again:

So what?

You don't have to like it.

You don't have to subscribe to it.

You don't have to consume her content.

You don't even have to agree with it.

But you don't get to treat another adult's private life like a public referendum simply because you bought a ticket to see their band.

That's where I think a lot of people have completely lost the plot.

Being a fan doesn't make you the owner of the artist.

And loving a band doesn't give you the right to dictate who they are allowed to work with.

That's not how this should work.

And this is where Skillet itself enters the conversation.

Because according to Skinner, Bad Wolves were removed from the tour following this backlash.

Now, I want to be fair here.

Skillet has apparently not publicly explained the situation in detail. There is no public statement from the band that I have seen that lays everything out and says, "This is exactly why we removed Bad Wolves."

So I'm not going to claim something as an established fact when it hasn't been officially explained by Skillet.

But that's actually part of the problem.

Silence.

Because if your fanbase is going after another musician, and that musician is publicly telling the world that your fans harassed her and that this harassment apparently played a role in her band being removed from your tour, then you have a responsibility to say something.

Especially if you're a major band.

Especially if you're a band that has spent decades building a Christian identity.

Especially if you're a band whose audience includes people who presumably believe that compassion, forgiveness, humility and treating other people with dignity are important.

Silence isn't a great look.

And I'm sorry, but I expect better.

I don't expect Skillet to suddenly become a band that agrees with everything I believe.

That's not realistic.

I don't expect John Cooper to adopt my politics.

I don't expect Skillet's entire fanbase to agree with me.

I don't even expect them to like Bad Wolves.

What I expect is basic fucking decency.

That's it.

Basic decency.

If someone is being bullied by your fans, tell your fans to knock it off.

If someone is being harassed based on rumors about their gender, tell your fans that isn't acceptable.

If your organization made a decision because of legitimate contractual or business reasons, explain that.

If there is another side to the story, give it.

But don't just let the whole thing sit there while everyone else tries to figure out what the hell happened.

Because silence creates a vacuum.

And the internet will fill that vacuum with whatever narrative it wants.

That's exactly what we're seeing.

And honestly, I think there's an important lesson here for music fans in general.

We have become way too comfortable treating musicians like characters in our personal entertainment universes.

We forget that they're people.

We forget that they have families.

We forget that they have feelings.

We forget that they have lives outside of the songs we listen to.

We forget that a woman standing on a stage is not suddenly public property.

And we especially need to stop with this bizarre obsession with "investigating" people's identities.

The whole idea of "transvestigation" is fucking creepy.

I'm sorry.

It is.

Imagine looking at somebody and thinking, "I need to determine what gender this person really is."

Why?

Why do you care?

Why are you zooming in on photographs?

Why are you comparing facial structures?

Why are you analyzing someone's voice?

Why are you examining their body?

Why are you doing any of this?

Just listen to the fucking music.

If you don't like the singer, don't listen to the band.

That's it.

You are allowed to walk away.

You are allowed to say, "This isn't for me."

You are allowed to spend your money somewhere else.

You are allowed to criticize the music.

You are allowed to criticize a band's business decisions.

You are allowed to criticize their politics.

You are allowed to criticize their lyrics.

You are even allowed to say you don't like the singer's voice.

That's part of being an artist.

But there is a line between criticism and cruelty.

And some people crossed that line a long time ago.

And here's the funny part for me personally.

I don't even have a huge emotional attachment to Bad Wolves.

I could have ignored this entire story.

I could have said, "Oh, that's unfortunate," and moved on.

But I can't.

Because principles matter more to me than fandom.

And this is one of those situations where I don't care whether I agree with someone.

I don't care whether I like their music.

I don't care whether I like their politics.

I don't care whether I like their personal choices.

If somebody is being treated unfairly, I'm going to say that they're being treated unfairly.

That's just where I stand.

I would defend an artist I despise if I thought they were being treated unjustly.

And I would criticize an artist I love if I thought they were doing something wrong.

That's what having principles is supposed to mean.

Otherwise they're not principles.

They're just preferences.

And I think that's something that gets lost constantly in modern fandom.

People will defend absolutely anything their favorite celebrity does while condemning the exact same behavior from somebody they dislike.

If their favorite musician does something questionable, suddenly there's context.

Suddenly there's nuance.

Suddenly we need to wait for more information.

But when somebody they don't like does it?

"Fuck that person."

No.

That's not consistency.

And I'm tired of it.

You don't have to abandon Skillet because of this.

You don't have to stop listening to their old music.

You don't have to suddenly decide that every song they've ever made is garbage.

I certainly won't be pretending that I never enjoyed their older material.

I did.

I still do.

A song doesn't magically become bad because the people who made it disappointed me.

Music is complicated like that.

Sometimes a song can mean something to you even when the artist behind it becomes somebody you don't particularly want to support anymore.

That's part of the strange relationship we have with art.

But I can listen to an old Skillet song and still say:

"Skillet, you could have handled this better."

Those statements aren't contradictory.

I can like "Comatose."

I can remember enjoying Skillet's older work.

And I can simultaneously think that the way this situation has played out is fucking disappointing.

Likewise, I can remember Bad Wolves primarily because of "Zombie" and not suddenly become their biggest fan because of this controversy.

I don't have to.

I don't need to.

This isn't about picking a favorite band.

It's about picking a standard.

And my standard is simple:

Don't be an asshole.

Don't harass people.

Don't obsess over strangers' identities.

Don't spread rumors.

Don't treat someone's personal life like your entertainment.

And if your fans are doing something reprehensible, don't sit quietly and pretend you can't see it.

Say something.

That's the part that bothers me most about Skillet.

Not even necessarily the tour decision itself, because I don't know everything that happened behind the scenes.

It's the apparent silence.

Maybe there is information we don't have.

Maybe there are contractual details.

Maybe there are conversations happening privately.

Maybe there is another explanation.

Fine.

Then say that.

You don't have to give us every private detail.

But acknowledge the situation.

Because when one side is publicly saying, "Your fans harassed me and this affected our place on your tour," and the other side says absolutely nothing, people are naturally going to draw conclusions.

And those conclusions aren't necessarily going to be flattering.

I think Skillet owes their audience more than silence.

And I think their fans owe other human beings more than whatever the hell happened here.

Because at the end of the day, this is supposed to be music.

Music.

That's the part I keep coming back to.

We're talking about fucking rock music.

People screaming into microphones.

Guitars.

Drums.

Bass.

Lights.

A stage.

A bunch of people standing in a crowd screaming lyrics back at somebody.

That's what this is.

It should be fun.

It should be cathartic.

It should bring people together.

And instead we're sitting here arguing about whether a singer is "really" a woman, whether she has an OnlyFans account, whether her existence is acceptable to a particular religious fanbase, and whether a band should be allowed to perform because some people on the internet got angry.

What happened to just listening to the fucking music?

If you don't like Sara Skinner, don't listen to Bad Wolves.

If you don't like Skillet, don't listen to Skillet.

If you don't like Christian rock, don't listen to Christian rock.

If you don't like metal, don't listen to metal.

There are literally millions of songs in the world.

Go find something you enjoy.

You don't need to destroy somebody else to prove that your favorite band is good.

And you definitely don't need to humiliate another human being to prove that your religion is correct.

That's not strength.

That's insecurity.

So yeah.

I'm disappointed.

I'm disappointed in the people who decided to harass Sara Skinner.

I'm disappointed in the people who thought investigating a stranger's gender was an appropriate use of their time.

I'm disappointed that Bad Wolves ended up caught in the middle of this.

And I'm disappointed in Skillet for apparently allowing the situation to happen without publicly addressing it.

Maybe I'll listen to some old Skillet today.

Maybe I'll put on "Zombie."

Maybe I'll listen to both and remember why I liked them in the first place.

Because I don't want my enjoyment of music to depend on whether every musician I like is perfect.

Nobody is perfect.

But I do want the people I support to be held to the same basic standard I hold everyone else to.

Treat people like human beings.

Don't be cruel.

Don't harass people.

Don't judge someone based on rumors.

And when your own community starts acting like assholes, have the courage to tell them to stop.

That's not politics.

That's not left versus right.

That's not Christian versus atheist.

That's not trans versus cis.

That's not Bad Wolves versus Skillet.

That's basic fucking humanity.

And honestly?

I don't think that's too much to ask.

And honestly, I never thought I would see this kind of shit surrounding Skillet.

I mean, I knew it was possible. Given the current climate, the way online fandoms behave, and how fucking obsessed some people have become with policing other people's identities, I knew something like this could happen.

But I still didn't think I would actually see it happen with a band like Skillet.

Maybe that's part of why this has bothered me so much.

Because Skillet was never a band I associated with this kind of drama. They were just a band whose older music I liked. They were part of that rock and metal landscape I grew up listening to. I wasn't sitting around thinking about their fanbase or their internal politics or whatever.

So seeing this whole situation unfold has been one of those moments where I'm just sitting here thinking, "Really? We're doing this now?"

I knew the possibility existed.

I just never expected to actually see it.

And look, I wasn't completely oblivious to the politics surrounding Skillet either.

I knew that John Cooper, at least, had become pretty openly MAGA and had said and done things politically that I absolutely don't agree with. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I've seen enough of his public commentary to know that we're probably not going to agree on a whole hell of a lot.

And yet, I still liked Skillet's older music.

Because I can separate the music from the person making it.

That's something I've always tried to do. I don't need an artist to share all of my political beliefs for me to appreciate something they created. Sometimes you can take the art for what it is while recognizing that the person behind it is someone you wouldn't necessarily want to have a political conversation with.

So even knowing that John Cooper had gone down the MAGA-chud political rabbit hole, I still didn't think that meant there was going to be some insane fucking drama surrounding the band like this.

That's the part that caught me off guard.

I knew there were political differences.

I knew there were things about Cooper that I didn't like.

I knew that Skillet had a fanbase that could be pretty politically and religiously intense.

But I didn't expect to wake up one day and be reading about Bad Wolves getting kicked off a tour amid controversy over their new female vocalist and fans allegedly digging into her identity and personal life.

There's a difference between thinking, "Yeah, this musician and I probably disagree on a lot of shit," and thinking, "Holy shit, what the fuck is happening with this band and its fanbase?"

And that's where I am right now.

I can acknowledge the political and cultural baggage surrounding Skillet while still admitting that their older music meant something to me.

Those two things can coexist.

I don't have to rewrite my own musical history just because I now find myself disappointed in the people and the culture surrounding a band I used to enjoy.

Why This One Hits a Little Differently for Me

And maybe this is the part I haven't really talked about yet: my own personal connection to Skillet.

I first discovered Skillet when I was in high school.

And honestly, the timing is kind of funny when I think about it now.

Because around that same period of my life, I was becoming less religious.

My relationship with religion was changing. I was questioning things. I was moving away from the beliefs I had grown up with. Eventually, I would become an atheist, but even before I got to that point, I was already starting to drift away from Christianity.

And yet here I was, listening to Skillet.

And I liked them.

Not because I was sitting there thinking, "Wow, these lyrics perfectly represent my religious beliefs."

They didn't.

I wasn't listening to Skillet because I was looking for Christian music.

I was listening to them because I liked the fucking music.

I liked the sound.

I liked the heaviness.

I liked the energy.

I liked the way the songs felt.

That's something I think people sometimes misunderstand about music. You don't necessarily connect with a song because you agree with every single word coming out of the singer's mouth. Sometimes you connect with the sound, the emotion, the instrumentation, the memories attached to it, or simply the fact that something about it hits you in a way you can't completely explain.

That's what Skillet was for me.

They became part of my high school soundtrack during a period when I was changing as a person.

And that's why I don't want to sit here and pretend that the music suddenly means nothing to me because I've become disappointed in the band or parts of its fanbase.

It still means something.

Those songs are attached to a version of me that existed years ago.

And even though I've changed dramatically since then, that version of me was still me.

I can look back at my high school years and think about the person I was becoming, the questions I was asking, the things I believed, the things I stopped believing, and the music I was listening to while all of that was happening.

Skillet was part of that.

That's why this whole situation feels weird.

Because when you have a personal history with a band, you don't necessarily want to see them become involved in something like this.

You don't want to look at a band whose music you enjoyed when you were younger and think, "Seriously?"

And again, I'm not saying Skillet is some band that I've followed religiously throughout my entire life.

I haven't.

I haven't kept up with all of their newer music.

I'm much more familiar with their older material.

But that's almost beside the point.

I don't have to be a hardcore fan to have memories attached to their music.

I don't have to agree with John Cooper politically.

I don't have to agree with his MAGA politics.

I don't have to agree with his religious beliefs.

And I certainly don't have to agree with everything that happens within the Skillet fanbase.

I can still say, "Yeah, I used to fucking love some of these songs."

And that's okay.

That's the weird thing about growing up.

You don't necessarily stop being the person you used to be. You become someone new while carrying pieces of all the people you've been along the way.

The music you listened to when you were sixteen doesn't disappear because you're thirty.

The memories don't disappear.

The songs don't disappear.

And the fact that you no longer hold the same beliefs you did back then doesn't mean you have to hate everything associated with that period of your life.

Sometimes you can simply say:

"I've changed."

And:

"I still like this."

Both can be true.

That's how I feel about Skillet.

And that's also why I'm disappointed now.

Because when you have a personal connection to something, even a relatively small one, you want to believe that the people behind it are going to conduct themselves in a way that you can at least respect.

I don't need perfection.

I don't need agreement.

I don't need Skillet to suddenly become progressive.

I don't need John Cooper to start agreeing with my worldview.

I'm not asking for that.

I'm asking for basic human decency.

If the allegations surrounding this situation are accurate, then I think the harassment directed toward Sara Skinner was completely unacceptable.

And if Skillet's fans were responsible for creating that environment, then those fans should be called out.

And if Skillet really did remove Bad Wolves from the tour because of that backlash, then I think Skillet should explain why.

That's all.

Give people some clarity.

Say something.

Don't leave everyone else to speculate.

Because silence doesn't make controversy disappear.

It just makes people wonder what you're not saying.

And maybe there is more to this story than I know.

Maybe there are things happening behind the scenes.

Maybe there are contractual reasons.

Maybe there's another side of this that hasn't been made public.

Fine.

I'm willing to acknowledge that.

But until Skillet actually says something publicly, I'm left looking at what has happened and thinking that this is fucking disappointing.

And perhaps that's the biggest takeaway I have from all of this.

I don't want fandom to become an excuse for abandoning our principles.

I don't want to become the kind of person who says, "Well, that's my favorite band, so whatever they did is automatically okay."

No.

If I like you, I can still criticize you.

If I listen to your music, I can still disagree with you.

If your songs were important to me when I was younger, I can still tell you when I think you've fucked up.

That's what being honest means.

And honestly, I think we need more of that.

Less blind loyalty.

Less treating musicians like they're untouchable.

Less treating other fans like enemies.

Less digging through people's personal lives.

Less obsessing over someone's gender.

Less harassment.

Less cruelty.

More fucking humanity.

I started listening to Skillet when I was a kid who was already beginning to question his religious beliefs.

I listened to them because I liked their music.

Years later, I'm a very different person.

My beliefs are different.

My politics are different.

My worldview is different.

My life is different.

But I can still remember what those songs meant to me.

And I can still appreciate the music while saying that I'm disappointed in what I'm seeing now.

That's not hypocrisy.

That's growth.

I don't know where things go from here with Skillet, Bad Wolves, Sara Skinner, or any of the people involved in this mess.

Maybe more information will come out.

Maybe Skillet will eventually address it.

Maybe this will blow over and everyone will move on to the next internet controversy.

But I hope something actually gets learned from it.

I hope Skillet fans learn that being a fan doesn't give you permission to harass people.

I hope musicians understand that sometimes they need to stand up and tell their own communities when they've crossed a line.

And I hope the rest of us remember that we can disagree with people without dehumanizing them.

Because at the end of the day, I don't really care who wins some stupid internet beef.

I care about how people treat each other.

And that's why I'm writing about this.

Not because I'm some die-hard Bad Wolves fan.

Not because I'm some current Skillet superfan.

Not because I agree with everyone involved.

I'm writing about it because I remember being a teenager listening to Skillet while my own beliefs were changing.

I remember liking that music.

And I never thought I'd be sitting here years later writing about Skillet being surrounded by this kind of fucking drama.

I knew it was possible.

Given the current climate, I knew it was possible.

But I still didn't think I'd actually see it.

And maybe that's why I'm so disappointed.

I expected better.

And sometimes that's the most frustrating thing of all.

You can criticize something because you hate it.

But sometimes the strongest criticism comes from the fact that you used to like it.

I still like those old Skillet songs.

I'm not going to lie about that.

But liking the music doesn't mean I have to shut up when I think something is wrong.

And I'm not going to shut up.

And there's another reason Skillet's older music stuck with me: it helped me through periods of uncertainty.

There were times when I didn't know what the hell I was doing with my life. Times when I was questioning what I believed, where I was going, what kind of person I wanted to become, and what the future was even going to look like.

And during those periods, I had music.

Skillet's older songs were part of that.

Even as I was becoming less religious, their music could still speak to something in me. I could take the emotional weight of those songs and apply it to whatever I was going through at the time.

That's another thing people sometimes don't understand about music.

A song doesn't have to perfectly match your beliefs for it to help you.

Sometimes you aren't even thinking about the literal meaning of the lyrics. You're just feeling something. The guitars hit. The drums hit. The vocals hit. The emotion hits. And suddenly you're able to sit with something that you couldn't quite put into words yourself.

That's what some of Skillet's older music did for me.

It was there during uncertainty.

It was there during periods where I was trying to figure myself out.

And even though my relationship with religion eventually changed completely, the emotional connection I had with some of those songs didn't simply disappear.

That's why I can look at Skillet now and feel conflicted.

Because I'm not just looking at some random band I heard once.

I'm looking at a band whose music was part of my life during a time when I was still figuring out who I was.

And I think that's worth acknowledging.

You can outgrow someone's worldview without necessarily outgrowing every piece of art that helped you survive a particular chapter of your life.

Sometimes the meaning of a song changes as you change.

Sometimes you hear the same song years later and realize that it means something completely different to you now.

And sometimes you simply remember, "Yeah. I listened to this when shit was uncertain, and somehow it helped."

That's what Skillet's older music is for me.

And that's why this whole situation hits a little harder than it otherwise might.

Because when a band has been part of your life, even if you haven't followed them closely for years, you don't necessarily want to see them surrounded by controversy like this.

I don't want to rewrite my memories.

I don't want to pretend the music never mattered.

It did.

It helped me through some uncertain periods of my life.

And I can appreciate that while still saying that I'm disappointed in what I'm seeing now.

Those two things can exist at the same time.

The music helped me.

I still appreciate the music.

And I can still criticize the people and circumstances surrounding that music.

That's the honest answer.

August 11: The Day I Released My Debut Album

2026-08-25T15:32:28.606-07:00

August 11, 2026, wasn't just another day on the calendar for me.

It was my late uncle's birthday.

He died in 2019.

For years, August 11 has carried a certain weight for me. It was a date connected to someone I loved and lost. A date that could easily become associated with sadness, grief, and everything that comes with losing someone.

But this year, something different happened.

I released my debut album on that date.

And honestly?

I almost didn't.

I Wasn't Planning to Release It Yet

Before August 11, I was still trying to figure out when I wanted to release my debut album.

I was thinking about timing.

I was thinking about whether I should wait.

I was thinking about whether I should give myself more time.

I had already put so much work into the project that I didn't want to just throw it out into the world immediately.

There was this part of me that wanted to hold off.

Maybe release it later.

Maybe wait a few more weeks.

Maybe figure everything out first.

I was planning.

Thinking.

Overthinking.

Trying to find the "right" release date.

And then August 11 came around.

I knew what day it was.

I knew it was my uncle's birthday.

And I started thinking about the meaning that date had carried for me.

Then I had a thought.

Why not?

Why couldn't August 11 become something else too?

Why couldn't I take a day that had become associated with loss and give it another meaning?

And that's when I basically said:

Fuck it.

Let's release the album today.

Turning a Sad Date Into a Historic One

So I made the decision.

August 11, 2026.

That's the release date.

My debut album, Jaime David, was going out into the world.

And suddenly, August 11 meant something completely different.

It was still my uncle's birthday.

It still carried the memory of him.

That doesn't disappear.

But now it also became the day I released my first album.

It became the day I officially stepped into something I had never really thought I'd do.

It became the day I could look back on and say:

That's when I became a musician.

And I love that.

Because I don't want August 11 to be defined only by death.

I don't want it to be only a sad day.

I don't want it to be only a reminder of somebody who isn't here anymore.

I wanted to create something.

Something new.

Something alive.

Something that could continue existing long after that day.

So I did.

Maybe That's What Art Is About

There's something poetic about releasing an album on the birthday of someone who died years ago.

Because music is about creating something that continues.

A song can outlive the person who wrote it.

A recording can exist decades later.

A lyric can reach someone who wasn't even alive when it was written.

Art has a way of surviving us.

And maybe that's why this date felt right.

My uncle isn't here anymore.

But August 11 is still here.

And now, something I created exists on that date too.

Every year when August 11 comes around, I won't just think about loss.

I'll also be able to think:

That's the day I released my first album.

That's the day I took a chance.

That's the day I decided to stop waiting.

That's the day I said, "Fuck it. I'm doing this."

And honestly, I think that's pretty damn meaningful.

I Didn't Need the Perfect Moment

I think I was getting caught up in the idea that there had to be a perfect release date.

The perfect time.

The perfect plan.

The perfect circumstances.

But there really isn't such a thing.

At some point, you have to stop planning and start doing.

And August 11 gave me that push.

I realized that I could keep thinking about when to release the album.

Or I could actually release the damn thing.

So I chose the latter.

And I'm glad I did.

Because now the album has a story attached to it that I never could have planned.

It isn't just my debut album.

It's the album I released on my late uncle's birthday.

It's the album that transformed August 11 for me.

It's the album that came into existence because, on that particular day, I decided to stop waiting.

A Day Can Hold More Than One Meaning

I think that's something we sometimes forget.

A day can be sad and happy.

It can be painful and beautiful.

It can remind you of someone you've lost while also reminding you of something you've created.

Those emotions don't have to cancel each other out.

I can miss my uncle.

I can remember him.

I can acknowledge that he died in 2019.

And I can still celebrate what happened on August 11, 2026.

Those things can exist together.

And maybe that's what makes the date even more meaningful.

I'm not replacing the memory of him.

I'm adding another chapter to the meaning of the day.

I'm taking something that could have remained entirely somber and saying:

This is going to be a day of creation too.

My Debut Album Became Part of My Story

Jaime David is my debut album.

It's the first major musical project I've released.

It's a collection of songs that represents where I was creatively at this particular point in my life.

And now, its release date is permanently connected to August 11.

That means every time I look back at the album, I'll remember that moment.

I'll remember sitting there and thinking about whether I should wait.

I'll remember going back and forth.

I'll remember realizing that I was overthinking everything.

And I'll remember saying:

Fuck it. Release it today.

That decision might have been spontaneous.

But I'm really glad I made it.

Because sometimes the moments that seem impulsive at the time become the moments you remember forever.

August 11, 2026

So that's what August 11 became.

Not just a birthday.

Not just a date associated with someone I lost.

Not just a day of remembrance.

It became the day I released my debut album.

It became a day of music.

A day of creation.

A day of taking a chance.

A day of beginning something new.

And in my own personal history, I think August 11, 2026, is going to be historic.

Because that's the day I released Jaime David.

That's the day I stopped waiting for the perfect moment.

That's the day I decided that the album was ready to exist in the world.

And that's the day I took a date that had been connected to loss and gave it another story.

A story about creation.

A story about music.

A story about moving forward.

I don't think that makes the sadness disappear.

And I don't want it to.

But now, when August 11 comes around, there will be another feeling there too.

Pride.

Because I made something.

I released something.

I created something that didn't exist before.

And I chose to do it on a day that already meant so much to me.

So here's to August 11.

Here's to my uncle.

Here's to music.

Here's to creation.

And here's to the beginning of my journey as a musician.

August 11, 2026.

The day I said:

Fuck it. I'm releasing my album today.

And I'm damn glad I did.

Dolly Parton Is Gone. But Her Music Isn't Going Anywhere.

2026-08-25T15:28:57.388-07:00

Today, August 25, 2026, we lost one of the greatest songwriters and performers to ever pick up a guitar.

Dolly Parton has died at the age of 80.

And as someone who writes and makes music myself, this one hits differently.

Because Dolly Parton wasn't merely famous.

She was a songwriter.

She was a musician.

She was a storyteller.

She was an artist.

And she understood something that I think every songwriter eventually has to learn: sometimes the simplest stories are the most powerful ones.

Dolly could take heartbreak, poverty, love, jealousy, ambition, loneliness, family and everyday life and turn them into songs that people could understand.

That's an incredible gift.

Her family announced that she died peacefully in Nashville at age 80. Her death marks the end of a career that lasted roughly six decades and produced some of the most recognizable songs in country and popular music.

But I don't really want to write an obituary.

I want to talk about the music.

Dolly Parton Was a Songwriter First

One of the things I find fascinating about Dolly Parton is that songwriting was never simply something she did because she happened to be a famous singer.

She was genuinely a songwriter.

She wrote songs because she had stories to tell.

And she wrote a lot of them.

Her catalog includes thousands of compositions, and some of those songs became enormous hits for other artists.

The obvious example is "I Will Always Love You."

Dolly originally wrote and recorded the song herself in the 1970s. It became an even larger worldwide phenomenon when Whitney Houston recorded it for The Bodyguard soundtrack in 1992. Dolly's songwriting therefore reached audiences who might never have otherwise listened to country music.

Think about how incredible that is.

A song begins with one person sitting down and writing.

Then someone else records it.

Then another generation discovers it.

Then another artist interprets it.

And suddenly something that began as one person's emotional expression becomes part of millions of people's lives.

That's what songwriting can do.

"Jolene" Is a Masterclass in Simplicity

Then there's "Jolene."

You don't need a complicated story.

A woman is begging another woman not to take the man she loves.

That's basically it.

But Dolly's performance makes the desperation feel enormous.

The song doesn't need a thousand words.

It doesn't need some gigantic production.

It needs the emotion.

That's one of the things I love about songwriting.

Sometimes the strongest songs aren't the ones with the most complicated lyrics.

They're the ones where you can immediately understand what the songwriter is feeling.

"Jolene" does that.

You know exactly what this person is afraid of.

You know exactly what she wants.

And you understand exactly why she's pleading.

That's songwriting.

Dolly Turned Her Life Into Music

Dolly also had an incredible ability to turn personal experiences into art.

"Coat of Many Colors" is a perfect example.

She wrote about growing up poor and about a coat her mother made from scraps of fabric.

On paper, that sounds like a small story.

But Dolly turned it into something universal.

It's not really just about a coat.

It's about poverty.

It's about family.

It's about childhood.

It's about dignity.

It's about the way a child can find enormous value in something that other people might consider worthless.

That's the magic of music.

You can take something incredibly specific and somehow make millions of people see themselves in it.

She Crossed Genres Before Genre-Crossing Was Cool

Dolly's influence also goes far beyond traditional country music.

She crossed into pop.

She crossed into rock.

She crossed into bluegrass.

She crossed into gospel.

She crossed into film music.

She collaborated with artists from completely different musical backgrounds.

And she never seemed particularly interested in being trapped by a label.

That matters to me as an independent musician.

I've been experimenting with different styles myself.

Rock.

Rap.

Reggae.

Polka.

Instrumental music.

AI-assisted music.

Different sounds and different approaches.

And one thing I've learned is that sometimes trying to force yourself into one genre can limit what you create.

Dolly Parton's career is a reminder that you don't necessarily have to choose one box.

You can make the music you want to make.

You can evolve.

You can experiment.

You can surprise people.

And you can still have a recognizable identity.

The Voice Was Only Part of the Story

Obviously, Dolly had a distinctive voice.

You hear her sing and you know it's Dolly.

But her voice wasn't what made her legendary by itself.

It was the combination.

The voice.

The songwriting.

The personality.

The performance.

The storytelling.

The humor.

The visual identity.

The ability to connect with an audience.

That's something I think aspiring musicians sometimes overlook.

Being a musician isn't necessarily about having the technically best voice in the room.

It's about having something to say.

It's about making people feel something.

It's about becoming recognizable.

Dolly understood that.

She wasn't trying to be somebody else.

She was Dolly.

And that was enough.

More than enough.

She Didn't Need to Pretend to Be Someone She Wasn't

There's another reason Dolly's career fascinates me.

She embraced who she was.

The big hair.

The rhinestones.

The makeup.

The humor.

The Southern accent.

The larger-than-life personality.

She could have tried to become more "serious."

She could have tried to hide the things that made her distinctive.

Instead, she leaned into them.

And underneath all the glitter was an extraordinarily disciplined songwriter and businesswoman.

That contrast is part of what made her so compelling.

The rhinestones weren't the substance.

They were part of the presentation.

The substance was the music.

And Then There Was "9 to 5"

"9 to 5" is another example of Dolly's ability to write something immediately accessible while still saying something.

It's catchy.

It's funny.

It's memorable.

But it's also a song about working, exploitation, frustration and wanting something better.

And somehow Dolly turned that into a massive hit.

That's difficult to do.

A song can have a serious message and still be fun.

It doesn't have to sound like a lecture.

Sometimes you can make people dance while you're telling them something important.

That's an art form in itself.

Her Music Outlived Her

And now Dolly is gone.

But here's the strange thing about being a musician.

Your physical life ends.

Your music doesn't have to.

Dolly Parton died today.

But "Jolene" is still going to be played tomorrow.

"I Will Always Love You" is still going to be sung.

"9 to 5" is still going to be heard.

"Coat of Many Colors" is still going to tell its story.

And somewhere, some kid who has never heard Dolly Parton before is going to discover one of her songs.

Maybe they'll hear it in a movie.

Maybe their parents will play it.

Maybe they'll stumble across it online.

Maybe they'll hear another artist cover it.

And that kid might become a musician.

That's the beautiful thing about music.

It doesn't die when the person who created it dies.

It keeps moving.

Every Songwriter Eventually Leaves Something Behind

As someone who writes songs myself, that's something I think about.

I don't know how far my own music will travel.

I don't know how many people will hear it.

I don't know whether something I write today will matter to somebody twenty years from now.

And honestly, none of us really know.

But that's not necessarily the point.

We create because we have something inside us that wants to come out.

Dolly had that.

She wrote because she had stories.

She sang because she had something to communicate.

She performed because she wanted to connect.

And eventually, she created a body of work so enormous that it became impossible to separate her music from American popular culture.

That's one hell of a life in music.

Thank You, Dolly

I'm not going to pretend that I was personally close to Dolly Parton.

I wasn't.

But as a musician and songwriter, I can appreciate what she accomplished.

She showed what can happen when you take songwriting seriously.

She showed that country music can reach enormous audiences.

She showed that a song can cross generations.

She showed that vulnerability can become strength.

She showed that you don't have to abandon where you came from in order to become successful.

And perhaps most importantly, she showed that being yourself can be one of the most powerful artistic choices you can make.

Today, Dolly Parton is gone.

But the songs remain.

The recordings remain.

The performances remain.

The covers remain.

The memories remain.

And the influence remains.

That's the thing about music.

A musician eventually leaves the stage.

But the song keeps playing.

So rest in peace, Dolly.

Thank you for the songs.

Thank you for the stories.

Thank you for the voice.

Thank you for showing generations of musicians what it means to write from the heart.

And thank you for leaving behind enough music that we can keep listening to you for generations to come.

The woman may be gone.

The music isn't.

Demon Hunter, KPop Demon Hunters, and the Strange Collision of Two Very Different Demon-Hunting Worlds

2026-08-22T08:27:10.293-07:00

There are some bands that you discover and immediately think, “Yeah, this is probably going to stick with me.” For me, one of those bands is Demon Hunter. I have listened to a lot of different music over the years, and my musical tastes have become increasingly weird and eclectic. I can go from J-pop to K-pop to reggae to polka to mariachi to rap to metal without really caring whether the genres are supposed to fit together. But Demon Hunter is one of those bands that has a particular emotional quality that has always stood out to me.

And now, rather unexpectedly, Demon Hunter has found itself in the middle of a very strange pop-culture story involving Netflix, an animated movie, K-pop, demons, trademarks, and a whole lot of confusion.

Yes, I am talking about KPop Demon Hunters.

I have never actually watched KPop Demon Hunters. I don't have Netflix. Part of the reason is simply that I don't want to keep paying for another streaming service. Streaming services have gotten ridiculously expensive, and at some point you have to look at your monthly expenses and say, “Do I really need another subscription just so I can watch this one thing?” So I have never sat down and watched the movie myself.

But I have heard plenty about it.

I have heard that it is genuinely good. I have heard the music is catchy. I have heard the animation is impressive. I have heard the characters are fun, the story has more substance than you might initially expect, and the movie became an enormous phenomenon. KPop Demon Hunters was released on Netflix in June 2025 and became a massive success, eventually becoming Netflix's most-watched film and winning the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature. A sequel has also been announced.

So I am not approaching this from the position of someone who thinks KPop Demon Hunters is automatically terrible because it is popular.

Quite the opposite.

From everything I have heard, I actually think I would probably enjoy the movie.

And that is part of what makes the current Demon Hunter lawsuit so fascinating.

Because there is something almost comically strange about the fact that one of my favorite metal bands, Demon Hunter, is now suing Netflix over a movie called KPop Demon Hunters.

The premise sounds like the setup to a joke.

A Christian metal band called Demon Hunter.

An animated K-pop movie called KPop Demon Hunters.

Both involve music.

Both involve demons.

And now they are fighting over the name.

Except this isn't just some silly internet argument. Demon Hunter's corporate entity, Hyde Lane, filed a federal lawsuit in California on August 18, 2026, naming Netflix, Netflix Studios, and AEG Presents as defendants. The lawsuit alleges trademark infringement, false designation of origin, and unfair competition. The band's argument is essentially that the enormous success of KPop Demon Hunters has created confusion around the Demon Hunter name, particularly now that the franchise is moving beyond simply being a movie and into music, merchandise, and live performances.

And honestly, I can understand why Demon Hunter would be concerned.

At the same time, I can also understand why Netflix would look at this and say, “Wait, seriously?”

That's what makes this such an interesting situation.

Demon Hunter isn't some band that formed last year and suddenly decided that the words “Demon Hunter” belong to them because a Netflix movie became popular. The band was formed in Seattle in 2000. They have spent more than two decades releasing music, building a fan base, touring, selling merchandise, and establishing the Demon Hunter name. Their albums have appeared on the Billboard 200 and Billboard's Top Christian Albums chart.

That history matters.

If you have spent twenty-five years building a musical identity around a particular name, I can see why you would be concerned when a gigantic entertainment company suddenly creates a global phenomenon with an extremely similar name.

And the situation becomes more complicated because KPop Demon Hunters isn't merely a movie anymore.

The movie is about HUNTR/X, a fictional K-pop girl group consisting of Rumi, Mira, and Zoey. They aren't merely pop stars. They secretly fight supernatural threats while performing for massive audiences. Their main antagonists include the Saja Boys, a rival boy band that is secretly made up of demons.

In other words, the entire concept revolves around music and demon hunting.

That's a pretty significant overlap with a real band called Demon Hunter.

And now Netflix is expanding the franchise into live entertainment.

That's where this becomes particularly important from a trademark perspective.

The lawsuit isn't simply asking a court to erase the existence of a movie because its title contains similar words. According to reporting on the complaint, Demon Hunter is particularly challenging the use of the KPop Demon Hunters name in connection with recorded music, live performances, merchandise, and related entertainment. The band argues that those areas overlap substantially with what it has been doing for decades.

The band's complaint reportedly points to examples of actual confusion, including a person who accidentally purchased tickets for a Demon Hunter concert when they intended to attend a KPop Demon Hunters event. The lawsuit also describes media confusion involving an inquiry apparently intended for someone associated with the animated film.

That is where I think the band's argument becomes more understandable.

Because imagine being a fan of Demon Hunter.

You hear that there is a major entertainment event called KPop Demon Hunters.

You see advertisements.

You see the words “Demon Hunter.”

You might reasonably assume there is some relationship.

Maybe the band is involved.

Maybe it is a new side project.

Maybe there is a collaboration.

Maybe it's a tour.

Maybe it's a completely different thing.

That's not necessarily because people are stupid. It's because branding exists precisely to tell people where something comes from.

And when you have a massive entertainment franchise whose name contains the name of an established musical act, there is at least a legitimate question about whether consumers could become confused.

Of course, there is another side.

KPop Demon Hunters is obviously a different phrase from Demon Hunter.

It's plural.

It has “KPop” in front of it.

It's an animated fantasy film.

The characters are fictional.

The story is very different from the band's actual music.

Netflix also argues that the allegations are without merit and says it intends to defend the case.

And I think that is important to acknowledge.

Just because Demon Hunter filed a lawsuit does not mean Demon Hunter has automatically won the argument.

A lawsuit is an allegation.

A court still has to decide whether the legal claims are valid.

And trademarks are not simply a matter of saying, “I used these words first, therefore nobody else can ever use them.”

There are all sorts of questions involved, including what goods and services are covered, how similar the marks are, whether consumers are likely to be confused, and how the respective brands are being used.

But there is something else that makes this situation hilarious from a purely cultural perspective.

Demon Hunter has spent decades making music about demons.

KPop Demon Hunters is about pop stars fighting demons.

And now the real Demon Hunter is fighting the KPop Demon Hunters.

It's almost too perfect.

The fictional demon hunters have demons to fight.

The real demon hunters have lawyers to fight.

And somewhere in the middle, Netflix is probably wondering how it ended up in a legal dispute with a metal band.

I have to admit, though, that my personal connection to Demon Hunter makes me look at this a little differently than I might otherwise.

I don't consider myself some enormous expert on every album the band has ever released. But there are two Demon Hunter songs that particularly stand out to me: “I Am a Stone” and “I Will Fail You.”

Those are probably my two favorites.

And I think the reason I gravitate toward those songs says something about what I like about Demon Hunter in the first place.

“I Am a Stone” has this feeling of emotional isolation and resilience that I find incredibly powerful. There is something about the idea of becoming a stone, of becoming emotionally hardened, of trying to withstand whatever is coming at you, that hits differently depending on where you are in life.

It isn't simply an angry metal song.

It feels introspective.

It feels like someone trying to make sense of their own emotional state.

And that's something I appreciate in music.

I like music that can be loud, but I don't necessarily need the lyrics to be loud too.

Sometimes the most powerful songs are the ones where the instrumentation creates intensity while the lyrics are dealing with something much quieter and more internal.

That's also part of why “I Will Fail You” resonates with me.

That song has a very different emotional character. There is vulnerability there. There is an acknowledgement of human limitation and the possibility of failure. And I think that is one of the reasons Demon Hunter has remained interesting to me.

There is something very human about admitting that you are not invincible.

Music doesn't always need to tell you that you're going to conquer everything.

Sometimes it can say, “You are going to screw up.”

Sometimes it can say, “You are going to hurt.”

Sometimes it can say, “You might fail someone.”

And sometimes that's more honest.

I think that's what I appreciate about those two songs. They aren't simply songs I like because they sound good. They carry emotional weight.

And that brings me back to KPop Demon Hunters.

Because even though I haven't watched it, the story sounds like it has some surprisingly similar ingredients.

At the center of KPop Demon Hunters is Rumi, the leader of HUNTR/X. She isn't simply a superhero who happens to sing K-pop. According to Netflix's own character material, Rumi is half human and half demon, which makes her own identity part of the conflict. Her demonic heritage is both a source of power and something that creates internal struggle.

Then there is Jinu, the leader of the Saja Boys.

His story is also more complicated than simply “evil demon boy.”

Jinu was originally human and made a deal with the demon Gwi-Ma for fame and fortune. He became a demon and spent centuries serving that power. But eventually he begins questioning the role he has accepted and ultimately sacrifices himself to help Rumi.

That actually sounds like a pretty interesting story.

It isn't just “good people fight bad demons.”

It is about identity.

It is about temptation.

It is about fame.

It is about guilt.

It is about what people sacrifice to get what they want.

It is about whether someone who has done terrible things can change.

Those are pretty universal themes.

And maybe that's why KPop Demon Hunters connected with so many people.

You can make the surface incredibly colorful and ridiculous. You can have magical weapons, supernatural monsters, glamorous outfits, synchronized choreography, giant concerts, and demon boy bands. But underneath all of that, you can still tell a story about insecurity, identity, trauma, relationships, temptation, and redemption.

That's one of the great things about fantasy.

You can make the metaphor literal.

Instead of saying someone is battling their inner demons, you can literally have them battle demons.

And apparently, in KPop Demon Hunters, that's basically the premise.

I also think the contrast between the two Demon Hunters is fascinating.

Demon Hunter the band comes from Christian metal.

KPop Demon Hunters comes from Korean pop culture and animated fantasy.

One is a real band.

One is a fictional group.

One has been around since 2000.

The other became a worldwide phenomenon after a 2025 Netflix release.

One is associated with Christian metal.

The other is associated with K-pop.

They are wildly different.

And yet they ended up colliding because of two words.

Demon.

Hunter.

That's almost absurd.

But it also demonstrates how powerful a name can become.

A band name isn't just a label.

It's a brand.

It's attached to memories, music, artwork, concerts, merchandise, social media, search results, streaming platforms, and the expectations people develop over years.

If someone searches for Demon Hunter, they expect something.

If someone searches for KPop Demon Hunters, they expect something completely different.

But as the two brands become more prominent in the same entertainment ecosystem, the possibility of overlap becomes more meaningful.

And the timing makes this even more interesting because KPop Demon Hunters isn't fading away.

Netflix has already announced a sequel, with directors Maggie Kang and Chris Appelhans returning. Netflix said the first movie had surpassed 500 million views on the service, and the sequel is intended to continue the story.

There is also music.

There is merchandise.

And there is a planned live tour.

That means this isn't just a situation where a movie title happens to resemble a band's name for two hours.

The fictional franchise is becoming a larger entertainment brand.

That is probably why Demon Hunter is taking the issue seriously now.

Personally, I find myself in a weird position because I like Demon Hunter and I have nothing against KPop Demon Hunters.

I haven't even seen the movie!

So I can't honestly sit here and say, “KPop Demon Hunters sucks and Demon Hunter is obviously right.”

That would be ridiculous.

I haven't watched it.

I have heard good things about it.

I have heard the music.

I know the basic story.

And based on what I know, I can absolutely understand why people became fans.

If I had Netflix, I might watch it.

But I don't.

Netflix costs money, and there are only so many subscriptions I am willing to maintain. I already have plenty of other things competing for my attention and my wallet. I don't particularly want to spend money every month on a service just because everyone is talking about one movie.

Maybe someday I'll watch it.

Maybe I'll find some other legitimate way to see it.

But for now, I am basically observing the KPop Demon Hunters phenomenon from outside the window.

And now, somehow, one of my favorite bands is suing the company behind it.

What a strange world.

There is also something kind of funny about how easily people could misunderstand the situation.

Someone could hear, “Demon Hunter is suing KPop Demon Hunters,” and assume this is some kind of ridiculous culture-war feud.

It isn't really that.

This isn't Demon Hunter saying that K-pop is bad.

It isn't Demon Hunter saying that animated movies are bad.

It isn't necessarily Demon Hunter saying that Netflix shouldn't make a movie about demon hunters.

The dispute is fundamentally about branding and the commercial use of the name.

That's an important distinction.

You can like KPop Demon Hunters and still understand why Demon Hunter might be concerned.

You can like Demon Hunter and still understand why Netflix might think its title is sufficiently distinct.

You don't have to turn this into a team sport.

And honestly, I would rather see people approach it that way.

I am particularly interested in what happens as the case develops because the circumstances are so unusual.

The lawsuit involves what could be described as a smaller, established music brand confronting a gigantic entertainment company whose franchise has exploded into global popularity.

That's where the concept of “reverse confusion” becomes interesting. Reporting on the case has described Demon Hunter's position in those terms: rather than a large company being confused with a smaller company, the concern is that the massive newer brand could overwhelm the identity of the older one.

That is a fascinating problem.

Normally, when people think about trademark confusion, they imagine someone copying a famous brand.

But what happens when the newer thing becomes vastly more famous than the older thing?

What happens when somebody searches for a name that has existed for decades, but the search results are dominated by something that appeared much more recently?

What happens when the public starts associating a phrase with the newer thing?

That's not a trivial problem for the older brand.

And I think that's probably the heart of what Demon Hunter is worried about.

Imagine spending twenty-five years building something, only for a Netflix franchise to come along and make the words “Demon Hunter” immediately associated with something else.

That's got to feel strange.

At the same time, Netflix didn't create the concept of demons or demon hunters. Those are ancient concepts that appear throughout mythology, religion, fantasy, literature, movies, television, games, and music.

So the legal question isn't whether anyone is allowed to make art about demon hunters.

Of course they are.

The question is much narrower: whether the particular branding and commercial uses of KPop Demon Hunters infringe rights associated with Demon Hunter.

That's for the courts to decide.

And until that happens, I'm not going to pretend I know exactly how the case will turn out.

What I do know is that this is one of the strangest entertainment stories I've encountered in a while.

I also know that it has reminded me why I like Demon Hunter.

Because underneath all the legal drama and internet jokes, there is still a band whose music has meant something to me.

“I Am a Stone” is still one of my favorites.

“I Will Fail You” is still one of my favorites.

Those songs existed long before Netflix had a K-pop demon-hunting movie.

They existed long before HUNTR/X.

They existed before the Saja Boys.

And they existed before somebody accidentally bought the wrong concert ticket.

That's worth remembering.

The lawsuit doesn't define Demon Hunter.

The band existed before KPop Demon Hunters, and whatever happens in court, the music will continue to exist afterward.

And maybe that's ultimately what interests me most.

Names can collide.

Brands can collide.

Entertainment franchises can collide.

But music can still stand on its own.

I can listen to “I Am a Stone” and not think about Netflix.

I can listen to “I Will Fail You” and not think about trademark law.

I can appreciate the music for what it is.

And somewhere out there, millions of people can enjoy KPop Demon Hunters without necessarily knowing that a Christian metal band has been using a very similar phrase for more than two decades.

That's the bizarre intersection of modern pop culture.

Different worlds can suddenly crash into each other.

A Christian metal band from Seattle.

A Korean-inspired animated musical.

Netflix.

AEG Presents.

Trademark lawyers.

K-pop idols.

Demons.

Concerts.

Merchandise.

And me sitting here without Netflix thinking, “Well, apparently I need to write about this.”

I don't know whether I will eventually watch KPop Demon Hunters.

I probably will if I ever find myself with access to it and the opportunity comes along.

And if I do, I'll probably be watching it with a strange perspective.

I'll be thinking about the movie as its own story, because that's what it is.

But I'll also inevitably think about the fact that the words “Demon Hunter” have a history outside of this franchise.

And that history belongs to a band whose music I genuinely enjoy.

That's what makes this whole situation so interesting to me.

It's not simply a lawsuit.

It's a collision between two pieces of popular culture that, on the surface, couldn't be much more different.

One is heavy metal.

One is K-pop.

One is Christian.

One is animated fantasy.

One is a band.

One is a fictional universe.

One has spent more than twenty-five years building its identity.

The other became a worldwide phenomenon in a little over a year.

And somehow, they both ended up hunting demons.

Now they're hunting each other in court.

I have no idea where this lawsuit will ultimately go.

Maybe Demon Hunter wins.

Maybe Netflix wins.

Maybe the parties settle.

Maybe some aspect of the KPop Demon Hunters branding changes while the movie itself remains completely untouched.

Maybe the whole thing becomes a footnote in entertainment-law history.

Whatever happens, I hope people remember that there are actual artists and creative people behind these brands.

And I hope people can talk about the dispute without turning it into another pointless internet war.

Because I can simultaneously say, “Demon Hunter is one of my favorite bands,” and “KPop Demon Hunters sounds like a pretty damn fun movie.”

Those statements aren't contradictory.

I can love “I Am a Stone.”

I can love “I Will Fail You.”

I can be interested in K-pop.

I can enjoy weird genre combinations.

I can think the whole legal situation is fascinating.

And I can still admit that I haven't watched the movie because Netflix costs too much for me to justify subscribing just to see it.

That's my position.

For now, I'll keep listening to Demon Hunter.

I'll keep enjoying the songs that made me a fan in the first place.

And I'll watch this bizarre legal battle unfold from the sidelines.

Who knows?

Maybe one day I'll finally watch KPop Demon Hunters.

But until then, there is something undeniably funny about the fact that one of my favorite bands, Demon Hunter, is now in a real-world battle over a fictional group of demon hunters.

The demons were supposed to be the problem.

Apparently, the trademark lawyers were the real final boss.

I Want the Jaime David Music Blog to Get Out There

2026-08-08T08:05:38.274-07:00

I’ve been thinking about something lately: I really want the Jaime David Music Blog to get out there.

Not just exist.

Not just sit on the internet with a few posts that I occasionally add to.

I actually want people to find it.

That might sound like an obvious thing for someone running a music blog to say, but for me, there’s something bigger behind it. The Jaime David music project has become something that I genuinely care about. I’m not just making a couple of songs and throwing them online. I’m experimenting, writing, recording, creating strange instrumental pieces, working with AI, playing instruments, making sounds in Audacity, and figuring out what kind of musician I want to be.

And I want somewhere to document all of that.

That’s what the Jaime David Music Blog is for.

I want it to become a place where people can follow the journey rather than only seeing the finished product. Because there is a lot that happens before a song becomes a song that somebody else gets to hear.

Sometimes I’m sitting there experimenting with an instrument.

Sometimes I’m recording something completely unconventional.

Sometimes I’m making music out of sounds that probably weren't originally intended to be musical.

Sometimes I’m writing lyrics and then figuring out how those lyrics should actually be performed.

Sometimes I’m using AI as a performer for something I wrote because the song calls for a vocal range or performance that I personally can't provide.

Sometimes I’m making something that sounds completely ridiculous.

And sometimes I accidentally make something I really like.

I want the blog to capture all of that.

I also want people to discover the music itself. The blog isn't separate from the music project. They're connected. The songs are the music, while the blog is where I can talk about the ideas, experiments, stories, and experiences behind them.

I don't expect everybody who finds the blog to suddenly become a fan. That's not realistic. Not everybody is going to like experimental music. Not everybody is going to like AI-assisted music. Not everybody is going to like my songwriting. Not everybody is going to like the weird combinations of genres and sounds that I sometimes come up with.

And that's okay.

I don't need everybody.

I just want the people who do connect with it to have a way to find it.

That's why I've been thinking more about things like RSS feeds and ways of making the blog easier to follow. I recently created a FeedBurner feed for the Jaime David Music Blog so that people who use RSS can subscribe and keep up with new posts.

You can check it out here:

Jaime David Music Blog FeedBurner Feed

I'm also interested in getting the blog connected to more places where people might discover it. Social media, content platforms, search engines, RSS readers, and other corners of the internet all provide different ways for someone to stumble across something they wouldn't have otherwise known existed.

Because that's ultimately what I want.

I want somebody somewhere to stumble across a Jaime David song or blog post and think, "What the hell is this?"

And then maybe they listen.

Maybe they read another post.

Maybe they find another song.

Maybe they disagree with something I said.

Maybe they love something I made.

Maybe they think one of my experiments is completely insane.

Honestly, any of those outcomes are better than nobody ever finding it.

I've never really been interested in creating things just to put them in a drawer.

When I write something, I want it to exist.

When I make a song, I want somebody to have the opportunity to hear it.

When I write about the process, I want somebody to have the opportunity to read it.

And when I put an idea out into the world, I want to give it the chance to reach somebody who might actually need to encounter it.

That's especially important to me because a lot of what I create has meaning behind it. My music isn't always just about making something that sounds good. Sometimes there is a message. Sometimes there is an idea. Sometimes there is frustration. Sometimes there is humor. Sometimes there is compassion. Sometimes there is anger. Sometimes there is an entire philosophical idea hiding underneath a song.

That's part of why I want the blog to grow.

I want the blog to become a record of this whole period of my life where I decided, "You know what? I'm going to make music."

I didn't start out as some established professional musician with a studio, a record deal, years of formal production experience, and a huge audience waiting for my next release.

I'm figuring this out as I go.

And honestly, that's one of the most interesting parts of the story.

I'm learning what works.

I'm learning what doesn't.

I'm learning how to record.

I'm learning how to mix.

I'm learning how different instruments sound.

I'm learning how to turn weird sounds into actual musical ideas.

I'm learning how to work with AI.

I'm learning how to release music.

I'm learning how to promote it.

And I'm learning how to build an audience from essentially the ground up.

The Jaime David Music Blog is part of that process.

So yes, I want it to get out there.

I want more people to know it exists.

I want more people to discover the songs.

I want more people to read the stories.

I want more people to follow the experiments.

I want more people to see what happens when someone decides that they don't necessarily have to follow the traditional rules of how music is supposed to be made.

And maybe that's the most important part.

I'm not trying to pretend that I'm something I'm not.

I'm Jaime David.

I'm making music.

I'm experimenting.

I'm writing.

I'm learning.

I'm creating.

And I'm putting it out into the world.

Now I just have to help the world find it.

So if you've stumbled across this blog, welcome.

If you've been following along for a while, thank you.

And if you want to help this little music project get out there, share a post, share a song, tell somebody about it, subscribe to the RSS feed, or simply keep coming back.

Every person who discovers this project is one more person who gets to see where this weird musical experiment goes.

And I have a feeling I'm only getting started.

Jaime David Music is here. Now let's see how far it can go.