When I started creating Pulse of Avalon, it wasn’t a grand vision. It was a place for the music to land (and other ideas, experiments). I was messing around—learning about generative technologies. I was in the middle of trying to get my head around machine learning. To be honest? I was playing catchup.

Let’s roll back a bit.

Before Pulse of Avalon was even a thought—about 18 months ago—I picked up The Hundred-Page Machine Learning Book. I saw that data science, machine learning, and this AI-dubbed arena were something I needed to learn about—and fast. At least to understand where it was going and how it might affect me and my family.

The book is, well, dry AF (I once dropped a 400-level stats class in college). Still, I chewed through as much of the math and terminology as I could bear over six months (yawn!)—only to find it was just modeling built on ideas much older than me.

I spent a lot of time scrolling through YouTube videos about machine learning and generative tech. I was interested—but not interested enough yet to do anything proactive. Once I saw the real potential, I suddenly had Stable Diffusion running locally on my laptop.

The shift came when artists, record labels, and musicians suddenly started to panic, BIG TIME—maybe it was a Rick Beato video, or another where a musician and a music generator went head to head and barely lost. Subreddits lit up. Some angry. Some excited.

Not long after, I was shown Suno at version 3.5, in a restaurant on a Tuesday night. And this—this was different. Something wholly new. I was fascinated—how could math do this?! Knowing music—and knowing how much effort goes into the traditional process of writing, planning, equipment, talent, recording, mixing, mastering…

Music created from dust, practically. Fairy dust.

Not only was I curious how this was even possible, I was determined to see how well Suno could play with others (me), and at least participate in what I believe is the future of how we create. Make meaningful fairy dust.

I understand why other traditionalists are upset. “Wait, you mean my 4 year old nephew can generate a song about dinosaurs, and it sounds like it was recorded at Abbey Road?” Fine. But as artists with depth, we simply need to be—and can be—much more than that.

For me, it’s about writing original lyrics. That’s the part I’ve always loved. And collaborating inside Suno’s world has actually made that more fun, not less. It’s opened up new ways to build something bigger than just the songs and allowed creative freedom to explore beyond the recording studio.

Maybe it makes sense since I’ve always loved writing. Whether it’s songs, stories, or software, language has been my way of building. I’ve been prompting, in one form or another, for most of my life.

As I continue to work with these tools and large language models, I’m intrigued—and concerned—about the intersection of humans, AI, and ethics. Enough so that it’s the thematic undercurrent of the next full album release.

There’s still something I need to sort out—through words and worlds.