In an age where much of the talk and most of the fear is directed to AI, I had a timely reminder last night about why new advancements in technology will never be able to replace the power of human connection. The Charlatans are one of my favorite bands, a mainstay of the UK’s Madchester music scene, and still cranking out great music for over 30 years since I first saw them live in concert. So as I stood in the company of about eight hundred relative strangers at their Portland gig, I wondered what it was exactly that had brought us all together under one roof, for one night.
We had things in common, no doubt, and the most obvious of all was age. Other than the odd, token young person, the median age was somewhere around sixty. This included event security, as evidenced by a lady considerably older than myself who was stationed on a bar stool in front of the stage. Dressed all in black with the obligatory baseball cap, she was presumably there to prevent any of us from rushing the stage or surfing directly onto it once the mosh pit had formed and bodies were piling in left, right and center. It was wildly optimistic planning, considering that most of us now believe a good day starts with a firm bowel movement, is punctuated by liberal doses of anti-inflammatory medicine (“to take the edge off”), and ends at a much earlier hour than our 1980s selves would have thought humanly possible for anyone six years or older. Either way she didn’t look like someone to be trifled with, her stony expression conveying that while it may take several minutes to get herself moving, she could no doubt put any of us down in seconds with her John Wick-like attack skills, or more likely a handy taser.
The women in the crowd all looked quite wonderful, moving with the times as far as their dress, and as is always the case carrying themselves with casual charm. The majority of the floor at Portland’s Wonder Ballroom however, displayed the trifecta of hairstyles for men of a certain age: grey, receding, or none at all, the shining pates occasionally blinding me as they reflected the stage lighting into the crowd. There were more than a few walking aids, and although of course hidden from view, even more hip repairs and replacements–as I can personally testify. That didn’t stop us from being up and moving to the music, albeit perhaps at a slightly gentler, metronomic pace, feet planted firmly to avoid any unintended stumbles. There was clearly an ex-pat vibe in the room too, which led me into a few distracted moments of “Spot the Brit”. The level of difficulty wasn’t terribly high; articles of clothing, hairstyle or a combination of the two making it relatively obvious which star of this musical genre was being idolized. Just to my left Shaun Ryder of Happy Mondays and Black Grape fame swayed in time to the beat, behind me Liam Gallagher sneered and tried his best to look unimpressed. The fella in the England football shirt didn’t leave me guessing.
The only Brits that counted on this night though were the ones on stage. They were what had brought us here, a decades old legacy of cool music binding us to them like familial blood lines. The sound and the look is slightly different. Like us they’ve aged, but the music now is still as compelling now as it was in ‘92 in the sweaty mosh at the Stuttgart Longhorn in Germany. And that’s what this is really about. At points in our lives, and especially when we’re younger, we form incredibly strong associations and memories with music and with the artists who create it. For the most part, we don’t know them personally and never will, but that doesn’t matter. We learn the lyrics, we follow what happens in their lives, we buy the albums and come to the concerts. All night I exchanged knowing looks with total strangers, we smiled at each other because at that moment in time we shared common ground, united in our love for the music of Tim Burgess and the rest of the group, whatever else our differences might be.
Could such a thing happen with an AI-generated band, album, song? One day, will a purely synthetic artefact of computer programming be able to establish the same depth and strength of connection with people, create a worldwide fanbase, provoke emotions, induce spending, and create debates amongst friends about the merits of the latest album? Not a chance. And not because AI isn’t smart, that’s already proven beyond a doubt. What it can never replicate is human emotion, that thoroughly unpredictable, infuriating and endearing quality that makes us what we are in all our endeavors. It’s the tragedy and joy in our lives that inspires us to draw and paint, to create timeless music, to write incredible stories and retell them in books, on stage and in film. And that’s why, long past my normal “bedtime”, I left the venue with my ears ringing, my head spinning (enough Jamesons will do that to you), and a smile from ear to ear that lasted the rest of the week. As the kids used to say, “I’m down with that.”