AI music is no longer a niche phenomenon. Deezer has just released figures showing the extent of the trend. 28 percent of all uploads on the platform are entirely machine-generated. Every day, 30,000 new tracks are added. And according to Deezer, up to 70 percent of the plays for these songs are outright fraud. Streams from bot farms that are ultimately designed to collect royalties. Deezer filters out these clicks from the billing process and removes AI tracks from playlists and algorithms.
This sounds radical, but it’s primarily pragmatic. The wave can no longer be banned. Instead, the platform is focusing on damage control. The problem is less about the technology itself than about the business model that connects to spam and automated mass production. Streaming is turning into a copy of the old SEO spam world: quantity trumps quality, as long as algorithms cannot tell the difference.
Other Platforms Compared
| Platform | Handling of AI Music | Notable Points and Disputes |
|---|---|---|
| Deezer | Removes AI tracks from recommendations and playlists, filters out fraud streams | 28% of uploads are AI, up to 70% are fake streams |
| Spotify | Generally allowed, removes suspected fraudulent uploads | Removed Boomy uploads, debate over fake artists |
| YouTube Music | Requires labeling, uses Content ID to track AI music | Focus on copyright, not mass uploads |
| Apple Music | Allowed via distributors, as long as rights are clear | No public policy, largely silent approval |
| SoundCloud | AI uploads allowed, but prohibits training without consent | Clear stance against data theft for AI models |
| Niche Platforms | Some take a hard line against AI bands | Example: ROKK with anti-AI policy |
The motives behind these uploads vary. Fraudsters focus on quantity and bots to generate passive income from micro-payments. Some projects simply want to provoke or test how far they can push the system. Labels and publishers are seeing their revenues shrink. Artists suddenly have to compete with hundreds of thousands of new competitors for visibility, many of whom have never set foot in a studio.
The consequences are foreseeable. Attention is increasingly directed at trash content. Revenues shrink, even when fraud is filtered out. Legally, it remains unclear who actually owns AI-generated music. And trust in streaming diminishes as catalogs look less like music and more like data garbage.
For club music, quantity isn’t new. There were always countless white labels that no one knew after two weeks. The difference now is that these productions had a social reality. AI tracks, on the other hand, are often nothing more than empty output without context. For platforms, the question remains whether they treat music as culture or just content.
Digital Music and the Loss of Value
Even before AI triggered the flood, digitalization had already undermined the value of music. An MP3 file can’t be loved; it’s just an interchangeable data point on a hard drive. Vinyl is tangible, smells of dust and chemicals, and tells stories in its cover. Digital music, however, is fleeting, a file among millions. Ideally, both would go together, i.e., the MP3 and the vinyl record in one package.
This whole mess is also affecting listening habits. Playlists are replacing albums, and individual tracks have become „skipware.“ Owning a collection of records once created a relationship with the music. Digitally, that anchor is missing. No collector’s value, no ritual, no sense of ownership. The result: music becomes disposable, no longer something to cherish but something that’s consumed in passing.
The industry has long made this a business model. Money is no longer made from the work itself, but from subscription models, advertising, and data. The question is whether music in this setting still functions as culture or merely as background noise. AI is just the next step in this devaluation spiral.
Clubs Between Ritual and Content
The change is also visible in clubs. In the past, a track was a discovery, hard to come by, a secret between the DJ and the crowd. Today, almost anyone can find the same MP3 in seconds. This de-mystifies the moment. When a song is just content, it loses its special aura.
DJs are under pressure. It’s no longer about spinning rare records that make the difference, but about storytelling, dramaturgy, and staging. At the same time, the audience is changing. Those who grew up with Spotify no longer hear a set as a journey, but instead want constant highlights. Skipping in their minds.
All Chorus, No Journey
In the past, a track built up: intro, breaks, the chorus as the climax, and then a gradual outro. Today, digital productions place the climax right at the start. When there’s no patience left, the climax has to hit immediately, because the skip button is always faster. The chorus is repeated until it becomes tiresome. The waveform of the amplitude gives way to a constant normalization, every peak equally loud, every passage equally flat.
This doesn’t just change music; it also changes the way we listen. Tension, anticipation, and excitement dissolve. What’s left is a permanent maximum that devalues itself. Music becomes background noise without any dramaturgy. This is poison for clubs. Those who know the intensity of a night out understand that magic only works when there are gaps, transitions, and breaks. This is EDM.
Clubs Are Heading Into the Same Logic as Streaming Services
Attention is fragmented, and music is consumed rather than experienced. The question is whether spaces that were once defined by intensity and exclusivity will adapt to this pace or whether they can counter it. Perhaps the ritual of vinyl will be the antidote, as it brings back what the digital world has devalued: slowness, scarcity, and closeness.
and then