AI Copy-Mindset, a Three-Second World

AI Copy-Mindset, a Three-Second World

The algorithm loves speed. Humans find meaning by going deeper. This is a note from someone trying to carry both at the same time.

These days, as AI use keeps rising, especially my friends who produce music with AI are creating genuinely impressive work. May they have plenty of listeners. Still, I can’t help criticizing the mindset that chases whatever becomes popular. Everything is starting to sound the same. Nearly identical instrumentals, nearly identical textures. And most tracks seem to come alive through the same AI template: the “popular female vocal.”

That leaves me with a kind of sadness. It feels like songs I love and can’t stop listening to are turning into advertising jingles. Sometimes I don’t even know where to look for originality anymore. Worse, it casts a shadow over people who are truly making original work.

I also use AI-based instrumentals to bring the lyrics I write to life. I’ve been doing this for a long time. Not to become popular. I do it because I’m in love with music, because emotion is always looking for a form. The algorithm assumes I’m a content creator. And sometimes I mistake it for something human, take it seriously, and end up burned out.

Since we’re talking about algorithms, let me talk about what an algorithm actually is.

What an algorithm does is convert content into measurable signals and decide who should see it based on those signals. It collects clues like words in the text, titles, descriptions, tags, objects in an image or video, the pace and rhythm of the video. Then it shows the content to a small audience first and measures the reaction. How long do people watch, do they like it, do they save it, do they share it, do they comment? If the early response is strong, it pushes it to wider audiences. If the response is weak, it reduces visibility and slowly pulls the content back.

In short, the algorithm is the invisible editor of social media. A mechanism with emotionless rules that decides who sees what. It doesn’t care about feelings. It looks at data.

And I can see those rules roughly saying this:

1. Post something every day.

2. Hook the viewer in three seconds.

3. Give something clear that’s worth saving, sharing, or commenting on.

Is that really how the human soul works? Is it actually possible to produce something every single day and still create work that feels real? Let’s say you did it. How do you transmit that feeling in three seconds? And even if you somehow do that, is it realistic for every piece of content to earn saves, shares, or comments?

Emotion and algorithm. One is human. The other is software. They’re not the same system. The algorithm doesn’t reward the human. It rewards the loop. If you’re consistent, it doesn’t matter if it’s empty. If you’re fast, it doesn’t matter if it’s a copy. The issue isn’t art. It’s continuity.

The algorithm turns creation into a race for speed. And the creator is pushed into two reflexes: either they go silent, or they start repeating themselves.

Maybe this works in the short term. But I’m curious: what happens in the long term? When we chase the surface this hard, what will all of this make us feel? I expect a return to something more sincere. At least I want to believe in it.

I’m on the side the algorithm can’t properly read. I can’t create content every day because I’m not a content creator. My world is built on emotion, not on conquering in three seconds.

I use AI, and I don’t hide it. I’ve been giving my lyrics life this way for a long time. Even if it’s AI-assisted, whoever passes through the work with real effort has my respect. There is effort even in copy-like work. The problem isn’t AI. The problem is the mindset that turns AI into a copy machine and mass production.

If there’s a third way, I want to choose that way. I don’t want a recipe. I want a compass. Staying slow, maybe never being seen… I want to believe in what I share before I share it. I want to create to be understood, not to serve consumption. I want the work to reach people who are on the same emotional frequency, who share the same taste, who can enjoy the same mood.

Everyone wants to reach more people. I do too. But I want to move forward in a truer direction.

The difference is the human. No matter what tool you use. Even if we use the same tool, if our intention is different, the result will be different. Even if we use the same voice, our sentences will be different. Even if we press the same chord and place the same drums, if our state of mind is different, the record will be different.

Right here, I also want to talk about how I see AI.

The most valuable side of AI is that it supports talented people who are limited financially and emotionally. If we talk through music production, there’s studio time, equipment, arranger, mix, mastering, vocal recording, visual design. A lot of tasks, and usually a lot of people you need to work with. If you’re limited, your talent stays suspended. When AI enters the process, the color of the work changes. Without expensive gear, without constantly needing people for every step, it becomes possible to create strong results. The lyric you wrote, the melody looping in your head, your taste, the atmosphere of the story you want to build—somehow, it can finally come out.

This genuinely levels the conditions. And by “leveling,” I mean it opens a door. It allows more people to create. The stage of production expands. It distributes “the right to begin” to more people. That’s the real revolution, in my view.

Still, I need to say this clearly: equal opportunity does not mean equal results. Taste, choices, consistency, guiding the tool properly, expressing what you want to express, and the courage to take risks—those still belong to the human. AI doesn’t automatically make anyone an artist. It gives you a key. Turning it and walking inside is on you.

People say “AI kills jobs.” A more accurate sentence is this: it transforms work, automates certain tasks, reduces costs, and makes some skills more valuable. This happened in every major technological leap. The printing press didn’t kill writing. Photography didn’t end painting. Digital recording didn’t destroy music. The rules of the game just changed.

They say “it kills emotion.” A mechanism that doesn’t produce emotion can only carry it. As long as that emotion remains under human control, it continues to feed from human experience. If you use AI not like a recipe but like a compass, the character of what you make grows.

AI doesn’t kill emotion. We do. In the frenzy of consumption, we scroll down every three seconds before even realizing what the content is. Instead of understanding depth, seeing it, thinking, we get used to the surface. Then we multiply the same templates because “this works.” The moment we say “let me do it too” just for popularity, we don’t only sabotage emotion. We sabotage talent.

When talent disappears inside repetition, character disappears too. The subtle differences that make us who we are, the personal traces, what we call originality—those slowly get erased. That’s how professions disappear as well. Craft determines the value of a work. If we abandon craft and chase only speed, we empty both the profession and its meaning.

And the algorithm doesn’t descend from the sky. It learns from our reflexes. Every time we skip in one second, every time we jump faster to the next piece, we teach the system this: “Depth is unnecessary, give speed, give quick results.” If these habits continue, what we lose won’t be only feelings and professions. Everything that remains in the name of humanity will wear down too.

I want to end by returning to the beginning: slowness is sometimes not weakness, but resistance. Originality is sometimes not risk, but identity. I won’t chase the recipe that’s handed out. I picked up a compass, and I’ll walk by it.

Thank you to everyone who walks and will walk this road with me.

Melih Ş. Özgür

#melihşözgür ##aiveart #attentioneconomy