AI Musicians Argue They Are Tools, Not Slop

Overview

The TikTok algorithm currently seems obsessed with a masked rapper named Kilo Kent and his hit track “40’s.” The song is inescapable, featuring fans lip-syncing, social media commentators heralding him as the “next big thing,” and anonymized promotional videos. While the track itself is a catchy, super-produced trap-pop banger that fits comfortably alongside any FIFA soundtrack from the last decade, there is a distinct catch.

Many commenters are convinced the music is AI-generated. This is not an isolated incident. A scroll through the platform reveals dozens of masked, deliberately obscure artists—often Francophone Afro-R&B performers—creating music that appears too polished to be human. These tracks boast hundreds of thousands, even millions, of streams. Their vocals are pitch-perfect, and their production carries a cellophane-like sheen reminiscent of fantasy video game voice acting.

In many cases, these artists explicitly promote their music with AI-generated visuals. Kilo’s top recommended artist on Spotify, Zemi, is fronted by a muscular, vaguely North African-looking AI avatar. The character, whose face is obscured by a keffiyeh, sings French-language love songs in the middle of a desert. While some commenters point out the obvious artificiality, the majority seem indifferent. One fan wrote on Zemi’s Instagram, “It’s wonderful how I always fall in love with you and your art.”

This phenomenon has led many to dismiss such music as “slop”—mass-generated content designed to scrape streaming royalties from gullible listeners. However, the reality behind the avatars is far more nuanced. When contacted for interviews, both Zemi and Kilo revealed they are signed to the same label: Isekai Records. They are not faceless algorithms, but self-described “next-gen” producers using technology as a deliberate artistic choice.

The Label Behind the Avatars

Isekai Records, a name derived from the Japanese term for “another world,” positions itself as a label capable of converting social media hype into tangible streams. The company first gained notoriety after signing a controversial producer named Haven. Earlier this year, allegations surfaced that Haven’s viral hit “I Run” used the AI platform Suno to impersonate the vocals of Jorja Smith.

Spotify removed the track in November 2025, citing concerns over impersonation. Isekai subsequently re-released the song with a human vocalist, a version that has since surpassed 250 million streams. A representative for the label confidently stated, “No one does marketing like us.” This ability to navigate viral trends and regulatory hurdles has established Isekai as a significant force in the evolving digital music landscape.

The label’s strategy relies on a specific aesthetic: anonymity and digital perfection. By obscuring the artists’ identities, Isekai shifts the focus entirely to the sonic experience. Yet, when pressed, both Kilo and Zemi insisted they are real people. They joined video calls with cameras off, but their narratives reveal extensive human involvement in the creative process. They view their use of AI not as a replacement for artistry, but as an instrument within a broader production toolkit.

“Not Oven-Generated Food”

Both artists draw a sharp distinction between using AI as a tool and relying on it to generate content wholesale. Zemi, who was born in Paris to Albanian parents, claims to have had an extensive career as a producer before launching his AI avatar. He asserts he has racked up nearly one billion streams working with major pop acts, though he declines to name them or share his previous alias. According to Zemi, he grew tired of the ego management required in traditional pop production and turned to Suno in 2025 to execute his vision more directly.

“I sing the songs, bring it over into Suno to change the voice, and then mix it myself,” Zemi explained. “The entire process behind it is human.” He argues that while the final vocal timbre is AI-modified, the beats, top lines, and production are entirely his own creation.

Kilo Kent offers a similar perspective, using a culinary analogy to explain his methodology. He compares AI-assisted music to baking a dish from scratch.

“Think of AI-assisted music like an oven. You prepare the dish, you chop the vegetables, you salt it, you do everything. That’s not oven-generated food.”

For Kilo, who has written songs for big rappers in the UK but never sought fame, the AI avatar serves as a mask that allows the music to stand alone. He contrasts his method with what he considers true AI slop, describing it as equivalent to a microwave meal.

“AI-generated slop, meanwhile, is like a microwave meal. You’ve gone to the freezer aisle, you’ve popped it in the microwave, and, boom, there’s your lasagna. That shit is disgusting to me.”

This argument suggests that the medium is not the problem, but rather the level of human intentionality and effort applied to it. The artists contend that they are composers and producers first, using AI as a sophisticated effect processor similar to auto-tune or reverb.

The History of Musical Skepticism

The backlash against AI music is not without precedent. Throughout history, listeners and critics have consistently grappled with the degree of synthesis or “fakeness” they are comfortable accepting in recorded music. New technologies are often met with resistance before eventually being embraced as legitimate artistic tools.

In 1965, folk legend Pete Seeger famously threatened to cut Bob Dylan’s electric guitar cable with an axe at the Newport Folk Festival. Seeger was objecting to Dylan’s decision to abandon acoustic instruments for electric ones, a move seen by purists as a betrayal of folk authenticity. Similarly, in 1993, Nirvana producer Steve Albini dismissed electronic dance music as “completely brain dead” and devoid of artistic merit.

More recently, in 2013, R&B singer Usher told auto-tune pioneer T-Pain that he had “ruined music by popularising that auto-tune bullshit.” Yet, auto-tune is now a ubiquitous standard in pop, hip-hop, and R&B. Today, even formats that claim spontaneity, such as the viral “freestyle rap video,” are often revealed to be lip-synced, pre-written performances processed through plugins and synthesizers.

The current debate mirrors these past conflicts. The question is not whether AI is “real” music, but how much human input is required for it to be considered art. As long as artists like Zemi and Kilo continue to emphasize their role as composers and producers, the line between tool and crutch may remain blurred.