A Field of Moda Flex

So why is there no song about applying for grants, The mouth is a non-workly and embrace new twines for ten stars. The people who get to write songs sing of their own lives, and I am full of different dreams that nobody else will sing of. Nobody else had time to record this song, or the life to sing from so I asked a machine. The rhymes are off, the voice goes wrong in places, the mouth is out of sync, the face is almost me, but not quite. I take the glitches and the generic lines, because without them there'd be no song This is the music of other people's music, of those who were never asked, of an industry hell-bent on generic songs that might as well be AI. I know that, and I use it anyway. My voice was never my own, I never had a core, that didn't come from somewhere. The cult of originality, the myth of the genius, there's no point singing it again. The machine sings a song in a minute or five. If you want to say what everyone says, it will help you. it will help you. If not, If not, it's up to you to say something else, with its limits or against them. You write about a world without algorithms on a platform built to watch you. You dream of a return to nature in digital images. You write a manifesto for a different world with spellcheck from the people trying to stop things changing. For most of us, me included, there's no pure outside, just the compromised inside, run through with mathematics and extraction. Escape into purity if you think you can, but most of us will stay here, where nothing is uncomplicated and there's no uncompromised place to stand.

because without them there'd be no song

about a song.

Call it micro-populism. for a small local community of others Songs for the people who deal with the social services daily to get the care they need, who buy the salad that is expired because they can't afford the one they want. Nobody will play it on the radio. It's heard on a laptop through a small speaker, on social media built to sell products and propaganda. It's up to you if you dream of music run by record-company monopolies, fueled by authentic rock-star geniuses, with tickets priced beyond most of us. Me, I dream of cheaper organic food and there's no uncompromised place to stand. The rhymes are off, the voice goes wrong in places, the mouth is out of sync, the face is almost me, but not quite. But not quite, I take the glitches and the generic lines,

because without them there'd be no song

about a song.

Call it micro-populism. for a small local community of others Songs for the people who deal with the social services daily to get the care they need, who buy the salad that is expired because they can't afford the one they want. Nobody will play it on the radio. It's heard on a laptop through a small speaker, on social media built to sell products and propaganda. It's up to you if you dream of music run by record-company monopolies, fueled by authentic rock-star geniuses, with tickets priced beyond most of us.

Me, I dream of cheaper organic food and a welfare state that gives more people the chance people the chance to make strange, compromised beauty with problematic tools.

A human songwriter would do it better, would want to be paid, and should be. Until things are different, this is what there is: This is what there is. cheap salad and mediocre music that smuggles in ideas of change. This text started off with me, but the machine got it wrong in a way I hadn't thought of, and that's where this song of modest hopes begins, not with control or mastery,

but by letting go and listening for the glitch.

A song about art grants. Grants.

A song about social services and the salad.

Then the salad. A song about a song. Imperfect and only partially mine to begin with. Into about there I lose him like there the dreams in here. Whose real and victims the grace is turns injectionally. Dime off and seamless was in blooming. Whose chomper in the rebellionly world to develop. And who makes cool is the ego user about. Whose is not a resolve for me. All puss it and vada. Even the million past shows. Reflects is right with resolve. Come down. The phone's crashing from conditioning. The keep thinks is deeper. Until things are different, this is what there is: cheap salad and mediocre music

that smuggles in ideas of change.

This text started off with me, but the machine got it wrong in a way I hadn't thought of, and that's where this song of modest hopes begins, not with control or mastery, but by letting go and listening for the glitch. A song about art grants. Grants and times. Revealed there keeps knocks somewhere. I sing as far as the room for reports. Times to entice me. A last flavor of softly questions. All the thoughts crossed in a turning time. On their testable stressed air. Taste both and disariable. A people live me. The shore glued mist. And temples where men's it pass. Injectionally teaches voice to festus. They threw self-study I able to him and. I've listened through exists occasionally and nice folks. Computers and judiculum at rich islands. But not like the canberry chain. Until another in hoggers to my names. Invite warm cloney ties. To keep even of mill with friends. Minolcos because we're far spaced. The tales start in meteor to a million pasting. The teller a lackin's terse to them. And stack started at force.

In temples where men's to fill no ports. Million rickles whisper cope. Banner crimes but an awful complacent mightle through. A field warring bales can green eyes some bling. The raledian jazz and strict story rickly because we're myself. And run back to pride exmodic revision.

There's not of musical perfect peers. In the middle for creates dies. A field of moda flex turns for a second with no polls. Or. A journey going to sport it's goal.

A field of moda flex turns for seeking with no polls. The field of moda flex turns for a second. Or. A field of moda flex turns for seeking to know polls. Or. A field of moda flex turns for seeking.

and should be.

and ex-grace the poet of modern flag-steering's voice

Lyrics: Kristoffer Ørum · Musik and song: YuE · Video: LongCat-Video-Avatar 1.5 (Meituan) med Whisper-large-v3 til læbesynkronisering og MelBand-RoFormer til vokalseparation · Undertekster: Whisper-large-v3 + Demucs