Tambourine Player Replaced by Computer | Joost Omen recites a Jubal
I am listening to the radio after taking a shower. I have a yellow shower radio that I bought in a thrift store in Koudum for 4 euros, some new batteries in it and it worked fine, it only gets radio 10. They’re playing there with Michael Jackson this morning. Someone is playing the tambourine.
I imagine the man who played that tambourine. Probably the party, maybe in a private room of his own music studio, maybe over coffee, in the suburbs of Los Angeles, USA. He pays attention. Soon the man behind the controls would say it was okay, and America’s most sought-after tambourine man would leave the studio and head to his sports car, which he had earned by playing tambourine parts in a less extravagant way. It was not yet twelve, and he still had the whole day. He was going to get a sandwich and one for his sister, whom he would meet later.
The recording booth in Los Angeles is now empty
I think about AI while drying. Whether the recording booth in Los Angeles is now empty or has computers in it all happens in a fraction of a second, unimaginably fast and thin. A little sad at first, then happy.
After all, for all its mellowness, the sound of the computer’s tambourine is not the sound of its own tambourine. The tambourine in the computer is based on all the real tambourines before him: the one from the shower radio, the one from the gospel choir, the one from the Brazilian village square, the Greek who played the tambourine on the steps. of the Parthenon. Even though the computer seems to be bringing something completely new, all those new pioneers, all the tambourine players are strumming in the background. The king, who derives his power and influence from all the kings and queens before him, is not allowed to be truly unique in order to resemble his predecessors as much as possible, because those predecessors are the only thing a monarchy can do. What makes AI King special is that he takes a lot of (copying) work out of our hands.
Then I write a new poem
All we are left with is to come up with something completely new. A starting point, a new tumbler or royal house, is something that can be described by a computer at lightning speed. It makes me not only happy but also scared because that time when I tried to come up with something new it didn’t work and sometimes it was accidental. I felt like I was falling from the sky, not me. Discovering something truly new, the eureka moment, cannot be forced. AI can’t, but I can’t.
I think about this as I start putting my socks on autopilot. Then I write a new poem.
“Coffee fanatic. Friendly zombie aficionado. Devoted pop culture practitioner. Evil travel advocate. Typical organizer.”