Tonight I sat with one of my very best friends, whose dad just passed. The moon hung over us unseen, as we talked about making music and waxed toward our brightest selves and felt dad and moon nonetheless there with us. I would not trade that for anything.

There has been a lot of talk lately about replacing art, and the artifacts of humanity’s questioning reach into the unknown, with facsimiles generated by machines trying to extract its essence.

I say that’s rubbish. Real creativity, by its nature, is impossible to replicate or pinpoint. It is like water, and will seep its way through the smallest crevice until it opens into a floodgate. There is no faking it. There is no escaping it.

If you can live with crap for your art, blow yourself away. I, for one, want to hear and sing a real song with my friend. If you’re with me, say so. And the rest of y’all, please keep your formulas on your side of the fence.

Robby Rothschild on Instagram