The Irreplaceable Voice: Will AI Silence Human Song?

The first thing I do every morning is to turn on the music. I start each day with Carnatic music from CDs randomly arranged on the player. The music brings to life the stillness of the morning and starts my day on a positive mood. The language, genre and style of music may change but music remains in the background all day long, at home and at work.

As I write, Maharajapuram Santhanam's distinctive earthy voice fills the room. Like all great voices, his voice is unmistakable—one that I doubt any human or algorithm can ever replicate.

Yet synthetic voices pervade the media to communicate news and other information and to persuade people to purchase goods and services. All we hear are the same few voices repeated over and over.

As artificial intelligence grows ever more sophisticated, I wonder if this distinct—and, I believe, irreplaceable—pleasure of listening to a multitude of voices in Carnatic music will one day be replaced by synthetic voices? Is this the beginning of us humans abdicating our individual differences to machines?

The Allure of the Human Voice

What makes a voice like Maharajapuram’s so captivating is not just its pitch or clarity, but its humanity—the slight tremble in a long-held note, the improvisational flourish in a raga, the faint breath between phrases, a cough, a clearing of the throat. These are not flaws; they are the fingerprints of a living artist. Carnatic music, like all great vocal traditions, thrives on this individuality. One singer’s rendition of a song does not sound like the same song rendered by another. Nor is one recording of a song identical to a later recording of the same song.

This diversity is not incidental; it is part of the tradition. There are over a hundred singers I listen to, and only rarely do I mistake a rendering by one for another, and I am no expert in the Carnatic tradition.

The Rise of Synthetic Sound

Yet, AI now threatens to flatten this richness. Already, tools exist to clone voices, generate "perfect" singing, or even compose new "performances" by long-dead artists. At first, this may seem harmless—a novelty, a tool for experimentation. But the danger lies in normalisation. If listeners grow accustomed to synthetic voices, will they still seek out the raw, unfiltered beauty of human song? If record labels can license an AI " Maharajapuram Santhanam " to sing endlessly without fatigue or ageing, will they invest in living artists? The convenience of artificiality could quietly erode our connection to the real.

A Call for Self-Awareness

Our greatest challenge is not to reject AI, but to awaken to what it means to be human alongside it. We must recognise two worlds—the organic and the artificial—without blurring their boundaries. Just as we teach children to distinguish a photograph from a painting, we must now teach them to discern a living voice from a synthetic one, a human choice from an algorithmic suggestion. But this awareness must extend beyond sound to touch, intuition, and creativity. Our selves—and our agency—are not relics to be archived, but flames to be guarded.

Teaching Humanity

AI’s greatest danger is that it will make us forget who we are as humans and forget the multiple talents we are born with. To counter this demands a reimagining of education. Let us teach students to wield AI as a tool—for drafting ideas, transcribing melodies, or exploring creative possibilities—while fiercely preserving the sanctity of human expression. The new curricula must emphasise:

• The role of human emotions and the human body in art (the breath behind a note, the callus on a violinist’s finger);
• The ethics of authenticity (when to label AI, when to privilege human creation);
• The courage of imperfection (why a cracked note can express more than a flawless one).

As Santhanam’s voice rises in a final, resonant phrase, I am reminded that technology has no inner life. A song synthesised by AI may delight the ear, but only a human voice can reach the soul of the listener. Our task is not to resist progress, but to insist that progress serves what machines can never replicate: the messy, glorious act of being alive, of being human.

"Let us use AI, but never mistake it for artistry. Let us listen to both worlds—but only bow before one."