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The Herald Scotland
19-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Herald Scotland
This extreme metal album blew up one weekend – now it's accused of AI
These examples are out in the open, attached with a clear mission statement, framed by their practitioners as the next step in the future of art creation. But what about when the algorithmic infection begins to worm its way out of the mainstream and into the underground, where screams of authenticity are paramount? It all began last Friday when an album by Czech black metal artist Draugveil was uploaded to YouTube. Its striking cover art of a young, long-haired knight draped in corpse paint laid upon a bed of roses caught the eyes of many, and its popularity snowballed instantly. Read more: The cruel AI joke played on Studio Ghibli and its well-loved style But something else caught the eyes of some, that the roses seemed a little off. The rose stems protrude from the ground in an unrealistic fashion. So, in line with the times, accusations of AI trickery arrived swiftly and spread fast. Soon, the music itself was accused of being AI, or outlines of songs fully formed once put through the generative music program SUNO. There's no indication that this is the case, and the music is in line with what one would expect from a one-man black metal project in the vein of Judas Iscariot and Burzum, but then if AI was asked to create music in a black metal style, that is probably what it would decide to generically produce and spit out. A Reddit thread titled 'Had to leave band because singer was too obsessed with AI art' was also linked to the project, but nothing indicates a connection beyond mere conjecture of how certain details might match up. Alas, it was just another factor for many that deception was afoot in the underground metal community. The germ of the strange roses became the igniting catalyst for the torrent of accusations, but that itself does not indicate the use of AI. Album covers hardly need to exist in the realm of the real, and it's not out of the ordinary to find details within album art that do not line up with their real-world counterparts. For all we know, the artist was a few roses short of a bed, and the suspicious plants were digitally placed there in image editing software, which is totally standard practice. On the part of the YouTube channel that gave the album a platform, Black Metal Promotion, they say Draugveil sent them screenshots of the songs in a digital audio workstation. That does not mean there was no AI in play, but then it likely means there was a creator's hand guiding the work at the very least. But the intensity of the speculation, and the sheer speed of the AI narrative setting in, shows how quick we are to jump the gun in our suspicions of AI as a looming threat waiting around every corner. That's not surprising considering the use of AI in art is bound to get even more complicated, deceptive, and normalised – but it does not help if suddenly every artistic eccentricity is now in the firing line for inauthenticity through an assumption of AI use. Read more: This film veteran was stunned when he asked AI to give him ideas For many in the discussion, Draugveil's album being a result of AI is an indisputable fact, repeated until it becomes truth. Many say Draugveil needs to clarify with a statement, but that would be the biggest mistake to make. The hype generated by the intense back-and-forth discussions, the mystery of what the reality is, is a more powerful promotion than whatever the truth might come to be. It is reminiscent of the hijinks of 2000s black metal project Velvet Cacoon, which became infamous for mixing in fake albums that never existed and stealing songs from local bands and passing them off as their own, all because the ensuing confusion and outraged bluster would be entertaining for them. Before, accusations of inauthenticity lay in intentions, but now it is the process that is being questioned. If the threshold for suspicion is this low, we're heading toward a future where artists will have to prove their humanity just to be taken seriously. Whether Draugveil is a project borne from AI may always be a mystery unless the artist speaks and makes their case, but the prevailing sense is that people want it to be true, for the thrill of catching a fraud in the act and to satisfy any lingering purist paranoia. But if every strange flourish in an album cover or every odd-sounding riff becomes grounds for an AI witch hunt, where does that leave human creativity in the end?
The Guardian
25-02-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘It makes you feel like the hero of your own quest': the dark, delightful magic of the dungeon synth scene
A flurry of inflatable caveman clubs have erupted into the air, a crowd of ecstatic metallers swinging them merrily as they watch a hooded dinosaur peering over a synthesiser. The masked musician, Diplodocus, has transformed this crowded pub in soggy south London into a mystical underworld, one entrancing chord at a time. This is Albion Dungeon fest, a sellout, weekend-long event, and the first of its kind in the UK. Emerging in the 90s as an offshoot of black metal, dungeon synth replaced guitars with keyboards to make it less moshing, more magic. Its mystical sound has aesthetics to match, channelling the atmosphere of JRR Tolkien books, the role-playing game Dungeons & Dragons and a darkly quaint reimagining of the medieval era. Much like a wizard's beard, the story of dungeon synth is long and tangled, and in a bid to unravel it, author Jordan Whiteman painstakingly investigated the genre. It resulted in Dark Dungeon Music: The Unlikely Story of Dungeon Synth, published earlier this year, which Whiteman is promoting at the festival. 'This genre began in people's bedrooms with a keyboard and a tape deck,' he says, 'and that, for the first 10, 20 years, was what it was – it was never intended to become anything more'. This fringe genre has fascinating origins, rooted in Norway's black metal scene. Mortiis, real name Håvard Ellefsen, who gave a Q&A on his biography at the festival, is generally considered a pioneer. After leaving his band Emperor in the early 90s, he wove together black metal's morbid sentiments, the facial prosthetics inspired by heavy metal rockers and imagery from fantasy novels to construct his own solo project, describing it as 'dark dungeon music'. The second figure credited with dungeon synth's conception is the highly controversial musician Varg Vikernes. Vikernes, a neo-Nazi who was convicted in 1994 for the murder of a former bandmate among other crimes, created two ambient albums while behind bars under the moniker Burzum (meaning darkness in The Lord of the Rings' evil Black Speech language). He was released in 2009 and has since been sentenced for inciting racial hatred. Whiteman says nazism 'and abhorrent ideologies' are unfortunately still a notable part of black metal's legacy. 'I'm grateful that the dungeon synth fans are largely hostile to ideology creeping into the music,' he says, noting that such views reject one of dungeon synth's 'primary tenets', as it 'breaks the whole escapist function of the music'. Though its popularity hasn't exactly exploded, Whiteman says he's noticed dungeon synth events cropping up more frequently in his native US, with fans evidently drawn to its fantastical theatrics. At the festival, held at the New Cross Inn in south London, the German duo Depressive Silence – stalwarts of the 90s dungeon synth scene – wear dark cloaks while dramatically swinging metal incense burners to the imposing thump of drums. Others don chains or spiky leather armour, and you're already familiar with the dinosaur. UK-based act Atlantean Sword – who doesn't give his real name – performs at the festival in his usual garb: a menacing skull helmet plus a huge sword. 'Dungeon synth is still, at its core, ambient music, so the theatrics make it more engaging for the audience,' he says, adding that the music is intended to put the listener on a 'hero's journey', providing them with a fantasy escape. 'I'm trying to capture nostalgic feelings related to high fantasy films, books, video games and fantasy art, and incorporate those feelings into the music,' he says, naming Conan the Barbarian, Frank Frazetta paintings, Warhammer and the 1989 arcade game Golden Axe as sources of inspiration. Atlantean Sword is relatively new on the scene – he released his debut album in late 2023 – but even he has seen the genre's popularity 'increase exponentially', describing the festival's sellout status as 'mind-blowing' and a mention of the festival on Radio 1 as 'wild'. But he maintains that a key element is 'mystery and obscurity. Dungeon synth is, in its truest form, underground music. I'm not sure what will happen if the music is pulled too far out of the dungeon and into the harsh light of day.' From my position in the crowd, the atmosphere feels too unique to become mainstream. I might be flanked by scary-looking metallers, but they're disarmingly well-behaved; listening intently, reacting courteously. One man, so moved by the swelling synths, passionately reaches up, stretches his fingers skyward and tightly curls his hand into a fist, as if to clutch the sound waves tightly. I catch up with one superfan, Cecil, who beams as he speaks. 'Even though the community is very male-dominated and can look pretty intimidating, it is, by and large, really sweet,' he says. 'If anything, you'll find a dungeon synth crowd to be a little shy. We're people who nerd out over alternative music and don't always feel comfortable in mainstream culture.' Meanwhile, for Cecil, the genre's association with Vikernes is something to remain aware of. 'I've not had any bad interactions personally. The people I've met are always welcoming, excited to share their music and their knowledge. But if you pay attention to what tattoos and patches some people have, it's obvious those interactions are possible – especially if, like me, you're a visibly queer person.' For the vast majority, however, dungeon synth is a form of liberation – acting as, in Cecil's words, 'a shared fantasy space' where oddballs and misfits can find solace from the not-so-magical mainstream. 'It might be a little cringe, but we're all embracing that atmosphere of mysticism, possibility and nostalgia together,' he says. 'It's music that can take you to the depths of a cursed forest or make you feel like the hero of your own quest.' Putting forward something of a dungeon dweller's manifesto, Cecil emphasises what lies at the genre's core. That, in the face of an alienating modern world, all that's left, he says, is to 'reject society, escape to the dungeons!'
