We’re getting another round of AI superintelligence scaremongering, and here’s why you should reject it

Each new hour holds new chances for a new beginning. The horizon leans forward, offering you space to place new steps of change – excerpt from On the Pulse of Morning by Maya Angelou.

The above poem describes evolution’s inevitability and how humanity, fortuitously, has surpassed this. We’re unique in having the opportunity to perpetually reshape the future. Only now we’re outsourcing it to the wrong people.

Speaking of the wrong people – a year and half has passed since I first aired my suspicions of claims that, in the near future, advancements in AI would dramatically improve everyone’s life.

Back then, the trillionaire gobshite and his army of gilet and chino clad acolytes were triumphantly so assured. Within a few years everything would be cheaper. It would cannibalise most rudimentary jobs, with universal basic income allowing us to squander our lives by being Graham Linehan sized horrible cunts on social media.

Best of all it would necessitate an end to the heavily deregulated “trickle up” economic model of the last fifty years, which has steadily eroded living standards for the vast majority of people. Even the Thatcherite pondlife who hand-wring that our economy will collapse without “wealth creators” would have to fall in line. It would be utopia for them too – with virtually no human labour required businesses will cost less to run and our precipitous decline in literacy won’t matter.

Such claims, especially the timelines of implementation, always felt preposterous and delusional. I’m reminded of an incident twenty years ago where some peculiar Godbotherer (I can’t remember what the loopy sui-generis Quaker adjacent denomination was) turned up at my door, replete with leaflets that showed animals unbound and living communally with humans. Drawn were grizzly bears, geese, wolves, tigers, fuck off turtles, badgers, gorillas, lions, eagles, rabbits, elephants, komodo dragons (or some other species of large lizard), swans, corgis, parrots, lemurs, small children and silver haired hippies all in harmony and hugging it out at this latitude. Keeping a straight face was difficult, trust me, and it’s equally hard not to scoff at the latest wave of mendacious AI superintelligence claims doing the rounds.

Because back in the real world there is scant evidence that superintelligent AI is here, or will be soon. I still have my lowly, primitive job, and I’m busier than I have ever been. They’re hiring more people where I work too. The cost of living? Food, petrol, energy, housing – it all keeps going up exponentially (and it aint the Strait of Hormuz being closed bruv), as do the profits for the asset owning class.

The creep of automation is at a snail’s pace and that isn’t uniform across all employment sectors. But we are getting more laughably janky robotics and a preponderance of unconvincing AI deepfakes that’s finally throttled what remained of the porn industry. Ignore all the lack of real-world consequences though, AI can now create Will Smith having conversations with a semi realistic individual while eating pasta normally. Just four years ago he was chewing it through his cheek, while his arms shot out of his ringpiece. Amazing. But yeah, be afraid, superintelligence is a-comin, innit.

The AI hype has become a grift industry. Victoria Derbyshire recently interviewed the “Godfather of AI”. In said interview he delivered his zinger with an indifference that bordered on comatose – that a ten percent chance that AI could wipe out humanity in the next decade “sounds not unreasonable”.

Quite a claim. But why ten percent and not twelve, or eight point six? And why the next ten years, not five? Not seven? Not twenty? You’ll notice the constant caveating through the use of “could” or “may”. Would he have been interviewed at all if he stated there was a less than one percent chance? This inclination for silly hyperbole typifies the media age we exist in, and helps the AI oligarchs to do their bidding – much reporting functions to capture interest and dim understanding rather than inform us.

Conspiracy theories are dismal, but it’s hard to resist the temptation here, given the media’s willing complicity, that this round of AI superintelligence scares are planned and planted. It’s noticeable that the latest “it’s fully autonomous” story where AI agents independently hacked into something and worked in concert together, some even sacrificing themselves to achieve the collective goal, comes as the tech oligarchs are now being met with robust public resistance to the AI industry’s first significant physical intrusion on civilian topography – data centres.

Data centres are unpopular not for their lack of functionality or commercial viability, but their size, consumption of resources, encroachment on nature and noise pollution. The best way to counter any opposition to them? Increasing our perceived reliance on AI technology with infrastructure and bluster of our susceptibility to AI’s advancement.

Pumping up the capability, and in this case necessity, of a product is marketing 101, even these whistleblowers grassing that the speed of AI advancement is going unchecked falls into this category. Sam “just one more war in the Middle East” Harris is a fully paid-up member of this AI could SkyNet us groupthink. An unwelcome video of his popped in my suggested videos YouTube feed, with a suitably clickbait title “Coin toss whether AI takes over”.

In most cases airing concerns over what superintelligent AI might do to us of its own volition is not designed to mobilize people against AI’s grotesque infrastructure requirements and the finance bubble it relies upon, but a positioning of fatuous intellectual vanity to appear prophetic. If correct, nobody will be around for Harris to smugly say I told you so.

Focusing on the speculative ways AI could gain complete autonomy from humans misses the bigger more immediate threat – what those who control and own the technology intend to do with the resources it has yielded them to date.

The main mode of protecting our freedom is liberty for all under the law. The rush of data centres being built has been the most consequential AI related development in the last two years. They are multiplying, sporing like fungi. The data centre rush is a blatant flex by these AI billionaires to capture and hoard resources, making them less accessible for you and me – energy, land and water (and many computer components, including graphics cards – the horrible swine). It isn’t the only means. The nefarious influence the tech and crypto dickheads are having on politics with huge donations is another downstream example of mass conforming to the AI bubble. Then there’s Musk’s tenure owning Twitter, it’s now a petri-dish of disinformation on all number of subjects, AI included.

Flooding the zone need not be limited to daft speculation or disinformation about, say, immigration, with a slew of fake statistics, claims or anecdotes. It can also take the form of our redundant preoccupations with semantics. For instance – whether Israel has committed a genocide in Gaza. Having a debate about what to call industrial scale murder is not only an extravagance but worrying about the wrong thing. It’s as redundant as worrying about hypotheticals of artificial intelligence wiping us out when the owners of AI companies are actively shaping economies to their benefit and our detriment.

There’s always been a class struggle for rights, usually between those of means and those who rely on labour. But I’m starting to wonder whether AI’s future success will be shaped by a battle between those who are bamboozled or cowed into inertia by the threat of AI’s superintelligence, and those who see it and reject it and the associated infrastructure for what it is – an elitist, anti-human, nihilistic abomination.

I genuinely believe opposition to data centres can be that class warfare trigger, but only if we ignore all the bluffs. Why am I so confident? AI’s encroachment has the capacity to offend everyone. The supposition I’ve personally found most offensive – that AI will supersede art made by humans.

Nobody wants books, movies, sculptures, paintings, installations, TV or music that is made by AI. Artistic endeavors and artists are appreciated because their creation is an inherently and exclusively human behaviour. It is not an affectation of humanity, it is humanity. AI cannot write prose fiction, it struggles with consequential thinking from one sentence to the next, not to mention failing to grasp human irrationality. Music? Get tae fuck cunt. I’d rather listen to stuff made by hacks, such as that twat who wears a marshmallow head, Deadmau5 and Fred Again than a jingle made by an OpenSource based algorithm, especially as the ones we have now suggest Sam Harris videos to me occasionally.

Yet despite AI offering a mediocre suite of products thus far some are worried about AI Superintelligence. But that makes sense. So many of us are chronically online in our echo chambers, consuming the propaganda of this being the shape of progress and that makes it harder to discern the real threat in front of us – ourselves, by meekly accepting the ascendency of AI, and the clowns who runs these companies, as inevitable.

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Song Of The Day – African Roots by King Tubby

From the album “Declaration Of Dub” (2002)

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Song Of The Day – Poppin Popeye by Link Wray

From the compilation album “The Link Wray Collection – 1956-62” (2019)

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Essential Listening: White Light/White Heat – The Velvet Underground (1968)

All the peaks of legendary acts from the sixties and seventies that you could mention – The Beatles, Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin – constituted a succession of flawless albums in short order.

For the Beatles their regal run starts with Rubber Soul through to their final album Let It Be. That’s a stupefying eight albums in five years! Such an output wouldn’t be feasible in this digitized era of doomscrolling and attention spans sequestered by social media. Take the Stones’ own fab four apex of Beggars Banquet (1968), Let It Bleed (1969), Sticky Fingers (1971) and Exile on Main St. (1972) as another example. Evidence that one of these albums is consistently less celebrated than another is scant.

But cultural consensuses can be tricky to pin down emphatically. Bob Dylan’s John Wesley Harding might offer an exception. It certainly doesn’t feel as though it receives the reverence of its chronologically approximate offerings Bringing It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited or Blonde on Blonde. Perhaps it’s just as simple as it coming last in that succession of albums, or that it was the first album recorded after Dylan’s motorcycle accident in 1966. Robert Shelton makes the case in his impeccable Dylan biography that Dylan’s exhaustion at his goldfish bowl fame began to make him prickly and withdrawn, sullied his enthusiasm and Joe Public could feel that. Here the retrospective analysis enters the chat – John Wesley Harding, and Dylan’s reclusiveness, became a symbiosis synonymous with the end of Dylan’s creative peak, a chink in the mythology that’s endured. Grossly unfair, but no less tangible.

Let’s add this as an exhibit to what I’d term the sandwich album phenomenon. Sandwiched, as in not quite an afterthought, but comparatively undervalued. Just as the earthly subtlety of a truffle and acorn fed Serrano Ham from Extremadura could be overpowered by sourdough slices belonging to a perfectly fermented crumb. The bread is the first and last thing to hit the palate. With Dylan the bread is Bringing It All Back Home and Highway 61 Revisited.

Timing and superficialities matter. So, albums, which are great in their own right, can get overshadowed by works of a similar standard that inadvertently better meet the cultural moment. The Velvet Underground & Nico, boosted by that iconic Warhol album cover, their self-titled third album The Velvet Underground and final album Loaded – the final two Reed centric albums serving as a template for the, dare I say, more accessible aesthetic found on the triumvirate of Transformer, Berlin and Coney Island Baby, which propelled Reed to a highly successful seventies solo career – combine to relegate White Light/White Heat as an afterthought in the VU Oeuvre.

Before carrying on and making the argument why this should not be, I want to state for the record that there was no fifth Velvet Underground album. It’s a myth, a fib, fake news, a JFK, Lord Lucan and Tupac teaming up to help fake the moon landing level conspiracy. If socialism is to finally make it and not just threaten to fake it, we owe it to each other to enact a test run and tap into the Stasi tradition. First, to manifest this as a collectively forced understanding, including spying and thought policing, so it then morphs into an incontrovertible truth. Said success of equality in equilibrium will ensure happiness.

White Light/White Heat is an essential work for reasons other than its immersive quality. It sits slap bang at an important historical intersection of musical evolution, is culturally and musically avant-garde, and marks the end of an era of band’s sound. The abrasiveness of White Light/White Heat contains the embryonic outline of punk before punk arrived, while the sonic haze, serving as the theme of the album, is a perfect ode to late sixties counter and drug culture and offers a simultaneous challenge to the ascendancy of Greenwich Village’s folk scene, the challenge itself also revering its essence.

It’s often claimed that hippy counterculture ended at Altamont in 1969 with that dude getting shot by bikers while the Stones were playing, but I’d argue White Light/White Heat was a truer demarcation point. It was the final Velvet Underground album with Cale as a member and as such is one of the last truly progressive sounding albums of the era. Even with Reed as the main songwriter, both The Velvet Underground and Nico and White Light/White Heat feel as though they belong to Cale’s inclination for compositional and sonic experimentation.

The album exemplifies that Cale and Reed were the perfect creative odd couple – see also Songs For Drella which they recorded in 1990 as a tribute to Andy Worhol. Sister Ray and I Heard Her Call My Name perfectly marry Reed’s knack for melody and Cale’s pursuit for a gnarly, chaotic and odd aesthetic. Both compositions sound as though they were recorded in some dank windowless studio that smelled of piss and sweat but were immaculately curated despite their surroundings. Sister Ray’s best facet is its malleability, over seventeen minutes long, it’s a jam session of raw energy and walls of sound which works in a number of settings; a dive bar, strip bar, an opium den, or a hippy commune.

The Gift confirms that Reed was a big Burroughs head. Its narrative is disarmingly absurdist in its initial banality – aided by using Cale’s heavy Welsh accent. Mundane observations and conversations run over a heavy grimy bass and Link Wray looping riff. Suddenly, with a contrarian twist, the scenario turns homicidal at the last.

Lady Govina’s Operation has become impressively prophetic. Transgenderism and gender reassignment surgery wasn’t exactly common in the late sixties, but is today. Transgender ideology certainly wasn’t, and this isn’t that, it’s too sophisticated and irreverent. Cale’s laconic delivery, scratchy guitar, another of Reed’s flawless moreish melodies, flat bass, and punchy drums create a dream or anesthetized drift. Matching the sensibility of a character navigating life, despite an irreversible life change – the operation – and being viewed as a peculiarity by society, with a carefree inevitability. Logic dictates that the trans-right mob should adopt it as their anthem. But, they’re really too pious, and, I wonder, do they know of White Light/White Heat?

I suspect the passing of time is also part of the sandwich album’s problem. Most music journalists are liable to be Millennials and Gen Z with a vested interest in pumping up contemporary offerings to suit the tastes of the zeitgeist and attract their clicks. I bet most under-thirty-fives likely haven’t heard of White Light/White Heat or bothered to try it – they’re all too busy listening to shite festooned by autotune. At best they’ll go for the Velvet Underground’s more renowned albums or some of Reed’s solo offerings.

Fortunately, every great cured ham will last quite a while, and White Light/White Heat still sounds more intriguing, is packed with more depth and detail than most stuff released over the past fifty years. It deserves not to be ignored, forgotten, go out of print, or sandwiched by a culture that increasingly only produces loaves of mediocre white bread.

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Song Of The Day – No Regrets by The Walker Brothers

From the album “No Regrets” (1975)

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