Velvet Sundown/Spotify, Courtesy of Collective Artists Network
When Trilok was introduced earlier today as India’s first AI-powered spiritual rock band, it sparked a mix of curiosity and discomfort. Mostly the latter.
Created by Collective Artists Network, the project was presented as a new experiment—an entirely virtual band made using artificial intelligence to combine ancient mantras with modern rock. The band has no real people—just four digital characters, each with a backstory made up by a machine. Their first song, a version of the devotional classic “Achyutam Keshavam,” came with sci-fi-style visuals that looked like badly animated video game graphics set in a temple.
The creators called it the beginning of a new spiritual experience, but many listeners aren’t buying it. Instead, they’re questioning whether something as personal and meaningful as spiritual music could—or should—be made by a machine. The response online was quick. Some people are making jokes, some are criticizing, and others said the project felt grossly disconnected in a reality where AI is accused of profiting off the signature sounds of human artists’. But what most comments pointed to was an uneasy feeling that faith and tradition were being turned into a dystopian digital experiment.
This isn’t just happening in India. Last week, The Velvet Sundown, an anonymous indie rock band that gained millions of monthly listeners on Spotify in less than two months, became the subject of heated debate and controversy after it was exposed for being fully AI-generated. While many came across them through Discover Weekly playlists, fans felt cheated when they learnt that there were no real musicians behind the band—just code. What made it even worse was that though the band’s music and visuals were quite obviously AI slop, the creators kept blatantly insisting that the band was real before finally giving in to the AI tag just a few days ago.
Around the world, virtual and AI-powered bands are becoming more common—and not everyone is happy about it. In South Korea, there’s Eternity, a K-pop group made up of AI-generated faces with real singers behind the vocals. Another group, Mave:, was created by a tech company using deepfake-style visuals. Then there are virtual idol sensations like Hatsune Miku in Japan, and of course Gorillaz, the British virtual band that’s been around since the early 2000s—but with real musicians driving everything behind the scenes. That’s what set them apart and made them feel human, even if the faces were cartoons.
Even Meta’s AI-generated “creators,” have faced severe backlash. In January this year, Meta pulled back their experimental AI project, which included celebrities like Kendall Jenner and Snoop Dog playing chatbot versions of themelves, over concerns around a lack of diversity and the spread of misinformation. Users said the avatars felt awkward and unsettling, and many didn’t like the idea of platforms replacing real voices with programmed personas. All of this plays into a growing discomfort: people don’t mind tech helping artists, but they do mind when it tries to replace them.
In India, the discomfort is even deeper when it comes to spiritual music. Devotional songs are one of the most listened-to categories across streaming platforms in the country, according to Gaana and Spotify charts. These songs are part of people’s daily routines—morning prayers, long drives, family gatherings. They’re not just a vibe or a genre, they’re quite literally part of how people live. That’s why a band like Trilok, powered entirely by AI and presented as spiritual, is angering people.
AI in music is growing fast. Some artists are using it in interesting ways—to come up with undiscovered sounds or mount larger than life visual productions on a low budget. But there’s a difference between using AI as a tool and using it to replace people. That’s where the line gets blurry, especially when it touches something as personal as culture or tradition.
Last year, over 200 artists—including Billie Eilish, Nicki Minaj, Stevie Wonder, and Katy Perry—signed an open letter asking tech companies and AI developers to stop using artificial intelligence in ways that undermine human creativity. The letter, organized by the Artist Rights Alliance, warned against using AI to copy voices and likenesses without permission, calling it “an assault on human artistry.” It was a clear signal from some of the world’s biggest stars: innovation is welcome, but not at the cost of erasing the people who make music what it is.
The widespread backlash against bands like Trilok and The Velvet Sundown signals that even though AI is attempting to make inroads in the mainstream music industry, it hasn’t struck a chord. That doesn’t mean AI has no place. But the approach needs to be thoughtful. It should involve people who know the music, the culture, and the emotion behind it. Otherwise, it just becomes a cool-looking project with no real soul.
In the end, the reaction to the rise of AI bands begs the bigger question: where do we draw the line with AI in music? Who gets to tell these stories? And what do we lose when we take the human part out of the art?
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