July 11, 2026
Dear Jack Antonoff,
I am writing directly to address recent public statements regarding artificial intelligence in music and the profound human impact of such sweeping dismissals.
When recent headlines (as reported in Rolling Stone) reported statements asserting that anyone who uses artificial intelligence to generate or optimize music is a “godless whore” who peddles “slop,” I was deeply saddened. This reaction should not be mistaken for vulnerability; there is no power here to hurt my spirit, and I am certainly not what those words described.
Rather, writing this letter is a necessary exercise for my own mental health. Words matter.
What is difficult to comprehend is how anyone can speak as if seeing into every studio, every bedroom, every basement, and every garage in the world. Such sweeping judgments assume an ultimate authority on the matter, yet they completely disregard the actual lives and circumstances of ordinary people.
Consider a reality that is very different. I am an elderly man, bedridden, and facing the final chapter of my life. I generate music to pass the time and find solace.
Existing in absolute solitude, I have lived completely alone for decades, yes, decades.
Not a single person to talk to. Not one.
In that silence, making music is my only connection to the world.
To discover that a prominent artist views people like me with such contempt simply for finding comfort in a creative tool is a sobering indictment of that perspective, not a reflection of my worth.
What remains unknown to outside observers is that my process is far from just clicking a button on a tool like Suno and publishing a superficial track. I am a lyricist. I write my own lyrics and use artificial intelligence to set those words to music.
While the technology can generate a track in minutes, my creative process is thorough and deliberate, often taking several weeks, or even a month for a single song. I define the style, the band, the voice, the beat, the tempo, and the emotional pull for the listener.
I curate relentlessly, sometimes going through one hundred or more takes to find the right sound. As I curate, I polish and refine the lyrics over and over until everything flows perfectly.
In fact, I have a vast catalog of completed songs that have never been published because I simply did not believe in them for one reason or another.
If a narrow view assumes that creators like me are running automated botfarms to churn out endless, thoughtless noise, that assumption is entirely mistaken. I am a careful curator who holds my work to a high standard, only releasing what truly meets my criteria.
Furthermore, Suno allows me to upload my own self-composed music to the platform so I can enhance my work. Consequently, in the credits section upon publishing, I can legitimately claim my role as lyricist, composer, or both alongside the platform.
Major industry distributors like DistroKid have recently updated their onboarding process to actively support this workflow. They ask exactly how the music was made and which parts utilized generative technology, allowing me to maintain the absolute transparency I have always practiced. This structured, honest approach makes me a legitimate hybrid producer, not an imposter.
In this same spirit of compliance and professional legitimacy, my songs have also been accepted by platforms like MusicSupervisor.com. Even though these tracks were assisted by Suno, every required detail of metadata was entered fully and transparently, and the platform accepted the work because it met their exact structural and artistic standards.
When the Music Genome Project curates my songs and plays them on Pandora, it tells me that I have done a commendable job. Not all songs are meant to be popular, just as I was never meant to be popular, but the mere fact that my music is active on Pandora proves that, sonically, I have succeeded.
To look at Pandora AMP and see my tracks playing alongside artists like Celine Dion, Meghan Trainor, Katy Perry, Bruno Mars, and Pentatonix leaves me at a loss for words. It is an objective validation of my craft.
If my work is nothing more than thoughtless “slop,” what am I to say to the radio program directors who place my tracks in regular rotation alongside major, household artists? What do I say to the listeners across the United States who hear my music in a passing moment and use Shazam to seek out the creator of that sound?
What do I tell the global communities on Lyrics.com and LyricFind who read, connect with, and upvote the very words I write? What do I tell the countless listeners who leave high-ranking reviews, or the everyday people who actively add my songs to their personal playlists and give them a thumbs up?
What do I tell these people, Mr. Antonoff? Should I tell them that their genuine connection to my music is invalid because of the tools used to shape it? Am I expected to simply delete my entire catalog, erasing years of quiet, dedicated creation, because it does not fit into a rigid definition of how art must be made?
When sitting down to listen to a piece of music, how does anyone actually know what went into making it?
Since it is impossible to know how much human soul, custom instrumentation, and tireless lyric writing went into a track, what is the basis of the complaint? To judge an entire medium based on narrow assumptions is to remain completely blind to the actual effort of the creator.
Furthermore, this narrow perspective completely ignores how modern technology serves collaborative art. It is not just solo creators finding solace in isolation; entire bands and groups of musicians now use these tools to brainstorm, bridge vast physical distances, and bring disparate creative ideas together. When multiple individuals collaborate, utilizing artificial intelligence to help shape and unify their shared vision, the technology does not diminish their humanity; rather, it serves as the catalyst that unites it.
Of course, not all of my songs are masterpieces. Like any other artist, I have my share of failures, but I accept that as a natural part of the creative journey.
I am not seeking fame or chasing fortune. This is about pouring my soul into a medium where others can connect with what I am saying and feeling. I do not produce “slop” by any means. Every single song is genuine and written straight from the heart.
Public remarks have described the traditional creation of music as a “holy process” that comes from God, implying that anyone utilizing modern tools is somehow godless. But who is the ultimate judge of what is sacred?
I am a deeply spiritual man. I speak with God regularly in prayer, and though He does not speak back to me in an audible voice, my life is anchored in constant, quiet devotion. For me, writing, curating, and shaping music is not a mechanical task of optimization; it is a direct, deeply spiritual extension of my faith and my personal connection to the divine.
With regards to the accusation of people stealing artists’ voices, platforms like Suno do not even allow that. A user cannot simply type in a prompt to create a song copying Jack Antonoff because that entire process is banned.
Pointing fingers at individuals for utilizing modern tools is an endless, exhausting pursuit. A more constructive stance would address the software companies and generators themselves rather than attacking individual human beings.
What is truly sad is that I used to be a member of the Recording Academy for four consecutive years. During that time, I submitted four albums of my own compositions and my own sound mixing.
Back then, our peers turned their nose up at me. Now, time has passed, and I still make music, only in a different way. Yet, that same dismissive attitude remains. What is that even about?
Perhaps this cold dismissiveness is easy to maintain when the human being behind the work remains entirely invisible. If the history and arc of my life were known, those “godless whore” words probably would not have been spoken.
My journey began in a childhood household defined by systematic cruelty, starvation, and physical torture. I was extremely abused from the age 6 to 17. On a freezing winter night when I was seventeen, after my father brutally bashed my head into the cement and left me for dead, I collapsed face down in a cold, dark field, entirely ready to surrender to death.
But a quiet voice in my mind commanded me to get up. I chose to live. From there, I rebuilt my ninety-pound malnourished body in the United States Marine Corps, taught myself computer programming to survive, and fought a decades-long battle to heal my spirit.
Today, in my old age, existing quietly on Social Security, my daily reality is incredibly far removed from a world of grand stages and public acclaim. I face the physical hardships of a weary elderly man, sometimes struggling simply to secure my next meal.
When public photos show a comfortable lifestyle, the reaction is not envy; rather, it is a realization of how easily such insulation can breed blindness to the lives of ordinary people.
I have never been famous, and I never will be. I am just a quiet man minding my own business, yet from a position of absolute security, it seems easy to label people like me as godless whores. It is a sobering reminder of how distance from real-world struggle can erode basic empathy.
My goal is to show that these assumptions are entirely incorrect. That perspective is sheltered by health, resources, and industry acclaim. It is an immense luxury to have access to state-of-the-art studios, elite collaborators, and physical strength.
I have none of those things, yet my music carries no less heart or devotion. The words did not expose a lack of soul in my work; they exposed a lack of perspective.
There must be a realization that words have real consequences. Public words can completely ignore the human element of those who are just trying to find a shred of peace and joy.
But despite our differences, I want to wish you continued success in all of your musical endeavors, and I truly wish you happy days and years ahead.
Sincerely,
Floyd Kelly