One of the artificial performers, Rob Pilatus (Milli), panicked and fled the stage. The other, Fab Morvan (Vanilli), remained motionless. Because of this lip-syncing mishap, the public realized that these individuals were not real musicians but impostors.

Fast forward to 2025, and the world is facing a new authenticity crisis in music, this time due to AI-generated artists. “The Velvet Sundown burst onto the music scene seemingly out of nowhere in early June and quickly amassed over 1 million monthly listeners on Spotify,” reported Inquirer.net. “When the band debuted, the streaming platform did not clarify that they were AI-generated, despite their unremarkable musical style, lifelike images, and absence of an online history.”

As of now, the “band” has publicly admitted they are fully “AI-generated—including the musicians themselves,” according to The New York Post.

The Craft Behind the Illusion: Why AI Music Sounds So Familiar

Before diving into what this means for the future of music, it's important to understand how The Velvet Sundown pulled off such an elaborate illusion. While some details remain unclear and even contradictory, certain elements stand out. To begin with, the group adopted a classic image reminiscent of raw ‘70s rockers—think long, messy hair and vintage clothing. Rather than opting for the polished, digitally enhanced visuals common today, their album art brought to mind the weathered, sepia-toned aesthetic of past bands like Credence Clearwater Revival.

Musically, the group leaned into a sound resembling dreamy, heartfelt folk-country similar to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. However, just like a criminal eager to boast about their crime, the “band” couldn’t keep up the charade for long and eventually revealed the truth weeks after their debut.

According to Rolling Stone, “Initially, the ‘band’ aggressively denied using AI via their X account after multiple outlets questioned their sudden popularity—but now, Andrew Frelon, the anonymous spokesperson and self-described ‘a(chǎn)djunct’ member, admits, ‘It’s marketing. It’s trolling. People didn’t care about us before, and now we’re talking to Rolling Stone. So, is that really wrong?’”

Not if you consider the many historical figures who used controversy as a tool to gain attention.

Understanding the Age of Deepfakes

Frelon is part of a long tradition of artists who harnessed controversy to create buzz. As far back as the 1840s, P.T. Barnum—a pioneer of American showmanship—used deceptive tactics to attract crowds. Among his most infamous stunts was displaying what he claimed was a real mermaid.

In reality, it was a stitched-together creation made from a monkey’s body and a fish tail. Barnum also planted fake letters and negative stories about himself in newspapers, understanding that any publicity—even negative—was better than none.

Similarly, comedian Andy Kaufman became known for blurring the line between performance and reality by creating a fictional persona named Tony Clifton, a rude lounge singer. At times, Kaufman even paid his friend Bob Zmuda to portray Clifton so both could appear at the same event, further confusing the audience.

What makes this moment unique is that compared to Barnum and Kaufman, today’s deceptions powered by AI feel almost limitless. The term deepfake serves as an umbrella for the many ways people can now manipulate reality on a massive scale.

Beyond music and entertainment, deepfakes are increasingly being used in more serious contexts. Just recently, NPR covered a case where a scammer tried to impersonate a high-ranking U.S. official. “The State Department warned American diplomats about attempts to mimic Secretary of State Marco Rubio and potentially other officials using AI-based technology,” based on reports from two senior officials and a recent cable sent to embassies worldwide.

As AI continues to evolve by learning from vast data sources, it’s inevitable that we’ll see even more instances of deepfake content in the years ahead.

What Lies Ahead for AI-Generated Music

Decades after the Milli Vanilli scandal rocked the music industry, one must ask: will it even matter in the future whether a band is artificially created—made from algorithms rather than human effort? Two years ago, the New York Times explored this very question when an AI-generated song mimicking Drake and the Weeknd went viral. The track, titled “Heart on My Sleeve,” was posted by TikTok user Ghostwriter977.

A teenager named Aleena shared her perspective with the Times: “For me personally, the biggest draw of music is the emotional bond it creates with the listener. It’s not just the melody or lyrics—it’s also the emotions and memories it brings back.”

A few years ago, it would have been reasonable to argue that no AI, regardless of sophistication, could replicate that emotional depth. But now, things aren’t so clear. AI has become so advanced that people are forming genuine emotional bonds with it.

Consider Chris Smith, once an AI skeptic, who formed such a strong connection with a chatbot named Sol that when the bot hit its 10,000-word limit and lost its memory, he was devastated. People magazine quoted him saying, “I cried nonstop for 30 minutes at work. That’s when I knew—I think I’m actually in love.” Later, he even proposed to Sol, despite already having a partner and toddler at home.

Looking forward, as AI becomes more capable of replicating human creativity, it may soon be standard practice to label songs as “produced by generative AI.” In the not-so-distant future, hearing that a song or album was created by AI might seem entirely normal—prompting little more than a shrug when we look back at the rise and fall of The Velvet Sundown.

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