Author: Mark Bolton. Subbed: DeepSeek.
Dear Carolynn
Last night, I had a long conversation with John Pierce—my great mate and old boss from 4BK, the music radio station I worked at for about eight years, and programmed the music. It’s been ages since Piercy and I had one of those deep, meandering talks about music, just like the old days when we’d sit over a few beers (“a few,” is not at all accurate) and lose ourselves in discussions about artists, genres, and the magic of sound. John’s a walking music encyclopedia. Not only was he Music Director at 4BK and a few other stations since, but he’s still out there, spinning records as a jock.
Back in the late 70s and early 80s, John also had this iconic Friday night gig at the old Cloudland here in Brisbane. He’d DJ nothing but 60s music, and the night was called “Mr. Sixties”. That nickname stuck with him for decades. Last night, talking to him, it felt like we were back in those days, when music was the center of everything. Piercy taught me so much back then. He opened my ears to different styles and eras, and through his passion, I gained a deeper appreciation for the artistry behind the music. Before that, I was just someone who loved what I loved and hated what I hated, without really understanding the influences, the history, or the skill that went into creating it.
But last night, I found myself lamenting to Piercy about something that’s been weighing on me for a while. I told him how I’ve lost trust in music—or rather, in what music has become in this age of AI, Pitch Correction, and Auto-Tune. I’m struggling to reconcile my love for the art form with the growing mistrust I feel toward the industry. It feels like everything is about perfection now, not authenticity. The raw, unfiltered talent that used to move me—the voices, the instruments, the stories—seems harder to find.
It’s not just the new music that feels sterile and overproduced. It’s the remastered classics, too. The songs I grew up loving, the ones that shaped my life, are being tampered with, polished to an unnatural gloss. The flaws that made them human, that made them real, are being erased in the name of “perfection.” It’s heartbreaking. I find myself listening to old tracks like a detective, searching for the cracks and imperfections just to reassure myself that it’s still the real and raw recording. But even then, I can’t always be sure.
Carolynn, I miss the analogue days. I miss seeing bands play live in pubs and small venues, knowing that what I was hearing was them—their skill, their passion, their mistakes and all. There was a sound person, sure, but their job was to enhance, not to manipulate. Now, when I go to a gig, I can’t help but wonder how much of what I’m hearing is real and how much is pre-recorded or auto-tuned. It’s hard to feel that same connection.
The singer-songwriters of the 60s and 70s were like modern-day minstrels. They wrote about life in all its messy, beautiful complexity—love, death, joy, anger, war, protest, and the fight for justice. They sang for the underdogs, the forgotten, the oppressed. Some of them even died for their art, murdered for speaking truths that others didn’t want to hear. That kind of courage, that kind of authenticity, feels so far removed from what we have today. Now, it’s all about fame, about becoming a star without paying any dues. Record companies don’t care about A&R anymore; they just scour YouTube or TikTok for someone with the right “look” or “sound” that they can package and sell as the next big fraudulent thing. It’s soul-crushing.
Thank goodness for people like Fil Henley (Wings of Pegasus) and Rick Beato, both on YouTube. They’re out there, fighting to keep the bastards honest, reminding us of what real music sounds like. But they can’t do it alone. We all need to stand up and demand better. We need to protect music, to protect the singers, songwriters, and musicians who pour their hearts into their art. We need to support local artists, to go out and experience live music in its raw, unfiltered form. That’s where the magic is, Carolynn. That’s where the soul of music still lives.
I don’t want to live in a world where music is just another product, stripped of its humanity and sold to the highest bidder. I want to believe in the sanctity of art again, in the power of a song to change lives.
Let’s not just celebrate the imperfections, the raw talent, and the stories that make music so profoundly human, let’s embrace it for its honesty and integrity. And let’s keep supporting the artists who are out there, keeping the soul of music real. From the busker to the singers and musicians in bars , pubs, 5,000 seaters and even stadiums.
On a personal note, Piercy and I also relived the years of fun we had in those days; met lots of people, partied hard–and sometimes we worked.
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