"Let Babylon Burn" Bonus Episode

The prize Righteousness govern the world.

The Roots Land podcast.

Stories that are music to your ears.

When you see what lies ahead, you'll be happy that you did.

I'll be used to camera.

Through camera.

To Solitaire Road.

To Roots Land.

To Roots Land.

Solitary road.

Yes.

Roots Land.

It's a solitary road.

As the man sings.

Is that our theme song now?

I like it.

I like it.

Yes.

In a way, this is a theme song.

Correct.

And we will get to that in this episode.

In fact, this is a very musical episode.

You can't feel the studio walls dripping with music.

Yeah, I can.

I hope you're not being sarcastic.

No, not at all.

No, man, I love it.

I love it.

Yep, I can feel it.

You see me grooving and moving.

No, I can see you are rocking.

It's a good thing this isn't a video podcast yet.

So, as you know, this show has always been about music at its core.

This is an homage to reggae, to its founding fathers, to the mentors who guided me through my years in the music business.

Their ingenuity, their determination, the miraculous path that reggae took.

From the gullies and trenches of Kingston to the palaces and the castles of the world, it's gone everywhere.

And let me ask you, Sia, as a Jamaican woman who's traveled the world, you're pretty worldly.

When people meet you, what's the first thing they ask?

They ask me where I'm from.

And when they find out you're Jamaican.

They always bring up reggae and that we're beautiful.

The most beautiful women come from Jamaica.

Well, that is true.

And they always bring up Bob Marley.

You know Bob Marley?

Of course I know Bob Marley.

Who doesn't?

Of course.

Reggae Bob Marley.

That is Jamaica's identity.

And by the way, happy Independence Day, Jamaica.

Right, Sia?

Happy Independence day, my people.

1962 On August 6, their quote, Independence from England and getting back to reggae.

As you know, I'm someone who's always interested in what's going on in the industry.

The other day, I was perusing the top 100 reggae downloads in itunes, and I came across a band I never heard of, which is always interesting, and they're called Let Babylon Burn.

Intriguing, right?

Sounds like it could be an episode of our podcast, especially the season.

Right, Sia?

Yeah, that does sound like a ruslan kind of vibe.

Before I say anything, I just would like you to hear the track.

As someone who listens to reggae music, grew up around reggae, I know you're not a connoisseur, but you're certainly someone who knows dancehole and reggae.

Absolutely.

Absolutely.

I'd really like to get your feedback.

I'd to like interested.

So before I say anything, I'm going to play this for you at the same time as everybody else is going to hear it and then we'll come back and get your reaction.

All right, here's Let Babylon Burn, a song called so Hollow.

Okay.

Did I let you down?

Did I bring your pain?

Should I carry guilt or let the silence rain?

Cause I saw the storm for the skies went gray.

Yes, I knew you'd stumble and I walked away.

So I took what's mine by the stars above Took your soul into the night with love.

It might be done but it don't end there.

I'm still right here if you ever care.

You touch me hard.

You touch me.

So nice song.

Nice.

Feel good.

Honestly love the song.

Love, love, love.

I was feeling it.

As a matter of fact, I'm gonna listen to it a few more times today.

Wow, that is quite the ringing endorsement, isn't it?

You really liked it?

Well, let me read you the description and let me see if that changes your opinion.

Okay.

Let Babylon Burn is an independent indie, reggae and acoustic music project blending self written lyrics, creative direction and a fusion of human production, live recording and AI tools to craft emotionally rich music and storytelling.

Every track is uniquely written, curated and visually themed to match the song's soul.

This is human driven art, thoughtfully created, not automated spam or slop.

You understand?

Sia, in other words, you were just listening to artificial intelligence.

Oh yeah, yeah, yeah.

I understand.

That wasn't real.

I know.

Well, it was real, but it wasn't an actual human being singing it.

I know that's what you're saying.

That's what I understand the first part, but then I thought that we may be thinking that, but someone was actually singing it.

Well, not someone.

Something.

An algorithm.

Oh, wow.

That's pretty fucking amazing.

No.

And what do you think, knowing that now that that was created by some algorithm, someone who prompted to create a beautiful, emotionally moving reggae song, does that change your opinion?

No.

Honestly, it doesn't.

No.

Huh?

It doesn't.

Not at all.

I still have the feelings I felt listening to that song.

Really?

And if I play it over and over again, I'm still gonna have that feeling?

And what does that say about reggae and its future for Jamaican artists?

That they're in jeopardy.

Really?

Because AI can do what they're doing.

I'm being honest.

But don't put that out there.

What do you think?

What I think doesn't matter because you more reflect what everybody else thinks.

I say I didn't even know though.

I thought it was a person.

Yes, it does sound real.

It's a composite of many voices, thousands of singers who have put their heart and souls into the music.

And by the way, our new Roots Land theme song that you were rockin and grooving to earlier.

I used AI to make that song.

Took me about five minutes.

I just typed in my own verse and chorus and boom, it was done.

They gave me three different versions.

Wow.

AI's taken over.

And on another note, no pun intended.

What if you found out that song was made in a bot farm somewhere in Eastern Europe or in Malaysia and the person making the music was just child labor getting paid nothing.

Who knew nothing about reggae?

Just writing code and following prompts, putting out hundreds of songs each day, every genre.

Would that affect how you felt about the music?

Of course it matters.

I mean, I'm not going to take away from the fact that a song is a good song, you know, it has a vibes.

But if I was to know stuff like that, no, I wouldn't support it.

Once you know what's going on and you still support it, that really shows your character.

But you can never really know.

There's still one thing that AI can't do.

They can't capture a live audience.

They can never capture a live audience.

Well, that's very insightful, Siya.

And that is really where the episode begins.

Because we still need to produce artists and singers that can capture a crowd.

And even before Artificial Intelligence, Jamaica wasn't doing its job well.

Jamaica, it's time to wake up.

Your under supported roots reggae artists aren't just competing with Afrobeat or Caliroots for airtime and streams anymore.

There's a new predator stalking the digital landscape.

And it doesn't need sleep, doesn't demand royalties, and doesn't carry the weight of authenticity in its artificial soul.

Meet Let Babylon Burn, a phantom reggae act that has generated over 3 million YouTube views.

Their channel boasts 50,000 subscribers and it's growing daily with a catalog of full length songs and slickly edited promotional shorts.

But here's what's missing from their meteoric rise.

Any singer credits, any production notes, any human fingerprints at all.

Just the kind of vague algorithmic poetry we've learned to recognize from AI generated content.

Take their description for the track, so Hollow.

Aptly named, this unplugged performance captures the raw vulnerability of heartbreak.

No production tricks, just truth.

Nylon guitar, soft background strings, and A soul laid bare for late nights, broken hearts and quiet healing.

Then it dissolves into merchandise hawking Let Babylon Burn Official merch Rep the cause with every step.

Sip Babylon's Downfall from your favorite mug.

You cannot make up this stuff.

I mean, what does Babylon's Downfall actually taste like?

Mocha?

Maybe chai?

This cheesy wordplay isn't limited to their self promotion.

In their quest for millions of views, likes and algorithmic favor, they've deployed what appears to be an army of chatbots disguised as devoted fans.

The comment section reads like love letters written to a ghost.

One commenter gushes, this isn't just a song, it's a soul translating voice.

There are some songs you listen to and other songs you live.

And that's exactly what this song is about.

Really?

So hollow is a song you live?

I mean, here are some of the lyrics.

I kissed your lips, I held your face, Shared your bed me sacred place I know your love, I know your sigh I've been whole and I won't lie, I don't even know what that means.

I held your face.

That sounds more like abuse than tenderness.

I doubt those behind the sham even speak English.

And yet.

Still another comment.

Voice your presence.

You don't just sing this song.

You have become a heaven blessed conduit for the emotions contained in the lyrics, its melody, its message, its yearning power.

A rare gift you have to hear, understand and through music, communicate such truth to us all.

And Let Babylon Burn responds with algorithmic warmth.

Your words feel like they were written from the same soul that the song came from.

If something true flowed through me, it's only because listeners like you are open enough to receive it.

Thank you for meeting it with such depth.

Oh, I can promise you one thing.

Those words definitely came from the same soul that the song came from.

An imaginary soul that doesn't exist.

These people, some of them bots and other real humans, are writing heartfelt comments from the depth of their soul to a singer they believe is real.

Like children carefully composing letters to Santa Claus, conveying their inner wants and dreams.

What's worse, their videos feature an AI generated image of a generic looking Rastafarian holding an acoustic guitar and standing at a microphone, they don't even attempt to sync his lips to the music or create the illusion that he's actually singing.

Yet millions of viewers hardly notice, so moved are they by artificial emotion.

And the bitter irony is, if this human inspired AI project wasn't outperforming every top reggae dancehole and caliroot singer on YouTube.

It would be a bad joke.

A parody on the old sitcom In Living Color, with Jim Carrey playing a lead singer wearing a dyed mop as dreadlocks and faking a Jamaican accent.

If you've been following Roots Land, you don't have to dig deep to understand how an imaginary group with songs written and produced in an AI app could become the most popular reggae act in the world.

This season, Wanted Dreader Alive seems to have come full circle in real time, as we can trace the connection between a state sponsored killing of Peter Tosh, a man who fought with every fiber of his being to keep reggae music authentic, conscious, militant, to where we stand today, 40 years after his assassination, watching a nameless, faceless, generic reggae construct dominate the very culture he died defending.

And I know there are people out there who will argue, like my co host Sia, that Sohollow is actually a decent song minus the awful Jamaican accent and manufactured emotion, and that if it somehow brings people into the reggae fold, widens the genre's umbrella, it's good for Jamaica and reggae.

But is it really?

We heard those same arguments when Cali roots music and modern progressive reggae began their ascent.

But in the end, the success of these American acts squeezed out authentic Jamaican talent from festivals, tours and record labels, leaving space for one or two token acts.

And sure, business is business.

It's more economical to book US Bans due to travel costs and visa complications.

But what happens when people become conditioned to songs without singers, when you don't even have to pay an artist, you can just hire a Rasta impostor to just stand on stage and dance, or deploy a robot with a dreadlock wig to play the part.

And I realize if you're watching the scoreboard, it looks like Babylon's winning 3 million views don't lie.

And the algorithm rewards engagement regardless of its source.

But humanity is the home team here, and there's still time left on the clock.

Peter Tosh sang about being a mystic man, about seeing through the matrix of control that keeps people distracted while power consolidates.

He understood that authentic culture is dangerous to systems built on manipulation because it connects people to something real, something that can't be manufactured or controlled.

Now we're witnessing the final phase of that control, the complete artificial reproduction of rebellion itself, packaged and distributed by the very forces reggae music was meant to resist.

When algorithms can generate the sound of struggle without the experience of struggle, when machines can mimic the language of spiritual resistance without the spirit, when artificial intelligence can counterfeit the very essence of human authenticity, what happens to the real voices still crying in the wilderness.

Now, I've already discussed the benefits of AI when talking about my partnership with Replit, a company that, besides wanting to make money, sees the importance of democratizing the Internet, allowing people from all walks of life to build the app of their dreams with no coding experience.

But this same technology also lets someone with no musical experience, no understanding of reggae's rich cultural identity or forefathers, no production skills to become one of the most popular reggae acts on YouTube.

We all imagine this AI takeover will be something from the movies, like I Robot or Terminator, where superpowered robots and machines gain consciousness, turn on their human creators, overwhelming us with sheer numbers and intellectual superiority, while a ragtag group of human rebels fight to maintain the last bastions of humanity.

I don't think the plot will be that obvious.

Remember, AI has seen those movies.

No, if the takeover by machines from humanity is like any film, it would be Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

And I'm talking the Donald Sutherland version.

A real masterpiece.

It's a slow, silent takeover, one person at a time.

Replacement that happens in the dark of the night when the world is asleep.

No one really knows who is who or what is what.

No one knows who to trust.

We start to turn on each other.

We lose our fight to the machines in small battles, one singer at a time, one song at a time, one podcast at a time.

Right now, there are musicians, artists and singers who are in the struggle, been in the business for years, and are just holding on.

When they see a project like Let Babylon Burn achieving this level of success without having to do the legwork, it's gonna be the final straw that causes them to quit.

Pack it in.

And it's not because they don't have drive or fortitude.

It's because they don't get support.

Support from their fans.

And sometimes that's all it takes.

One of my favorite podcasts is diary of a CEO hosted by Steve Bartlett, and I believe he's second behind Joe Rogan as far as podcasters on YouTube.

The host is a thoughtful and generous interviewer who makes guests feel comfortable, and he goes out of his way to make sure his listeners get the very best quality interviews and the most relevant information about current topics yet.

Every episode, Steve begins with the same plea to his viewers.

This has always blown my mind a little bit.

53% of you that listen to this show regularly haven't yet subscribed to the show, so could I ask you for a favor before we if you like the show and you like what we do here and you want to support us, the free, simple way that you can do just that is by hitting the subscribe button.

And my commitment to you is if you do that, then I'll do everything in my power, me and my team, to make sure that this show is better for you every single week.

We'll listen to your feedback, we'll find the guest that you want me to speak to, and we'll continue to do what we do.

Thank you so much.

He mentioned that over 50% of his audience listens but doesn't subscribe.

That's hundreds of thousands of listeners each week who listen, enjoy and absorb his hard work for free and can't even take a few seconds to subscribe or like his video.

He's very diplomatic in his pleas, mentioning how the more subscribers and comments he gets actually helps the quality and content of the show, which is true.

But what he doesn't mention is that it also feels good getting a like or a subscriber or a positive comment.

It's like a hug or a pat on the back for a job well done.

I'm sure it upsets him that half his audience doesn't bother to do so when it takes so very little a click on the keyboard.

And his show has 11 million subscribers and earns tens of millions in revenue.

Just imagine how tough it is for the struggling ghetto singer or rapper or creator who just spent their last time to go into the studio or to hire a cameraman or editor to produce a song they know is a hit.

A song composed from the heart, telling a story unique to their life that no one else can tell.

They begged, borrowed and stole just to make it happen.

They just need a little break, a way for their song or video to break through all the digital noise.

And if things weren't hard enough for them already, throw artificial intelligence into the mix.

It creates music designed for the algorithm, like some kind of sonic clickbait.

It knows just what the crowd wants and how to deliver it.

It uses keywords instead of lyrics, hires chatbots for comments.

In this digital domain, how do mere mortals compete with artificial superintelligence?

The answer is, we don't.

We can't compete in their digital domain.

But the truth is, they can't compete in our world, the real world, the offline world where breath still fogs glass, where calloused fingers actually press guitar strings.

And that's our advantage.

As powerful as artificial intelligence is, it cannot hold a candle to real human connection.

All the nuclear powered data centers in the world are nothing compared to love and hope and empathy.

That's where true power lies.

Now, I want you to imagine that struggling artist, the one who spent their last dollar on studio time somewhere in Kingston or Cali or Brooklyn or Bali.

They're sitting with their acoustic guitar, working out a melody that comes from a place that no algorithm will ever visit.

The intersection of word, sound and power.

Their voice cracks not because of poor production, but because they're singing something that's real, something that marks their soul in a way that creates beauty.

This is where resistance begins.

Not in the comment sections where bots battle for supremacy, but in small venues where human beings gather to witness something that can't be manufactured.

Authentic human expression.

On ghetto street corners, where young poets test their bars against real ears, in churches, in mosques and synagogues, where congregations, communities, families connect.

These are the places where you and I need to make our stand for humanity.

Supporting young artists, giving them strength and encouragement.

The next generation needs to know that machines can study our patterns, mimic our cadences, even reproduce our spiritual language.

But they can't drip sweat and blood on a microphone.

They can't carry the weight of three generations of poverty in their voice or hope that a hit song might break that cycle.

They will never know the heartbreak of watching a friend choose the streets or drugs over the studio.

AI can generate the sound of struggle, but they've never had their lights cut off the night before a big session.

They can simulate the language of redemption, but they've never been in a jail cell praying for one more chance to get their life right.

The real world remains ours because it's the only place where authenticity isn't just content, it's survival.

There's a place that's in the past, and we need to get there fast.

Pat your backs and fear your mind Everything else can stay behind when you see what lies ahead you'll be happy that you did I'll be used to camera through camera through Slam Solitaire.

To.

Roots Land Solitaire Road to Roots and to Roots Land Solitaire Road to Roots End Moods Land Solitaire Road to Mooseland to Moods Land Road to Roots and.

Produced by Henry K.