Taking a stand against LLMs in the arts (it’s what Conan would do)

“In a system where men are protected by hired forces, and waited on by machines, how can any real self-confidence and self-reliance be induced, or long-sustained?”

--Robert E. Howard

Robert E. Howard, a champion of hard labor and an admirer of the physical, hated machine-work. He believed the fate of the men who worked on machinery was to become machines themselves: 

“Standardization is crushing the heart and soul, the blood and the guts, out of humanity and the eventual result will be either complete and unrelieved slavery or the destruction of civilization and return to barbarism. Once men sang the praises of ephemeral gods carved out of ivory and wood. Now they sing equally senseless praises to equally ephemeral and vain gods of Science and Commerce and Progress. Hell.”

--Letter from Robert E. Howard to H.P. Lovecraft, Oct. 1931

Howard was right; vain gods are here, and vain men and women are using them to create the soulless simulacra of art. “Creators” (I will not use the term authors or artists) surrender their craft, and their soul, to the machine. They prompt large language models to produce aggregated content and then put their name on it. 

I’ve decided I really do hate this shit. And to take a stand against it. 

Author Paul Kingsnorth recently declared a Writers Against AI Campaign. Consider this my digital signature on the manifesto.

AI in the arts* is an outrage because it diminishes that which makes us human through the insidious forces of aggregation, standardization, and the elimination of ingenuity and effort.

Art is the result of effort and skill, talent, and commitment to craft. It isn’t easy, and it shouldn’t be. Hard work is the point. Learning a craft is the point. These make you a better person. Which is what art does: It elevates the artist, and we participate in it, as people. We want to see people succeed, and enjoy the output of people, not machine simulacra. 

A sincere question for the AI enthusiasts.

Do you enjoy football, or boxing? The Olympic games? Do you admire people who transform their bodies on the bodybuilding stage, or who go to boot camp to pass through the fire and become better versions of themselves?

If so, why not surrender all of this to machines, too? After all, robots are faster, and stronger. Not subject to injuries, gridlocked contract negotiations, illness, aging.

When you celebrate AI art, you are celebrating a machine, not a person.

Most of us want to see people on the stage. We admire the human spirit, in all its frailty and limitation. We cheer when it rises above, agonize when it fails. And cheer again when we see someone pick themselves up from the dirt, out of the ashes of defeat, and try again. There is nobility in this.

Art is no different. 

Bringing true art into the world must remain hard work, because that is the point. You’re working for yourself, not letting the machine do it for you. Start using LLMs and you become dependent on them, and ultimately a slave.

Howard read everything he could. He experienced rejection. He rewrote drafts. He experimented in different genres and created new ones. He created fabulous worlds and titanically heroic characters while working in the most banal and arid landscape imaginable.

His poetry and fire came from within, his great passions and outrages and loves, hammered out on a steel typewriter.* And despite occasional bouts of self-loathing, he was damned proud of it. 

Howard would be outraged by our willing surrender to the machine. We know this because he said so, again and again.

“I look back with envy at the greater freedom known by my ancestors on the frontier. Hard work? Certainly they worked hard. But they were building something; making the most of opportunities; working for themselves, not merely cogs grinding in a soulless machine, as is the modern working man, whose life is a constant round of barren toil infinitely more monotonous and crushing than the toil on the frontier.”

--Letter from Robert E. Howard to H.P. Lovecraft, Jan. 1934

Art is uniquely human and must be kept that way. We go to Robert E. Howard Days, and visit his home, and attend panels, to honor the man. Are going to go to OpenAI Days, or Anthropic Days? To honor CEOs who fully admit that these machines have a nonzero chance of destroying humanity? Whose companies deliberately stole authors’ copyrighted works, ingested them illegally and without permission, and now sells them back to customers for monthly subscription fees? And whose products now choke the internet with artificial slop?

I reject this future. 

What would Conan do? He’d smash the metal motherfuckers to junk.

Choose your side.

I know where I stand. I am a Writer Against AI.

*I believe LLMs have valid applications, just not in the arts. Shove your “luddite” claims up your ass.

**Yes, a machine, but one that sits dumb and inert. Each letter must be pressed into paper by force of will, generated by a human brain.

Desert Plains, Judas Priest

It's July, 7 o'clock in the evening. The New England night is warm. I'm sitting in my car, windows rolled down. The moon and stars are glittering above … and I’ve got an evening ahead of Judas Priest style heavy metal.

The Priest* is playing Uncle Eddie's Oceanside Tavern in Salisbury. A dive bar teetering on shithole, but one I happen to love.

I drive out of the garage, press play on my curated Judas Priest playlist, and hear this:

This song takes me to some desert plain, the stars wheeling overhead on a trip to nowhere and everywhere all at once. Nowhere to go and no responsibilities ...  and everything ahead. I've got a life to live.

But tonight is the next best thing. Route 110, a straight line to the New England coast, toward the salt tang and deep roar of the Atlantic ocean. Sour black leather and cold beer and dude companionship, with good-looking chicks and a dumpy bar as the backdrop. 

Heavy metal until midnight. 

I've done this. Have you? I hope so. There's still time.

"Desert Plains" is the ultimate driving song. You heard this guitar tone in the mid-80s but you don't hear it anymore. This is it in its full glory. "Heading Out to the Highway" is comparable but it lacks the slow, stoned, ethereal vibe of "Desert Plains." Listening to it puts me on an Arizona highway, one of those flat, level, straight to the horizon stretches where you press down on the gas pedal and roar past 80 ... 90 ... and just keep going.

With Judas Priest as the soundtrack.

* The Priest is a New England based tribute band to Judas Priest.

Unboxing Savagery

It had been more than 30 years since I last bought an issue of the original Savage Sword of Conan*, and almost as long since I read one cover-to-cover.

But just a few days ago I unboxed all my back issues and laid them out in their glory on my bar top. And began to thumb through the old pages. 

Why now, after all this time?

I don’t quite know, but here’s a few possible explanations.

I’m tired of screens and digital art.

I’m an old newspaper guy and love the smell of newsprint and ink.

The covers are glorious.

But I also felt the draw of something deeper … an urge to reconnect with my past, which is what these comic books represent. They are a little bit of who I am. We are at least partially our things, or perhaps our things are an outward reflection of who we are. 

I am a little bit Conan. 

There is something awe inspiring about this picture. Beholding all at once the output of so many talented artists bringing to life an old pulp character now passed into myth, moves me.

The greatest creation of Robert E. Howard will endure forever.

Question: How many adventures can Conan go on? 

Answer: Yes.

I have a lot of old issues of Savage Sword of Conan from its classic run, 1974-1995. I had forgotten how many, and surprised myself in this great unboxing. I own more than I thought, just north of 100 issues. Should you want to know the exact numbers:

1, 5, 6, 13, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 29, 30, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 61, 62, 63, 64, 67, 69, 75, 76, 78, 80, 81, 82, 84, 92, 94, 95, 97, 100, 103, 104, 105, 106, 109, 110, 112, 113, 115, 117, 118, 121, 125, 126, 127, 129, 133, 135, 137, 144, 148, 149, 150, 151, 153, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 177, 178, 184

And I have more than just SSOC.

You don’t hear a whole lot of enthusiasm for Conan Saga. It’s the red-head stepchild of Conan magazines, mentioned if at all as a vehicle for low-priced reprints.

There is a fair bit of truth to this. That’s what Conan Saga mainly did. But it wasn’t just SSOC reprints. The first nine issues are mostly reprints of Conan the Barbarian, black and white versions of the color originals—so original in a sense. Conan Saga also sprinkled in stories from Savage Tales and unexpected rares like “The Sword and the Sorcerers!” a non-Conan story from a comic I’d never heard of, Chamber of Darkness (1970), written by the great Roy Thomas and illustrated by Barry Windsor-Smith. Here’s the synopsis:

A writer who is selling barbarian stories of Starr the Slayer that come to him in dreams plans to kill off Starr in the next story because the dreams are putting too much of a strain upon his health. On his way to the office, Starr assaults him out of an alley with accusations of assassin upon his lips. The writer is unbelieving, even to the point that Starr raises his sword and strikes him down. Starr wakes in his own world and relates a dream to his faithful minstrel wherein he struck down a grave threat to his life.

Cool. I’m going to give this one a read.

Only when it hit double-digits did Conan Saga largely give way to mainly SSOC reprints.

I believe the first nine covers by Barry Windsor-Smith are all first run originals. They make for beautiful keepsakes.

For me Conan Saga was a Godsend. I’ve said many times that SSOC was my gateway to sword-and-sorcery, and I was not lying—save that I forgot to mention the role of Conan Saga.

I guarantee you can track these down at a fraction of the price of SSOC.

I’ve also got other cool odds and ends, of the same savage ilk. Kull and the Barbarians #2. Savage Sword Super Annual. And a really cool full color Marvel Super Special #9, starring The Savage Sword of Conan in full color.

I love the text pieces on The Hyborian Legion and the Conan comics chronology. 

Unboxing these issues opened a window into my past. If you notice the long (near) unbroken run—roughly issues 148-178—it begins in May 1988 and ends in August 1990. I was born in 1973, so that means roughly age 14-17 I was regularly hitting my local book store and buying new issues as they came out, rarely missing a month.

… until senior year of high school and college. My disposable income shifted toward heavy metal, beer, and chicks and I stopped buying new issues.

The venerable magazine wrapped its incredible 21 year run with the July 1995 issue, just a few months after I graduated. I find it comforting that SSOC was there for me, all the way through college, as I left home to wench and swill ale on a grand adventure of which Conan himself would approve.

Savage.

*My brother bought me a couple of back issues a few years ago, including SSOC #1 which I recently broke out in honor of Robert E. Howard’s birthday. I have also purchased the first half dozen of the new Titan run.

New email newsletter: Arcane Arts: Dispatches From The Silver Key

That email newsletter widget on the side of the blog, over there ==> ?

I'm finally putting it to use.

The first issue of Arcane Arts: Dispatches From the Silver Key has hit inboxes.

Important note to would-be subscribers: CHECK YOUR SPAM FOLDER

If you used this form to sign up, you might not have received the first issue.

I know this because the platform, Kit, tells me which subscribers are confirmed vs. unconfirmed. I've got 12-15 folks who signed up, but haven't clicked "confirm" on the auto-email that kicks out to confirm you've keyed in the right email address.

If this sounds like you, or you did not receive the first issue, check your spam folder. If you signed up months ago and/your spam folder is empty, try subscribing again. You just need to confirm once and you're on the list.

Issue #1

I published the first issue via email but also to the web, you can read it here:

 https://brian-murphy.kit.com/posts/what-s-brewing-with-arcane-arts-dispatches-from-the-silver-key-6

I'm still pondering what with I want to do with Arcane Arts, but suffice to say it will be something interesting and wizardly. I kick around some ideas in this first issue but welcome your suggestions here as well. 

It's not meant to replace anything I'm doing on The Silver Key (hence, dispatches from). I see it primarily as a way to keep in touch with folks who might otherwise forget to return to this dusty corner of cyberspace. It makes the blog a bit more sticky.

Trapped in the web... of Arcane Arts.

Struck dumb by Tolkien

So much in Tolkien “hits different,” to use a popular catchphrase of the day. I think because it comes from a place of deep wisdom, so deep it is simultaneously jarring to the ear (no politician could ever utter such words) and timeless, as true today as it was in 1954 … or 1754, or will be in 2354. You are struck dead in your reading tracks, and perhaps like I do, pause to take a photo of the page.

Asks Eomer:

“How shall a man judge what to do in such times?” “

“As he ever has judged,” said Aragorn. “Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among Elves and Dwarves and another among Men. It is a man’s part to discern them, as much in the Golden Wood as in his own house.”

Doing something evil out of expedience does not make it any less wicked.

Here’s another, this time from Gandalf, speaking to Pippin about the hazards of looking into the seeing stones known as the Palantiri. Insert whatever autonomous technology you’d like here:

“Perilous to us are all the devices of an art deeper than we possess ourselves.”

I’ve finished The Two Towers and have begun The Return of the King. I’m treasuring every page of the journey and taking my time with it.

 

Anyone else take pictures while reading?

On seeing bands, of which you have no familiarity, live: A night with Opeth and Katatonia

Somewhere around 1998 I stopped keeping up with new heavy metal. I could not tell you precisely why, only that I gave up the ghost somewhere between Megadeth’s Cryptic Writings (June 1997) and Bruce Dickinson’s The Chemical Wedding (September 1998). It had nothing to do with those fine albums, just where I was with my widening life and shifting interests. And possibly, the rise of nü-metal (God I hate even typing those words, and the ridiculous umlaut, which those bands don't deserve).

No need for mourning, I had a good run. I fell in love with metal around 1987 and for a decade devoured everything I could: classic NWOBHM, thrash, progressive metal, power metal. Even though I very much preferred Maiden, Priest and Metallica I was a sponge, promiscuously consuming the new bands my friends recommended, or whatever caught my ear on Headbanger’s Ball or 107.3 WAAF.

Until suddenly, I stopped. 

What does that mean? I have huge gaps that will likely never be filled. An undeveloped metal palette, unable to appreciate the full breadth and complexity of the genre (which to the uninitiated has massive variety, from top 40 bubblegum hair metal bands to incomprehensible wall of angry sound death metal).

Yeah, I’ve got holes. One of which is shaped like an “O.”

Anyone here an Opeth fan?

Queuing up for the unknown...

I saw these guys last night at the Orpheum in Boston and started filling in some gaps. 

Now I’m not a total Opeth rube; I’ve heard snippets of them here and there. I certainly knew of them. I can’t say the same for opening act Katatonia, the first bars of which I heard in my friend Dana’s car on the drive in.

In case you’re wondering both are Swedish metal acts that have been around since the early 1990s. But looking back it all makes sense; Opeth’s debut album Orchid was not released in the United States until June 1997, somewhere around the start of my new and (nü) metal absence.

Love that stylized "O"

Did I enjoy the show? Yes. Interestingly both bands have death metal roots, a subgenre I don’t enjoy, but Opeth is now properly classified as progressive. They can get quite heavy and lead singer Mikael Åkerfeldt busted out the cookie monster growl on many songs. But the majority of their stuff was chill-ish, heavy and with a great groove but overlaid with clean, mellow, even soft-spoken vocals.

I’d classify Opeth as atmospheric and moody prog metal, creating a vibe akin to entering the vast pagan forests of pre-Christian Europe. I dug Katatonia too, which had a similar feel, and a damned cool backdrop of a deer with sentient eyes wreathed in ghostly flame.

I can’t give a proper review of course because I knew no songs and still don’t. Instead I chose to focus on the sound and the experience. It was nice seeing more (and more attractive) chicks than a typical metal show.

Am I going to become a raging Opeth fan? Will I track down their back catalog, binge Opeth YouTube videos, join an Opeth Reddit page? 

No.

But maybe I’ll check out Ghost Reveries (2005), which Dana recommended after I inquired about his favorite album.

We’ll see. I do know it made for a fun and different and interesting night.

Dig around in your past, see the band of which you're unfamiliar, if the opportunity presents itself.

Dana (at right) and I.

A couple of books I am looking forward to reading: The Tower and the Ruin; To Leave a Warrior Behind

I don't know about you but my TBR pile is the size of a telephone pole. I have a towering pile of books I want to read, or re-read, and have only one life in which to do it. I'm pretty selective in my book purchases but when I see something interesting, I add it to my TBR. The list outpaces my reading, and so grows ever larger.

There is no formal mechanism for how I prioritize what to read next. I can only say that some books make their way to the top of this figurative telephone pole faster than others.

Here's two that hit my mailbox in the past week and promptly jumped the queue.

I have read a fair bit of literary criticism and have reached the conclusion that storytelling and voice matter, even in this medium. Dense, academic jargon makes for a lot of work; even if it's got something illuminating to say the juice isn't worth the squeeze if comprehension becomes the equivalent of deconstructing a mental jenga puzzle.

Michael D.C. Drout wrote one of my favorite Tolkien essays for The Silmarillion: Thirty Years On, a personal and revealing piece about the impact that work had on him during a trying time in his life as a young boy at the height of the Blizzard of '78. I found it both illuminating and emotionally powerful, relatable on multiple levels (among them I lived through that blizzard). And so when I heard he had completed The Tower and the Ruin I knew I had to have it. 

Right now I'm in the middle of The Two Towers and desire a companion to share in my reading. I'm hoping The Tower and the Ruin and a pint of beer will reaffirm the magic that is uniquely Tolkien's. 

To Leave a Warrior Behind is the story of the late Charles Saunders, author of Imaro. Saunders passed away in May 2020 and was buried in an unmarked grave in Halifax, Canada. His life and S&S contributions seemed destined for obscurity, but a group of friends and fans sprang for a gravestone. The project funded in 24 hours.

Now it seems we also have a proper biography. Jon Tattrie worked side-by-side with Saunders at the same newspaper for years. I've been hearing good things and am looking forward to reading this as well.

I'm sure I'll get around to reviewing both.