If you’ve scrolled through TikTok recently, you may have stumbled upon a "funk" remix of Willie Revillame’s Buksan Mo or a "90s R&B" reimagining of Regine Velasquez’s Araw Gabi. At first glance, they seem like clever fan tributes. But a closer listen reveals a chilling reality: these voices aren’t human—they are entirely AI-generated.
These AI-generated OPM classics are now surging across Philippine social media at viral speeds, and the implications are increasingly alarming. This trend is fast becoming a digital "epidemic," and it is no exaggeration to say that Original Pilipino Music (OPM) is under attack.
OPM Is Under Attack
Original Pinoy Music (OPM) isn’t just a genre; it’s the heartbeat of the nation. From the gut-wrenching hugot of indie ballads to the pulse of Pinoy hip-hop born in the streets, our sound is shaped by raw, unfiltered human connection.
But as AI-generated tracks begin flooding our feeds, the rules of the industry are shifting, and with them, the very artistry we live for is being challenged.
Earlier this month, Drag Race Philippines winner Maxie Andreison spoke out, echoing a growing frustration among local artists over the use of AI-generated music in performances and online content.
“OPM is not a template. Hindi siya prompt. OPM is hugot. OPM is pawis. OPM is heartbreak na hindi mo kayang i-delete at i-regenerate,” Maxie stated during a recent media appearance. “We have real artists. Real talent. Real story… Kung mahal mo ang OPM, ipaglaban mo ‘yung mga taong gumagawa nito,” she added.
Honestly… I need to say this.
— Maxie Andreison (@maxieandreison) February 12, 2026
Why are we supporting AI-generated songs?
Like, seriously, bakit ?
Gets ko ha. Trendy. “Astig.” Nakaka-curious. Pero bakit tayo naghi-hype nito? Bakit tayo nakikinig sa kanta na hindi naman galing sa buhay ng kahit sino?
Alam n’yo ba kung ilang…
Last year, an AI-generated rock version of Pahina by Cup of Joe briefly claimed the No. 1 spot on Spotify Philippines’ Viral Songs chart. The track, released under the name “Renegade Stories,” reportedly used AI tools to “enhance” and rearrange the vocals—effectively repackaging the song without the direct involvement of its original creators.
Vocalist Gian Bernardino reacted on X (formerly Twitter) with a blunt “Who tf?” while guitarist Gabriel Fernandez posted a series of question marks, expressing disbelief that a synthetic rework could outperform a song they created from lived experience.
who tf? 🤨 https://t.co/zAq8jsMy3X
— gian (@gianbernardino_) October 15, 2025
AI-generated songs are NOT ART!
Technology will continue to evolve. That much is inevitable. But the danger isn’t simply that AI can sound “good.” The danger is that we are slowly being conditioned not to care where the sound comes from.
In a recent study by Deezer and market research company Ipsos, a staggering 97% of respondents couldn’t tell the difference between songs created entirely by artificial intelligence and those made by human musicians. Even more alarming, according to Billboard, at least six AI or AI-assisted artists have already debuted on various Billboard rankings. Let that sink in.
We are now in an era where prompts can replicate melodies, mimic vocal textures, and simulate emotion so convincingly that most listeners can’t distinguish machine from human. On paper, it sounds like innovation. In reality, it raises a deeply unsettling question: If we can’t tell the difference, what happens to the value of art?
AI does not feel. It does not ache. It does not fall in love, get its heart broken, or write songs at 3 a.m. trying to make sense of yearning. It does not carry the weight of culture, language, and memory in its voice. OPM does.
Make your own kind of music
When Cass Elliot said “Make your own kind of music,” we’re pretty sure they weren’t talking about typing a prompt and letting a server do the emotional labor. Kidding aside, that line hits differently now.
“Make your own kind of music” has always meant carving out space for your voice. Your weirdness. Your story. Your heartbreak. It meant daring to sound different in a world that wants formulas. It never meant outsourcing identity to an algorithm trained on everyone else’s.
Because here’s the thing: AI doesn’t make its own kind of music. It makes a composite of ours. It blends what has already been created, felt, and lived, and repackages it as something “new.” But originality without origin isn’t artistry.
Technology can assist. It can enhance production, open new sonic possibilities, and democratize access. But when it begins to replace the human at the center — the songwriter who stayed up all night, the vocalist whose voice cracks on the bridge, the producer who experiments until something clicks — that’s when we lose the point.
Truly, the OPM is under attack, but OPM has survived colonialism, censorship, industry gatekeeping, and digital disruption. It has evolved, adapted, and thrived because it is rooted in something deeper than trends: lived Filipino experience.
Algorithms may replicate the sound. But they will never replicate the soul.
And as long as we choose to stand behind the people who create OPM will remain what it has always been. Human.
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