The fictional band is nothing new. It was in 1958 that Ross Bagdasarian, creator of Alvin and the Chipmunks, started tinkering with his own voice to create the shrill sound we know today. Bagdasarian (under the pseudonym David Seville) recorded his singing voice at half-speed, then raised its pitch by playing it back at its original tempo. The result was the song ‘Witch Doctor’ — a now notorious Chipmunks track that went number one on the Billboard Hot 100 and sold over 1 million copies.
The fictional band only evolved from here; the Monkees were originally a fictional band created for the 1966 NBC sitcom of the same name. The success of The Monkees went on to inspire The Archies — a fictional band produced by the creators of the Archie Comics. Their most popular track, ‘Sugar, Sugar’, went number one on Billboard in 1969 and sold 6 million copies. To TV producers and record executives, one thing was clear; consumers would buy music made by their favourite TV show characters, even if there were teams behind the scenes formulating each track.
If you were to ask any member of Gen Z to name a fictional band, there is one that will be mentioned over any other — Gorillaz, the late 90s brainchild of Blur frontman Damon Albarn and comic book artist Jamie Hewlett. Gorillaz were the first of their kind in a myriad of ways; previous fictional bands were extensions of pre-existing fictional worlds. The musical endeavours of The Monkees, The Chipmunks and The Archies all stemmed from media coming before it. Gorillaz, however, were about music from the start.
Albarn, the band’s primary songwriter, and Hewlett, who helped to bring the band’s characters to life, worked in tandem; they, together, spun a mad tale of a Satanic hoodlum driving through a record store window and inadvertently hitting the boy who went on to be the lead singer of his alt-rock band. The Gorillaz universe is as intricately woven as its music; though you may come for the intrigue of such a band, you will stay for the way it connects with you.
Artificial Intelligence technology is advancing at a rate that is hard for any sane person to understand. It is permeating every faction of life: education, employment, and — pivotally — art. AI technology is getting so advanced that it is often difficult to differentiate what is real and what is not. There is no better example of this than with the emergence of AI ‘artists.’
In June 2025, Spotify users noticed that a band called The Velvet Sundown was getting a push from Spotify. They would appear on so-called relaxing 70s playlists, wedged in between real artists like Fleetwood Mac and Don McLean. Their name pulls on something familiar inside of you — you may find yourself thinking of The Velvet Underground. Even their most popular track, ‘Dust on the Wind’, is a clear play on Kansas’ ‘Dust in the Wind’. When users tried to trace the origin of The Velvet Sundown, one thing became transparent: there wasn’t one. There were no real people behind this project; there were algorithms. Spotify was likely pushing The Velvet Sundown as it would save them money: you do not have to pay technology for music like you pay artists for it.
For me, the outrage towards so-called AI ‘artists’ demonstrates that humans want their music to be made by other humans. Though in the case of fictional bands, there are characters acting as the face of the work, they are not behind its creation. People will sit down and write these songs. In the case of Gorillaz, you can hear the longing to be pulled from an increasingly artificial world and towards human connection in the track ‘On Melancholy Hill’ — “Up on melancholy hill, there’s a plastic tree / but you are my medicine when you’re close to me”. Never has this sentiment been more pertinent; you will connect to music because it can evoke a feeling from you. Music targets specific types of joy, yearning, melancholia as you can connect with the artist — these are emotions that algorithms simply cannot feel. We must protect living, working artists that tether to us in this way, now more than ever.
“gorillaz” by mobu27 is licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0.