I’ve been mulling over something that came up in discussions about Metallica’s Melbourne show last Friday, and it’s got me thinking about what’s happened to live music crowds – or maybe what’s happened to us.

First off, let me say this: Metallica delivered. Of course they did. You don’t become one of the biggest metal bands in history by phoning it in. The production was spectacular, the setlist was solid (even if some folks were hoping for Fade To Black), and watching them tear through their catalogue was everything you’d expect from a band that’s been doing this for four decades. One person mentioned getting emotional when The Ecstasy Of Gold started, and honestly, I get it. There’s something about those iconic moments that hit differently when you’re actually there.

Sometimes the internet serves up stories that genuinely catch you off guard in the best possible way. This week, I found myself scrolling through a discussion about Snoop Dogg accepting an invitation from Warringa Park School in Werribee South to collaborate on a track with their students. Not just any school, mind you – this is a special needs school, and the whole thing has left me with some complicated feelings about celebrity, community, and second chances.

The familiar “pew-pew” followed by that rhythmic “duk-duk-duk” has become such an integral part of daily life that we barely notice it anymore. That is, until you travel overseas and suddenly find yourself standing at a crossing, waiting for an audio cue that never comes.

Recently, browsing through online discussions about our pedestrian crossing sounds brought back memories of my recent trip to Europe. Standing at various intersections in London, I felt surprisingly lost without that reassuring audio feedback. It’s fascinating how something so mundane can become such a crucial part of our urban experience.

Standing in my home studio, gazing at the collection of instruments I’ve gathered over the years, I find myself wrestling with some deeply unsettling thoughts about the future of music. The recent comments from a Berklee professor about AI music being better than 80% of his students have hit particularly close to home.

My old Yamaha keyboard sits silent these days, collecting dust next to the digital audio workstation I invested in last year. The irony isn’t lost on me - I spent thousands on equipment to make music, while today’s AI can produce surprisingly competent tunes with just a text prompt.