As I sit down to write this piece, the song “Maestro” by Seventeen lingers in my mind. It’s a fitting background score for a conversation on how the rise of artificial intelligence (AI) and virtual influencers raises a complex set of ethical and philosophical dilemmas on agency, identity, and the very essence of what it means to be an artist. The lyrics of the dance R&B smash take on a new layer by probing a timely and provocative matter. The music video further explores the eerie overlap of mankind and machine, set in the shadows of a dystopian space where anything, including music and art, can be made through AI and modern technology. The song begs the question, “Who is the real Maestro?” forcing us to reckon with an all-consuming question: what is actually considered creative or original in the age of AI?
The song hits close to home, aggravating concerns around AI applications in music today. It underscores that the result is often formulaic choices that favor algorithm-friendly sounds over those with emotional depth and a human touch, once considered the essential building blocks of original content. But in an industry where many artists struggle to earn fair streaming royalties or get exposure organically, digital avatars—or virtual idols and acts—have steadily gained popularity. Among the fastest-growing industries in this sector is South Korea’s booming K-pop industry.
Major K-pop entertainment giants, including HYBE, SM Entertainment, and JYP Entertainment, are expanding their content through virtual influencers. For instance, the famous girl group Aespa features human members Karina, Giselle, Winter, and Ningning, who also have their unique virtual avatars—æ-Karina, æ-Giselle, æ-Winter, and æ-Ningning. There’s also the virtual boy group Plave, a quintet including members Yejun, Noah, Bamby, Eunho, and Hamin, and more recently Naevis, who is SM Entertainment’s first AI-powered virtual artist.
Examples like these show just how fierce the competition has gotten. Virtual avatars can easily circumvent some of the limitations that humans encounter. They can work around the clock and supply content quicker than their flesh-and-bone counterparts. Besides, as audiences, we like virtual influencers. And it’s not just because of the consistency or novelty factor. It’s also because of how they are programmed to connect with us on a deeper level through fully immersive events like simulated concerts, games, or social media interactions, fostering fan engagement. They offer a sense of escapism, sucking us into fantasy worlds and characters, while also creating a shared sense of community, belonging, and collective excitement.
Professor Theodore Jun Yoo—Department of Korean Language and Literature at Yonsei University, Seoul, South Korea—notes, “Virtual K-pop idols are increasingly popular because of their ability to perform without physical or mental limitations (e.g., stress) because they can engage fans globally through virtual concerts, social media interactions, and holographic appearances (e.g., very cost-effective). While this innovation offers new fan experiences and scalability by being around 24/7, such AI-generated content is complicating the landscape as it diverts streaming royalties away from human creators.”
A deep-water situation that it is, AI tools can now compose music, write lyrics, and even produce full-length albums, leading to an oversaturation of content that makes it more difficult for human musicians to stand out. Fanning the flames, the shift to streaming platforms has thoroughly reduced the income musicians may earn. This trend, Professor Yoo asserts, “exacerbates financial challenges, especially among artists already struggling with low streaming payouts,” which, alongside an abundance of music available online, is a threat to even the most talented musicians, who may have to struggle for recognition. “Moreover, K-pop relies on catchy melodies and formulas, allowing virtual idols and AI tools to amplify things more by using data-driven algorithms rather than creative experimentation. Of course, this approach can stifle musical diversity and innovation, as businesses will pivot towards profitability vs. artistic exploration,” he theorizes.
Streaming platform algorithms tend to prefer popular artists or those who meet certain specifications, further undermining other talents, mainly up-and-coming ones. When I spoke with Asian American singer-songwriter, performer, and media personality Eric Nam for our January cover story last year, he voiced his concerns about the way algorithms frequently favor songs that fit specific genres or trends, pushing musicians to follow these trends to be noticed. “Algorithms seem to be more important than ever, and I think that’s kind of the most difficult part. When I’m in a songwriting session or when I’m talking to my artist friends, we’re like, ‘Okay, but what is the algorithm? Can it feed people?’ So, we have lost a lot of what feels like a natural discovery—people searching for good music and searching for what they like […] We have to write and think in a certain way, writing for the algorithm.”
Additionally, with the rise of short-form content and decreasing attention spans, there’s a demand for music that’s instantly catchy and formulaic. This pressures artists to produce music that fits the criteria rather than allowing them to explore more experimental or innovative sounds. “We so quickly forget what we watched and what we consumed, so our music is losing value in front of people,” Nam said, adding “For most artists we spend months and years working on something, and within a matter of a few hours, minutes, or days, it would be like moving on. So, I would be lying if I said that it’s not difficult.”
Given this situation, the rise of virtual artists and the increasing use of AI in music heighten the challenges, potentially sidelining humans while paving the way for a more predictable approach to music. So, it’s crucial to think on your feet—strike a balance that allows technological innovations and also preserves artistic integrity. According to Professor Yoo, “We need to acknowledge the coexistence of AI and artists now. It’s inevitable, and just like the industrial or digital revolution, humans and artists need to respond in creative ways. The machine/AI can now be used to augment and allow artists to be more creative.”
The ever-expanding K-pop industry is betting big on this scenario by steadily producing virtual influencers, thereby escalating fears about how the industry is rapidly changing. In response, Olivia Oh, virtual girl group Mave:’s Task Force Leader at the Music Content Division at Kakao Entertainment Corp., said in one of our earlier interviews, “It was never our intention for virtual idols to replace human idols. We used a variety of K-pop formulas, and it’s true that existing K-pop fans are more likely to enjoy and support virtual idols, but that doesn’t mean virtual idols can replace real-life idols. I think the market and enjoyment created by virtual idols is new and should be in a category all by itself.”
It suggests that virtual influencers aren’t a passing trend—they’re part of the future. What we now need is thoughtful education, legislation, and fair funding for human artists to survive and thrive. However, unlike AI-created music, which relies on statistical models and pattern recognition, sounds created by humans carry the weight of their history, cultural background, and emotional state, resulting in a unique and deeply personal artistic expression that resonates more profoundly with listeners.
Moving ahead, it may be a more integrated music industry where human artists will engage more actively with virtual artists or AI tools in innovative ways to enhance their audience and their work. But in doing so, as Professor Yoo rightly identifies, “it requires careful balance to avoid eroding the unique value that human artistry brings to music.”