It’s Saturday morning—overcast and just a bit dreary. This past week has found me splitting my time between exploring collaborative AI music and graphics, and watching our country leave the rails. It feels as though we are trying to find our way back without an engineer. To cope, I’ve been binge-watching old TV shows from an era before America went batshit crazy, interspersed with moments of simple, mindless relaxation.
One of the musical pieces I recently collaborated on is titled The Cold Side of the Latch. The project began with lyrics my father wrote when he was roughly the same age as my oldest grandson, titled The New Last Letter. I took those lyrics and ran them through the AI several times using different “Songwriting Mentors”—models trained on songwriters with strong narrative storytelling abilities.
I am not a songwriter; I haven’t even thought about composing music since elementary school. However, I must admit that the AI I’m using has my musical taste figured out to a T. Every time I listen to one of the generated tracks for the first time, I find myself genuinely enjoying it. Is it because the music is truly good, or simply because the AI has successfully decoded my preferences? I can’t quite guess the answer. So, I just keep playing, revising the process, and enjoying the music.
The Cold Side of the Latch
(Verse 1)
The screen door didn’t slam, it just found its place in the frame
A quiet kind of leaving that doesn’t even whisper your name
I woke to the draft where your body’s heat used to settle and stay
Just a hollow in the mattress that the morning won’t iron away
I’m sitting here with the radio hum and a cup of yesterday’s dregs
Trying to stand on a world that’s gone and kicked out the legs
(Verse 2)
There’s a ring on the nightstand, a ghost left by a sweating glass
And the scent of your sandalwood soap in the steam as the hours pass
The porcelain bowl by the door is a graveyard for keys I don't own
I’m learning the architecture of a house that’s become a tomb of stone
You didn't offer a "goodbye," you just traded the light for the dark
Leaving me to watch the sunrise leave its cold, grey mark
(Chorus)
Why’d you trade the weight of us for the mercy of the highway line?
Left me holding a debt that was never truly mine
If there’s a word I left rotting or a kindness I didn't show
Forgive the woman who’s still learning what the floorboards already know
It ain’t just blue; it’s the color of a bruise that refuses to heal
The heavy, lonesome truth of everything I’m forced to feel
(Bridge)
Love’s a long-haul haul on a grade where the black ice hides
Sometimes the mountain takes what the valley provides
I leaned my life on a foundation of Appalachian silt and sand
Too blind to see the exit you’d already mapped out and planned
The truth is a pill that stays stuck in your throat when it’s dry
Watching the Texas stars go blind in a low-hanging sky
(Outro)
If the road gets too heavy or the engine starts to whine
You know the number and you know the fault is likely mine
I’ll keep the porch light on, though it’s just a lie I tell the street
Because the silence in this house is the only thing left to meet
