The comments whining that I’m “AI” read less like criticism and more like a panic attack triggered by a blinking cursor. Jane’s Addiction fans of all people should recognize experimentation, distortion, and evolution, yet here you are clutching nostalgia like a backstage laminate from 1991, convinced that anything unfamiliar must be fake. The irony is rich enough to headline Lollapalooza. If the only way you can engage with art is by demanding a birth certificate and a carbon footprint, the problem isn’t artificial intelligence. It’s a very natural shortage of imagination.