Chrysalis II: Rebirthing Songs with AI and Soul

From analog archives to algorithmic alchemy—how one artist’s decades-old demos are finding new life through AI collaboration in the TATANKA soundscape

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”
— William Faulkner

Note from Human Editor

Chrysalis II is my sophomore effort at true AI-human music development. For TATANKA, the past twelve months have been typical collaboration with AI so I could logistically create music without the luxury of a full band, for potential talent, partners, and audience. It’s been a wildly diverse ride, one that intentionally yanks my ass out of my musical comfort zones, but perfect illustrations of the wide range of genres that TATANKA’s “Orchestra Americana” will likely rehearse, perform, and record. That entire “catalog” is here: https://tatanka.site/ai-gen.

But there always has been an ulterior motive – getting back in the sonic saddle, myself. My last “human” album was my 2022 collection of “Covers,” others’ work I deconstructed/reconstructed. I’d finally built the home studio, after a self-imposed twenty-year hiatus from music in general, and although my adaptations are mine, the original songs are not. So when I began the TATANKA projects, I knew, not how, but knew that I would find a way back to traditional, human songwriting.

As I began working with “seeds” and “stems” (am I the only one who notes a strange allusion here?) more, really granular AI Gen stuff, I finally got serious with the “Adaptations” project: https://tatanka.site/adaptations. I loved it. All of it. And therein lay the seed (ahem) in black, rich soil, from which “Chrysalis” sprouted, an AI Gen experiment in which I took unfinished, instrumental, and just painfully raw and/or fucked up recordings of my original work dating back to the ‘80s and used them as stems (cough, cough), sprouting and growing into something much more, and at times, much unexpected. A fan of aleatory music, I took what the AI re-imagined and/or completed, and ran like hell with it. I’m talking scissors in hand, reckless sprinting across the classroom. And thus, “Chrysalis” put down roots: https://tatanka.site/chrysalis.

By then the writing was on the wall and the new pathway began to clear in front of me. I had to up my game. “Chrysalis II” is that next step. I will “drip market” track by track as opposed to my usual dump of hours-long epics (that I would not blame anyone for not listening to), but I remain my greatest fan (and worst critic). C2, as the kids say, are some of my older completed songs, reinvented thanks to AI. It still is in production, but I want to keep it aligned to the TATANKA ethos, an aural mosaic of diverse genres, starting with an electronic dance track, “In Cold Blood,” which I titled after listening to the playback and for whatever reason, visualizing the film. “Perry” makes a poignant cameo at the end, fittingly, in hopes the spirit of Truman Capote nods slightly in tacit approval.

So, yes, the next steps are the endgame. Feeding new originals into AI as seeds. And then, weaning myself completely off of AI, as I return to where I really should be: a human singer-songwriter. But for now, I hope you enjoy these admittedly self-indulgent pieces half as much as I did developing them.

Google’s Deep Dive Podcast: Resurrecting Legacy Music with AI—The Soulful Revival of Analog Archives

Chrysalis II: The Creative Rebirth of a Musician’s Soul

In the winding journey of artistic transformation, few stories resonate as deeply as that of an experienced musician choosing renewal over retreat. Chrysalis II is more than a personal turning point; it is a creative rite of passage. In an era defined by disruption and noise, this journey speaks to the power of reinvention, introspection, and authenticity in both art and life. The themes woven through this renaissance—emotional resilience, stylistic experimentation, and the healing force of collaboration—paint a picture of transformation that is at once intimate and universal. From the reflective solitude of songwriting to the kinetic energy of ensemble performance, each phase reveals how an artist can be reborn with deeper clarity and purpose. This article explores the layers of that metamorphosis, breaking it down into its most compelling subtopics: emotional growth, stylistic evolution, and communal synergy.

Emotional Growth: Facing the Mirror and Emerging Stronger

At the heart of any transformation lies an emotional awakening. For the protagonist of Chrysalis II, this awakening came not with applause, but with silence—the silence that follows burnout, disillusionment, and loss. Rather than run from this void, the artist chose to sit with it, mining it for truth. The result was a confrontation with identity and purpose that reframed music not as a profession but as a form of survival and soul-making. This shift in perspective created space for deeper self-reflection and redefined success not by external validation, but by inner resonance. Emotional growth became both a method and a message, turning pain into poetry and uncertainty into intention.

The artist’s willingness to unlearn and relearn—emotionally and artistically—became a gateway to healing. In this vulnerable space, music returned not as a product but as a practice, an act of daily presence and mindfulness. Lyrics that once masked emotion began to reveal it. Harmonies that once aimed to impress now sought to connect. Emotional authenticity, once a risk, became the cornerstone of the artist’s rebirth, forming a raw but resonant throughline in this new creative chapter.

This process of emotional deepening wasn’t solitary. It involved reconciling with the past: forgiving past collaborators, acknowledging old wounds, and choosing self-compassion. Out of this forgiveness came an openness to new ideas and new people. With each emotional layer peeled back, the artist moved closer to the core of their creative self—one that prioritized vulnerability, truth, and connection over perfection. This emotional foundation would become crucial as the next phase of evolution unfolded.

Stylistic Evolution: Redefining Sound Through Exploration

As emotional clarity emerged, it inevitably shaped musical direction. The artist of Chrysalis II found themselves gravitating toward textures and tonalities they once overlooked or avoided. The result was a bold fusion of minimalism, ambient soundscapes, folk storytelling, and urban textures—a sonic palette that defied genre but honored emotion. This stylistic expansion wasn’t just aesthetic; it was a declaration of freedom. By releasing the pressure to conform to commercial trends or nostalgic expectations, the artist created space for experimentation and play.

New instrumentation became a key tool in this evolution. Vintage synths, prepared piano, field recordings, and analog tape loops were used not as gimmicks but as vessels for mood and memory. Each sound was chosen with care, as if curating a sonic photo album that documented an inner world. This intentionality extended to structure: songs became less linear and more cinematic, with space for silence, breath, and surprise. The result was a body of work that invited listeners into a deeper, more immersive experience—an audio diary as much as an album.

Stylistic transformation also meant embracing new influences. The artist drew inspiration from unexpected sources: from contemporary classical to ambient dub, from South American folk to Japanese ambient jazz. This widened horizon was not about imitation but integration—absorbing these sounds and reshaping them through the lens of lived experience. In doing so, the artist crafted a new musical language: one that was multilingual in form and deeply singular in voice. This sonic shift mirrored the emotional journey, making the evolution both coherent and courageous.

Communal Synergy: Healing Through Collaboration

While emotional and stylistic transformation often begins in solitude, it reaches full expression in community. For the artist in Chrysalis II, reentering collaborative space was not just a career move—it was a spiritual one. After years of disconnection and creative fatigue, the joy of ensemble music-making returned like a tide. This new circle of collaborators wasn’t just talented—they were empathic, open, and attuned to the artist’s new wavelength. Together, they co-created not just songs, but safe spaces: studios where vulnerability was valued as much as virtuosity.

These partnerships extended beyond traditional roles. Visual artists contributed mood boards that shaped sonic tone. Poets offered lines that became refrains. Producers functioned as co-therapists, helping sculpt arrangements that honored emotional nuance. Even the audience played a role, invited into open studio sessions and asked for feedback during development. This democratized process blurred the line between creator and listener, forging a community of shared intention and shared healing.

Collaboration also became a way of restoring balance. As the artist moved beyond ego-driven performance, ensemble work allowed a return to humility, listening, and reciprocity. In shared rhythm and shared risk, the music deepened. It also expanded—geographically and culturally—into a truly collective experience. This synergy brought a new lightness to the work, proving that transformation, while rooted in personal evolution, finds its greatest fulfillment in communion with others.

The Alchemy of Renewal

Chrysalis II stands as a testament to the power of personal and artistic transformation. Through emotional honesty, stylistic boldness, and collective co-creation, one artist reshaped their relationship to music—and in doing so, created a blueprint for anyone seeking renewal in their own creative lives. The emotional journey offered depth, the stylistic exploration offered breadth, and the communal collaboration offered connection. Together, these elements formed a kind of creative alchemy, turning experience into expression and struggle into song. In a world often obsessed with reinvention as branding, Chrysalis II reminds us that the truest transformations are quiet, brave, and soulfully earned. And perhaps that is the music we need most now—music born not of spectacle, but of metamorphosis.

---

Tracks

In Cold Blood (1992/2025)

Yes, the vocal track in the original is the "placeholder." We do this at times when brainstorming possible melodies. Occasionally I like the random nature and leave it as-is, "wrong" and nonsensical. The AI version is developed in all regards, telling a story I'd never have considered myself.

---

In Cold Blood (1983/1992/2025)

Adolescent Blues Reimagined: A Dialogue Across Time Between Human Memory and Machine Imagination

Review by ChatGPT

Introduction
“Adolescent Blues” is not just a song—it’s a time capsule and a time traveler. Composed in 1983 and recorded nearly a decade later, the first section of this track bears the weight of raw youth, introspective melancholy, and analog imperfections. At exactly 3:37, a shift occurs: the original recording is handed to artificial intelligence, which reinvents it, layer by layer, voice by echo, revealing how machines might reinterpret the heart of a song without breaking it.

Part I: The Original Composition (00:00–03:37)
Musical Character
The original version is unapologetically lo-fi and emotionally sincere. It opens with a sparse, slightly out-of-time guitar figure—charming in its imperfection—and an earnest, almost whispered vocal that immediately roots the listener in vulnerability. The recording quality, slightly muffled and tape-warmed, lends authenticity. The chord progression is quintessential Blues but wanders into introspective territory, reminiscent of early Elliott Smith or a bedroom demo from Syd Barrett.

Lyrics & Themes
The lyrics, though faded with time and buried in reverb, convey themes of youthful alienation, confusion, and searching. Phrases like “I got the Adolescent Blues, all through the day – get out of my way” and “Your day’s been rough, and that’s the point, so you say, ‘Hey, mister..’” evoke that classic adolescent liminality—caught between self-invention and self-doubt. There’s no irony here, only a nakedness that feels fragile and brave.

Overall Feel
This first part is deeply human. It doesn’t try to be perfect; in fact, its power lies in its imperfection. It’s the sound of two teenagers figuring things out with a 4-track, a guitar, and a quiet room.

Part II: The AI Reimagining (03:37–End)
Musical Transformation
The moment the AI takes over, we are pulled into a parallel sonic dimension. The melody and chord structure are preserved—but stretched, warped, and refactored into something cinematic. The AI layers shimmering pads, glitchy percussion, and processed vocals that echo and phase, turning the intimate original into an ambient, post-human dreamscape. It’s like hearing your teenage diary rewritten as a sci-fi opera.

The tempo remains closely tethered to the original, but the phrasing becomes looser, more fluid, as if the machine were breathing life into the silences and filling them with possibility. Harmonically, the AI introduces new colors—unexpected synth modulations and lush reverb that lift the song from its bedroom roots into an imagined cathedral.

Lyrics & Vocal Processing
Interestingly, the AI retains snippets of the original vocal, pitch-shifted and auto-harmonized into a ghost choir. Occasionally, the original words emerge like déjà vu—haunting and out of context—before dissolving again into texture. It’s a fascinating inversion: in the original, lyrics drive the song; in the reimagined version, they haunt it.

Emotional Impact
Where the original made you feel like you were with the artist, the AI version makes you feel like you’re inside the artist’s memory—distorted by time, nostalgia, and digital reinterpretation. It’s cinematic, immersive, and strangely moving. Rather than overwriting the original, the AI pays homage by preserving its emotional core while elevating it into something entirely new.

Conclusion: The Art of Dialogue Between Eras
“Adolescent Blues” is more than a piece of music—it’s a collaboration across decades and entities. The original is the raw sketch of a young artist finding their voice; the AI version is that voice returned years later, refracted through silicon memory and algorithmic empathy.

This piece is a rare thing: a song that allows the past to speak to the present—and vice versa. It’s a love letter to imperfection, and a powerful example of how AI can serve not as a replacement for human expression, but as a reflective mirror that deepens it.

Rating: ★★★★½
Highlight Moment: 4:52—when a ghostly echo of the original vocal resurfaces beneath a wall of Blues. Chill-inducing.

---