Composing

Testing AI soundtrack generation with Adobe Firefly using the following prompt: Epic teaser / trailer Prompt: epic teaser, huge uplift, dramatic, crescendo, with full orchestra, cinematic, pipe organ, massive percussion, for a trailer. Settings: Energy = High, Tempo = Medium, Duration = 0:20.

Testing AI soundtrack generation with Adobe Firefly using the following prompt: Pet funeral scene Prompt: emotional, sorrowful, poignant, cinematic, with strings, sparse piano, woodwinds, clear tonal melody, classical style, for a pet funeral scene film. Settings: Energy = Low, Tempo = Slow, Duration = 1:00.

Testing Adobe Firefly's AI soundtrack generation functionality with the following prompt: Prestige TV documentary montage Prompt: D major, awe inspiring, tonal modulation I-V-IV-I, with strings, prestige TV, woodwinds, restrained percussion, classical style, for a documentary montage. Settings: Energy = Medium, Tempo = Slow, Duration = 0:45.

Testing Adobe Firefly's AI soundtrack generation functionality with the following prompt: Cinematic tension / trailer Prompt: cinematic tension, dramatic, mysterious, with low strings metallic pulse, cinematic, classical style, for a trailer. Settings: Energy = Medium, Tempo = Medium, Duration = 0:30.

Congrats Mohammed - what was your inspiration?

Amazing!!

I personally do not agree with the use of AI in music, to generate any part of a song. I do, however, agree with the use of algorithms to take care of menial and repetitive tasks. I reckon the most important part of a piece of music is the human element and the experiences and stories behind it.

I agree with you too, For me, it should never be 100% AI. I personally never use those apps to generate music, I always loved the process of creating from scratch. And like you said - the human element is the most important part of any music.

Apparently Adobe is touting Firefly to gen soundtrack now. I'll throw a few credits at it, take it for a spin and post the results. I'm kinda interested in the results. Taking a WAG, I'd hypothesize it'll gen YouTuber background, beige wallpaper. It might be okay as placeholder material, but I'll eat my socks if it raises an eyebrow. If it's actually good, I'll eat my M. Mus with a side of fries.

I think sometimes AI can be helpful as a way to just check in on something lyrical, however, often it can cause us to be lazy if we're not careful.

Hiya Kat Spencer ! Good to see you again. I don't know if I've dramatically improved on anything, but I find soul crushing stress gets my creative juices flowing. I guess I ride emotion like it's a stolen bike.

I think for me, it was all about letting myself be free to create without judgement or self-editing. Letting the ideas fully manifest before the editing work begins. I think that is true in any creative work!

Thanks for sharing Navid.

A lot of the comments I read here seem to center around song writing instead of film composing. They are absolutely two separate identities. Songs are personal and emotionally driven by the writer. Film music is driven by the director or producer. The story is set and it's our job to add something else to it. So I really don't see similarities between film composing and song writing.

Songwriting and film composing are different downstream expressions, but the upstream conditions are the same.

In both cases, intuition only works when the emotional architecture is stable.

Songwriting feels personal because the writer is the emotional authority.

Film scoring feels external because the director is the narrative authority.

But in both disciplines, the composer is still navigating identity, emotional logic, and the boundaries of the world.

The difference isn’t intuition vs. structure—it’s whose story the music is serving.

I write most of my poetry and lyrics intuitively. Occasionally I do research and have some idea of what I want to write about for a song. When I write plays/short stories, I tend to plan out how I want the story to go.

... uplifting in D minor... I bloody love that line, Kat Spencer !

Intuition only feels like “no plan” when the identity behind the work is already stable.

When the emotional architecture is set, the work knows where it’s allowed to go — so it feels spontaneous even though the boundaries are doing most of the heavy lifting.

The problems show up when someone tries to rely on intuition without that stability. That’s when the work drifts, contradicts itself, or keeps restarting.

The real distinction isn’t plan vs. no plan. It’s whether the identity is clear enough that intuition has something to anchor to.

Emotion. First and formost.

Everything else is set dressing.

Tempo. Character. Structure. Fine. Useful tools. But if the cue doesn’t hit the nervous system, it’s just noise pretending to matter.

I’m not listening for BPM first. I’m listening for the damage. The jolt. The suckerpunch to the solar plexus that tells the audience what the scene feels like before their brains waddle in with labels and opinions.

Tempo is speed.

Character is skin.

Structure is scaffolding.

Emotion is the wound.

Miss that, and the rest is decorative necromancy. You can throw fifty tracks at it, hire demigods, polish it until it shines like a dentist’s nightmare. Still dead. Still pointless.

So when do I add more and when do I pull back?

If the feeling is landing, I back off and stop pawing at it.

If it isn’t, I stop decorating the corpse and find the one sound that actually draws blood.

Frankly, if it doesn’t make me feel something, I don’t care how “well crafted” it is.

Kat, definitely both — but I'd say I see first, even before I hear anything. When I'm developing a cue, a visual space forms in my mind: light quality, texture, movement. The melody comes after, almost as a consequence of that internal image.

I think it's tied to working in media composition — you train yourself to think in scenes. I'm finishing a Master's in music for media and this visual-first approach has become central to how I write. It's less about notes and more about atmosphere and arc, exactly as you describe.

Beautiful question — curious to hear how other composers here experience it!

Thank you Aitziber Olabarri for such a beautiful response!

Most composers think they’re choosing between hearing first or seeing first, but that’s not actually the upstream distinction. What you’re describing is the entry point your identity uses to access the emotional architecture of the piece. Some people enter through image, some through sound, some through sensation — but the real work happens before any of that.

Once your identity is stable, the music knows where it’s allowed to go. Whether you “see” or “hear” first is just the doorway. The architecture underneath is what determines the arc.

This is such a powerful and necessary reframe—thank you for articulating it so clearly. The idea that boundaries aren't barriers but architecture protecting your brilliance applies to every creative discipline, not just composing. When a composer or writer walks into a room with that kind of clarity, the room instantly trusts them because they've already done the thinking that prevents chaos later. For someone just starting to establish those boundaries, what was the single hardest line for you to learn to hold, and how did you know it was non-negotiable?

The Hardest Boundary to Hold Is the One That Defines the Room

Sam, I appreciate the way you framed this — especially the distinction between boundaries as barriers versus boundaries as architecture. That’s exactly the layer most creatives never get to, because they’re still treating boundaries as emotional negotiations instead of structural conditions.

For me, the hardest line to learn wasn’t interpersonal. It was architectural. It was the line between being helpful and being responsible for the room.

Early on, I thought stepping in to solve chaos was leadership. It wasn’t. It was downstream firefighting. Every time I crossed that line, the same pattern repeated: the room outsourced its uncertainty to me, the emotional bandwidth collapsed, and the work became reactive instead of intentional.

The moment I understood that, the line became non‑negotiable:

I don’t enter a room that hasn’t already chosen clarity.

Once I held that standard, everything shifted. Rooms stabilized faster. People calibrated sooner. The work got cleaner because the container was clean.

Boundaries aren’t about saying “no.”

They’re about defining the conditions under which your best work is possible — and refusing to operate outside those conditions.

This is SO in line with my newest focus. I love it. Great post Baron Rothschild

Kat, when you shift from emotional boundaries to architectural ones, the entire room reorganizes around your clarity. That’s the layer most people never reach.

Hey it’s 3:10am EST and I’m staying up researching everything there is to know about songwriting especially after everything I went through with my Autistic boyfriend. You’re absolutely right. Music is indeed carthetic. I’m so terribly sorry to hear about your cat. My deepest most sincere condolences.

By the way I listened to your song on YouTube it’s beautiful. I was deeply moved by it.

Hi Kat Spencer

I just subscribed to your YouTube channel, and I wanted to say how deeply moving “July” is. It must have been incredibly difficult to write, and as a fellow cat lover, I truly understand how much of your heart they carry with them.

The way you described the song becoming a place you can return to really stayed with me. That idea—that creativity gives loss somewhere to live—is powerful, and you can feel that truth inside the music.

I’ll be watching the rest of your work when I get the time, and from what I’ve seen so far, it’s absolutely beautiful and honest.

I’m truly sorry for your loss. Shade’s presence clearly continues through what you’ve created.

Thank you so much Diana Levin!

Thank you B.A Sins! That means a lot to me. I don't think the song was difficult to write in the sense that it flowed quickly. But there were definitely tears streaming down my face, even to this day when I listen to it and it gets to the faster part, which is where, in my mind, I was running to be by his side.