Buses in Nepal all have their own soundtracks. Sometimes it’s Ramkali, other times it’s the new famous lok dohori; nonetheless, it’s a familiar voice.

You may not have ever heard it before, but the singers’ nasal tone and the classical lyrics of two lovers are very familiar and comforting. Lately, however, the buses hum a different tune. Instead of a nasal man trying to impress this village girl, it's this bass-boosted, grating voice singing something so manufactured that if it weren’t for the clear Lok Dohori-esque lyricism and Nepali language, you’d confuse it for a Western techno song.

What’s playing is an AI-generated track. Slowly asserting dominance over the traditional music industry, this new type of music is replacing the very thing it’s trying so hard to imitate.

While easily distinguishable by locals for their distinct sound and production quality, the artists who create Nepali folk songs are often entirely unknown to society or have only a very niche cult following. Because the majority of listeners are elderly, folk singers are often not treated as celebrities, especially if they’re relatively new.

While every Nepali has sung along to ‘Saalko Paatko Tapari’ at least once in their lives, these songs endure because of their familiar stories, playful conversational style, and deep connection to Nepal’s traditions. Their purpose has never been to chase streaming numbers but to preserve a musical culture rooted in community.

While there’s a lot to be said about the lack of respect Nepali folk artists face, this new AI surge has made it exponentially easier. The involuntary anonymity most Nepali folk singers live with also means the audience subconsciously feels detached from the artist, and any new change isn’t met with much pushback because there was never a connection between the artists and the audience in the first place.

Currently, one of the songs dominating Nepali social media is ‘Lamjunge Dadaima Hawa Sarara’, an AI cover of the same-named song published a year ago by singer-songwriter Jibihang Rai. This AI cover published almost seven months ago has nearly 5 times the number of views as its original version, with presumably no compensation to the original artist. 

This is without mentioning the absurd number of times these AI-generated songs have been used as audios on social media platforms. Additionally, most of these AI models are trained on Western media, which differs from Nepali folk songs, with the most notable difference being the lack of exclusively South Asian instruments. 

This results in these songs having a very distinct metallic sheen to them and pure noise in the background, faintly trying to mimic these instruments, but it simply can’t due to a lack of relevant data. The origin of these songs is rooted in local tradition, often sung by men and women as a part of a courtship ritual. These AI-generated songs sound uncanny.

The biggest issue with AI-generated music in Nepal is that our pursuit of development has often come at the expense of preservation. In our desperation to escape the label of a “third-world country,” we risk leaving behind the traditions that define us.

The main audience of Nepali folk songs is the middle-aged parents of today, swept up in a sense of nostalgia every time the sweet tunes of ‘Saalko Paatko Tapari’ or ‘Phul Butte Sari’ strike their eardrums. The new AI songs however, provide a more westernised view that everyone is so desperate to achieve nowadays. 

Even amongst the older generation, this wish for a western lifestyle spreads like a plague, diminishing our roots to something to be ashamed of. Thus, this fusion of Western and traditional sounds offers the listener a glimpse into a life they’ve always yearned for, without losing what they grew up loving.

Many people now sing along to these AI-generated songs with the same enthusiasm as we once did for ‘Resham Firiri’. Slowly, this is all the newer generation of kids will hear. Writing a one-page-long essay on Tamang Selo for your Social Studies homework while you hear a cheap imitation in your day-to-day life completely washes away all meaning from our Social Studies classes and essays. 

These AI-generated songs are so rarely spoken out against because their target audience, middle-aged viewers, are either unable to distinguish the difference or some even prefer their tone, choosing mass-produced content driven solely by profit over meaning and art.

Critics may argue that these songs represent a new wave of change in our culture, since cultural shifts are inevitable and it’s better to embrace them, as change isn’t always a bad thing. 

This counter, however, fails to account for the fact that what they want to embrace as part of our culture is the very antithesis of everything that builds culture and upholds tradition and meaning. Every new innovation has initially faced rebuttal, with claims that it sounds ‘soulless’ or lacks humanity, and that criticism has always been shot down. 

While I, like many, argue that AI music sounds extremely soulless, the bigger criticism of it in folk music is that it is the exact opposite of everything folk music represents. Every radical change in a culture has always had a reason to exist and transform it into something more. 

This cheaper, easier way of producing music, which cuts Nepali voices out of the process and is designed to be as generic as possible, not only fails to add any meaning but erases the rich history of folk songs.

AI is taking away a huge part of our culture, removing Nepali identity as countless Nepalis go around proudly listening to the “new, innovative” sounds as the melodies of the Panchebaja, the thump of the Madal, slowly fade from their memories. 

True cultural development happens while carrying its past forward, but AI does none of that. The current generation of Nepali youth has proven to be more outspoken than our predecessors, standing up for what's right and expressing a deep respect for our past and the various efforts to preserve it. 

On Instagram alone, there are many wonderful accounts such as katharchive.np led by youths in an effort to preserve their history, and wonderful brands like Bachhittaa revolutionising Nepali traditional clothes with a mix of modern fashion. 

There are countless youth-led spaces, both online and in real life, specifically dedicated to teaching a particular traditional craft or to observing our history, and I hope that the wretched hands of capitalist greed and the comfortable life AI allows us to live will not manage to tear apart the thousands of years of identity we hold.

Khadka is a Nepali student interested in culture, technology, and their intersection and mutual influence.