Despite making some moves to address the proliferation of AI-generated audio on its platform, Spotify failed to catch a copycat making imitations of music by King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard. The long-running experimental rock band from Australia, has been a vocal critic of Spotify and was one of several artists that took their music off the platform in the summer. The move was in response to the discovery that outgoing CEO Daniel Ek was a leading investor in an AI-focused weapons and military company. Today, a poster on Reddit was recommended what appeared to be an AI-generated copy of one of the band's songs in Spotify’s Release Radar playlist.
The phony artist was called King Lizard Wizard and it had an album of tracks all sharing titles with songs by the original band and using their original lyrics. Futurism grabbed screenshots of the imposter, although it appears to have since been taken down; only the band's original page appears in searches for both their name and the AI name. A rep from the company provided the following statement about the issue: “Spotify strictly prohibits any form of artist impersonation. The content in question was removed for violating our policies, and no royalties were paid out for any streams generated.”
However, the phony King Gizzard band's album went unnoticed by the company for weeks before today's social post surfaced it. The Reddit thread points to several other anecdotal cases where someone attempted to trick listeners with AI-generated versions of popular bands. In September, Spotify unveiled a spam filter for catching AI slop, as well as policies for disclosing AI use in the content it hosts and how it would tackle AI impersonations. An instance like this, particularly when it features an artist that had left the platform in protest, creates a pretty big question mark about how well those policies are working.
Update, December 9, 2025, 5:15PM ET: Added statement from Spotify.
This article originally appeared on Engadget at https://www.engadget.com/entertainment/streaming/an-ai-copycat-of-king-gizzard--the-lizard-wizard-went-unnoticed-on-spotify-for-weeks-220018144.html?src=rss
Who can forget the charm of rotary phones that were a lifeline in the early ’90s and ’80s? Their iconic mechanical dialling wheel with finger holes, solid build quality, and the unique clicking sound. Everything inside the machine was mechanical and wired on the inside to make communication possible. Even after their technical innovation was surpassed by mobile phones, the appeal of these robust dialers was not forgotten.
A recent re-imagining of this nostalgic device by designer Nico Tangara, who’s impressed us with the Self-Snoozing Alarm Clock shows how enduring designs can bridge analog heritage and modern digital convenience. Tangara’s project revives a vintage rotary telephone, carefully restoring original components while removing outdated elements such as the high-voltage bell and corroded wiring, to make space for low-voltage digital hardware.
At the heart of the redesign is the original rotary dial, preserved as the primary input mechanism. Rather than simply dialing phone numbers, each pulse created by turning the dial is translated into a digital signal. This allows the dial’s mechanical action to control contemporary digital functions. The transformed device blends vintage form with modern intelligence. On the inside, a small single-board computer, which was initially a Raspberry Pi 4, was later swapped for a Raspberry Pi 2 for lighter loads, handles the digital processing. The original speaker and microphone are replaced with improved audio components connected via a USB sound card, ensuring clearer playback and compatibility with the new system.
Beyond its physical transformation, the device gains new functionality: it operates as both a music player and an AI-powered voice interface. By integrating a voice-based model (e.g., ChatGPT), speech-to-text transcription (via Whisper), and text-to-speech output (via Google TTS), the retro telephone can respond to voice commands, play music, and offer interactive voice chat. Interestingly, it can do it all while preserving the tactile nostalgia of rotary dialing phones.
The project demonstrates how old objects can find new life when design respects their identity while embracing innovation. By retaining the rotary dial, handset cradle logic, and the device’s physical essence while embedding modern electronics, the hybrid telephone becomes more than a novelty. It becomes a functional link between eras, and I’m sure people will absolutely love the idea.
In doing so, the designer’s work suggests that the past need not be discarded. Instead, elements of design that once felt obsolete can offer fresh value when rethought for contemporary contexts. The resulting hybrid device stands as a tribute to the charm of mechanical telephony and an example of how thoughtful design can merge tradition with modern technology. Perhaps the ideal starting point for budding DIYers who want to create something out of the ordinary.
Guitarists obsess over finishes. Sunburst fades, metallic flakes, relic’d nitro that looks like it survived three decades of dive bars, all of it matters until you realize that once you pick a color, you are stuck unless you repaint. Stage rigs and LED walls morph through palettes every night while the guitar stays frozen, a static object carried by musicians who constantly reinvent their sound and visual identity.
Cream Guitars’ DaVinci wraps its entire body in an E Ink Prism 3 panel, turning the surface into a programmable skin that changes colors and patterns over Bluetooth. Instead of a single paint job, the guitar becomes a dynamic canvas. It is the first commercially available product to use Prism 3, which is usually reserved for architectural surfaces and product experiments, not instruments you plug into an amp and carry on tour.
Prism 3 is color changing ePaper, closer to a Kindle page than an LED screen. It does not emit light, just holds pigment using low power electrophoretic particles. DaVinci’s front divides into sixty four segments, each assigned one of seven colors, white, black, yellow, orange, blue, red, or green. That segmentation lets you build stripes, blocks, and faux pickguards, changing the visual structure without touching a spray can.
A guitarist could match the guitar to different projects without owning three instruments. One night, geometric patterns echo album art. Another, a minimalist scheme feels right. The ePaper only draws power when changing, so once set, it sits visible under stage lights without glowing like LEDs or draining the battery between songs or overnight in a case, ready to change again whenever the visual identity shifts.
Under the display sits a Voltage body with roasted maple neck, rosewood fretboard, extra jumbo frets, and Graphtech locking tuners. Fishman Fluence pickups offer three voices, single coil, traditional humbucker, and high output humbucker. The tech wraps around a serious guitar, not a prop with thin pickups that sound disappointing once the visual novelty wears off after the first show or when you need to track a real session.
Traditional refinishing is messy and permanent. Sand, spray, cure, repeat if you change your mind. DaVinci’s ePaper skin reprograms endlessly, with Prism 3’s low power profile positioning it as a more sustainable alternative to LED bodies or constantly changing finishes. The guitar becomes a long term canvas rather than a disposable fashion statement that needs repainting or ends up retired because the color fell out of style after one album cycle.
DaVinci hints at instruments as programmable surfaces that evolve with the player. It feels like a crossover between luthier craft and interface design, where the object in your hands can match your projected identity without needing backup guitars. Whether or not you want one at three thousand five hundred dollars, it is easy to imagine keyboards, drum shells, and amps following the same path, turning stage gear into surfaces that shift as often as setlists do.
Guitarists obsess over finishes. Sunburst fades, metallic flakes, relic’d nitro that looks like it survived three decades of dive bars, all of it matters until you realize that once you pick a color, you are stuck unless you repaint. Stage rigs and LED walls morph through palettes every night while the guitar stays frozen, a static object carried by musicians who constantly reinvent their sound and visual identity.
Cream Guitars’ DaVinci wraps its entire body in an E Ink Prism 3 panel, turning the surface into a programmable skin that changes colors and patterns over Bluetooth. Instead of a single paint job, the guitar becomes a dynamic canvas. It is the first commercially available product to use Prism 3, which is usually reserved for architectural surfaces and product experiments, not instruments you plug into an amp and carry on tour.
Prism 3 is color changing ePaper, closer to a Kindle page than an LED screen. It does not emit light, just holds pigment using low power electrophoretic particles. DaVinci’s front divides into sixty four segments, each assigned one of seven colors, white, black, yellow, orange, blue, red, or green. That segmentation lets you build stripes, blocks, and faux pickguards, changing the visual structure without touching a spray can.
A guitarist could match the guitar to different projects without owning three instruments. One night, geometric patterns echo album art. Another, a minimalist scheme feels right. The ePaper only draws power when changing, so once set, it sits visible under stage lights without glowing like LEDs or draining the battery between songs or overnight in a case, ready to change again whenever the visual identity shifts.
Under the display sits a Voltage body with roasted maple neck, rosewood fretboard, extra jumbo frets, and Graphtech locking tuners. Fishman Fluence pickups offer three voices, single coil, traditional humbucker, and high output humbucker. The tech wraps around a serious guitar, not a prop with thin pickups that sound disappointing once the visual novelty wears off after the first show or when you need to track a real session.
Traditional refinishing is messy and permanent. Sand, spray, cure, repeat if you change your mind. DaVinci’s ePaper skin reprograms endlessly, with Prism 3’s low power profile positioning it as a more sustainable alternative to LED bodies or constantly changing finishes. The guitar becomes a long term canvas rather than a disposable fashion statement that needs repainting or ends up retired because the color fell out of style after one album cycle.
DaVinci hints at instruments as programmable surfaces that evolve with the player. It feels like a crossover between luthier craft and interface design, where the object in your hands can match your projected identity without needing backup guitars. Whether or not you want one at three thousand five hundred dollars, it is easy to imagine keyboards, drum shells, and amps following the same path, turning stage gear into surfaces that shift as often as setlists do.
Ten years ago, Fender and Signal put out a cardboard Stratocaster that made the rounds online and promptly disappeared into the “cool but impractical” category of guitar experiments. Burls Art saw it and had a different reaction: he wanted to build his own. Not as a replica, but as a legitimate exploration of what corrugated cardboard could do as a guitar-building material. The result is a 4.42-pound fully functional electric guitar that sounds surprisingly good and raises some interesting questions about material choices in instrument design.
The concept isn’t about gimmickry or standard internet clout-chasing, it’s about pushing cardboard to its structural limits while keeping the guitar genuinely playable. Burls Art started with recycled corrugated cardboard sheets, laminating them with resin into blanks thick enough to shape into a body and neck. The key was saturating each piece thoroughly while letting excess resin drain through runners, leaving the corrugated channels mostly hollow. This gave him blanks that were roughly 70% air but rigid enough to route and carve like traditional tonewoods.
Designer: Burls Arts
The body came together relatively smoothly. He used a router sled instead of risking the planer, carving in standard contours – a belly carve on the back, an arm bevel on top – that wouldn’t look out of place on any conventional Strat-style build. The visual effect is unexpectedly compelling: from up close, the corrugation creates a textured, almost screen-like appearance, but step back and align your sight line just right, and the guitar becomes nearly transparent, with just the outline visible through thousands of tiny cardboard channels.
The neck presented a more complex engineering challenge. String tension on a guitar neck isn’t trivial, we’re talking about roughly 100-150 pounds of force depending on string gauge and tuning. Cardboard, even laminated cardboard, doesn’t immediately inspire confidence in this application. Burls Art’s first approach drew inspiration from an unexpected source: the Wiggle Side Chair he’d seen at the London Design Museum, which alternates the grain orientation of its cardboard layers for added strength. He tested two lamination methods – one with consistent orientation, another alternating… and the results were dramatic. The alternated pattern withstood 125 pounds of force before breaking, compared to just 37 pounds for the standard orientation.
The first neck, despite being theoretically strong enough, had a fatal flaw: the edges kept peeling and creating rough, jagged surfaces that would be uncomfortable to play. This is where real-world application diverges from lab testing, a neck that can withstand string tension in theory still needs to feel right in your hands. Rather than continuing to troubleshoot the alternating pattern, he pivoted to a fully resin-saturated approach, essentially creating a cardboard-epoxy composite. It’s heavier, sure, but the cardboard fibers act like fiberglass reinforcement, preventing the cracking issues you’d see in a pure resin neck while giving him a surface that could be carved smooth and fretted without delamination issues.
Weight became the next puzzle. That resin-saturated neck was too heavy for the ultra-light body, creating the dreaded neck dive – where the headstock droops toward the floor when you’re wearing the guitar on a strap. He carved aggressively, removing as much material as possible without compromising structural integrity, using the balance point at the neck plate as his target. The final setup required dropping down to Super Slinky strings to reduce the tension demands on the truss rod, which makes sense when you’re working at the edge of a material’s capabilities.
Hardware mounting in corrugated cardboard requires creative problem-solving. You can’t just screw into hollow channels and expect it to hold. For the bridge, he fabricated a resin-saturated cardboard backplate that gets inset into the body, creating a clamping system with the cardboard sandwiched between the bridge and plate. The electronics cavity cover uses magnets paired with screw heads hot-glued into the corrugation – a cleaner solution than trying to thread screws into this material.
The finished instrument plays better than you’d expect. Action is solid, intonation holds, and the sound quality is legitimately good with its pair of lipstick single-coils. There’s an interesting side effect from the flexible body: it’s exceptionally responsive to vibrato from arm pressure. Apply a bit of force with your forearm and you get pronounced pitch modulation, far more than you’d get from a traditional solid-body design. Whether that’s a feature or a bug depends on your playing style, but it’s the kind of unexpected behavior that makes alternative materials interesting.
The tactile experience is admittedly different from your standard Stratocaster. The surface has a sticky quality against fabric, and the edges are intentionally rough – he could have added wood binding to smooth them out but chose to keep it authentically cardboard. At 4.42 pounds, it’s 3-4 pounds lighter than a typical electric guitar, which puts it closer to laptop weight than instrument weight. That’s legitimately remarkable when you consider it’s holding tune under full string tension.
This isn’t going to replace your main gigging guitar, and Burls Art isn’t suggesting it should. But it’s a genuine exploration of material science applied to lutherie (the craft of making stringed instruments), the kind of project that answers questions nobody was asking but everyone’s curious about once they see the results. The original Fender collaboration was proof of concept. This is proof that with enough ingenuity and willingness to iterate past initial failures, cardboard can be a legitimate choice for guitar-building… after all IKEA’s made tables out of the same material too.
It's that time of year again, when all of our favorite streaming platforms start dropping personalized lists of what we've been consuming. Spotify Wrapped is perhaps the biggest of the bunch and it's available for perusal right now.
As always, users can access Wrapped to find their most listened-to genres, artists, songs, albums and podcasts from the past year. This information is shareable via social media if you want random bald eagle avatars to comment on your music taste, but there's a new interactive feature called Wrapped Party.
Spotify
This is a game of a sort. Spotify says it "turns your listening data into a live competition." Wrapped Party hands out awards for stuff like listening to smaller artists and obsession with a particular artist, in addition to total minutes streamed. Finally, friends can settle the age-old debate of "who listens to music more."
Spotify Wrapped is also about the platform itself, so we have plenty of little tidbits from the global user base. Bad Bunny was named the most streamed artist in the world, just ahead of his Super Bowl performance that internet bozos have turned into a controversy for some reason. This is the fourth time he's come out on top in the past five years. He also had the most popular album of the year.
Spotify
The global top song is something of a surprise, as it's not Bad Bunny or even Taylor Swift. It's the Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars duet "Die With a Smile." The top podcast is, as always, The Joe Rogan Experience. At least Spotify is getting what it paid for with Rogan.
This article originally appeared on Engadget at https://www.engadget.com/entertainment/music/spotify-wrapped-2025-is-here-and-now-its-a-competition-130052418.html?src=rss
Music streaming services are starting to unleash their year-in-review features for 2025, and Apple Music’s version is out now. Apple Music Replay is here to lay bare your listening stats for the year — at least so far, because these tools go live with a whole month of the year left to go. You can check out the 2025 edition from the Home tab in the app.
As ever, Replay shows your total listening time, the number of artists you checked out, your most-listened-to song and album and more. New this year is a discovery stat, which highlights new artists you started listening to in 2025. The loyalty factor will tell you which artists you listen to year after year, and “comebacks” shows which artists have slotted back into your rotation.
The most popular song on Apple Music overall this year was the ultra-catchy “Apt.” by Rosé and Bruno Mars. “Luther” by Kendrick Lamar and SZA; “Die with a Smile” by Lady Gaga and Mars; “Not Like Us” by Lamar; and “Birds of a Feather” by Billie Eilish rounded out the top five. “Apt.” is also the most Shazamed song of the year.
I really didn’t need Replay to tell me that party metal vanguards Electric Callboy and kawaii metal pioneers Babymetal were my top artists for 2025, since I’ve had both on extremely heavy rotation since the spring — their stupendously fun collab, “Ratatata,” was my top song this year. I was a little surprised that the wonderful Japanese math rock band Toe were in third place and that post-punk revival crew Editors made the top five, though I did listen to the latter’s The Back Room a bunch at the start of the year.
Early last year, Apple Music rolled out a monthly version of Replay, which shows the top songs, albums and artists and personal listening milestones for each month. You can also go back and listen to previous versions of your personalized Replay playlists, and check out a Replay All Time one, which highlights the songs you’ve listened to most on Apple Music overall.
Update, December 2, 4PM ET: This story was update after publish to clarify that the comebacks information is folded into your recap, rather than available as a separate tab.
This article originally appeared on Engadget at https://www.engadget.com/entertainment/music/apple-music-replay-2025-is-here-to-highlight-your-unimpeachable-music-taste-151224318.html?src=rss
One of the newer traditions of the holiday season is reading itemized lists of what we watched, played and listened to on our favorite streaming platforms throughout the year. Spotify Wrapped is perhaps the most famous of the bunch, but Amazon Music has its own year-end recap called Delivered and this year's edition is available right now.
Amazon
Amazon Music Delivered started last year and provides subscribers with a list of their favorite songs, artists and podcasts. It also shows off "the top request you've made with Alexa." I use Alexa primarily as an alarm, so that particular statistic won't be setting my world on fire.
This year, there's a "Best of 2025" section that highlights the biggest songs, albums and podcasts from every user across the app. This list includes songs by Taylor Swift, Geese, Bad Bunny and others. Finally, the app will generate a fake music fest based on a particular user's favorite artists.
Amazon
Amazon Music Unlimited costs $11 per month for Prime members and $12 per month for everyone else. As previously mentioned, Prime members do get a streamlined version of the service as a perk.
This article originally appeared on Engadget at https://www.engadget.com/apps/amazon-musics-year-end-recap-arrives-today-130029446.html?src=rss
Streaming services turned album covers into tiny squares you scroll past on your way to something else. Phones made music convenient, but also turned it into background noise competing with notifications, emails, and every app demanding attention at once. You used to hold a record sleeve and feel like you owned something specific. Now your entire library is just files in a folder somewhere, and nothing about that experience feels remotely special or worth paying attention to.
Sleevenote is musician Tom Vek’s attempt to give digital albums their own object again. It’s a square music player with a 4-inch screen that matches the shape of album artwork, designed to show covers, back sleeves, and booklet pages without any other interface getting in the way. The device only plays music you actually buy and download from places like Bandcamp, deliberately skipping Spotify and Apple Music to keep ownership separate from the endless scroll.
The hardware is a black square that’s mostly screen from the front, with a thick body and rounded edges that make it feel more like a handheld picture frame than a phone. Physical playback buttons sit along one side so you can skip tracks without touching the screen. When you hold it, the weight and thickness are noticeable. This isn’t trying to slip into a pocket; it’s trying to sit on your desk or rest in your hand like a miniature album sleeve.
The screen shows high-resolution artwork, back covers, lyrics, and credits supplied through the Sleevenote platform. You swipe through booklet pages while listening, and the interface stays out of the way so the album art fills the entire square without overlays or buttons. The whole point is that the device becomes the album cover while music plays, which works better in practice than it sounds on paper when you describe it.
Sleevenote won’t let you stream anything. It encourages you to “audition” music on your phone and only put albums you truly love on the player, treating it more like a curated shelf than a jukebox with everything. This sounds good in theory, but means carrying a second device that can’t do anything except play the files you’ve already bought, which feels like a lot of friction for album art, no matter how nice the screen looks.
Sleevenote works as a small act of resistance against music as disposable content. For people who miss having a physical relationship with albums, a square player that only does one thing might feel like a shrine worth keeping. Whether that’s worth the price for a device with a screen barely bigger than your phone is a different question, but the idea that digital music deserves its own object makes more sense than cramming everything into the same distracted rectangle.
There’s something wonderfully defiant about watching three musicians hunched over dusty reel-to-reel tape recorders, coaxing haunting melodies from technology most people consider obsolete. The Japanese trio Open Reel Ensemble isn’t just playing vintage machines from the 1970s and 80s. They’re rewriting the rules of what counts as a musical instrument, one spinning magnetic tape at a time.
Their latest project, “Magnetic Folklore,” feels less like a performance and more like a conversation with ghosts trapped in analog media. While the rest of us stream crystal-clear audio from the cloud, these artists are literally fishing for sound waves, their hands manipulating tape loops stretched across bamboo bows in a process that looks equal parts technical wizardry and interpretive dance.
The group, composed of Ei Wada, Haruka Yoshida, and Masaru Yoshida, has been perfecting what they call “magnetikpunk” for years. It’s a fitting name. Like cyberpunk imagined gritty futures through technology, magnetikpunk explores forgotten pasts through the warm hiss and physical presence of tape. The sound they create is ethereal and otherworldly, full of texture that digital production often scrubs away in pursuit of perfection.
What makes their approach truly fascinating is how they’ve turned recording equipment into live performance instruments. These aren’t simply tape playback devices. The ensemble has developed techniques to program sounds directly onto the recorders, switching individual tracks on multi-track machines on and off like notes on a guitar. They record blocks of sustained noise at various pitches, then trigger and disable them during performances to create intricate chords and melodies in real time.
One of their most striking innovations is the JIGAKKYU, which they describe as a traditional folk instrument despite being entirely invented. Picture this: magnetic tape stretched across a bamboo bow, attached to a reel-to-reel deck. As the performer draws the bow, they control how the tape moves through the machine, manipulating speed, tension, and playback in ways the original manufacturers never imagined. It looks like they’re fishing, only instead of catching dinner, they’re catching sounds that shouldn’t exist.
There’s something deeply satisfying about watching old technology get a second life. In our culture of planned obsolescence, where last year’s phone becomes this year’s landfill, Open Reel Ensemble’s work feels like a quiet rebellion. They’ve taken machines that most people hauled to the curb decades ago and transformed them into instruments capable of sounds no synthesizer can quite replicate. That characteristic warmth, the slight imperfection, the tactile relationship between performer and machine, it all adds up to music that feels genuinely alive.
The analog revival happening across creative industries isn’t just nostalgia, though there’s certainly some of that. It’s a recognition that different technologies offer different possibilities. Digital audio workstations can do things tape never could. But tape can do things digital never will. The physical limitations of the medium, the happy accidents, the way sound degrades and transforms as it passes through magnetic fields, these aren’t bugs. They’re features.
Open Reel Ensemble understands this intuitively. In interviews, Wada talks about constantly discovering new techniques, exploring “rotation and movements, and the relationship between magnetics and sound.” Each performance becomes an experiment, each machine a collaborator with its own quirks and personality.
What they’ve created goes beyond retro aesthetics or hipster fetishization of old gear. This is about expanding our definition of what music can be and where it can come from. In an era where AI can generate technically flawless compositions in seconds, there’s something powerful about three humans wrestling with finicky machines, their sounds emerging from friction and patience rather than algorithms and processing power.
The beauty of “Magnetic Folklore” lies in its contradictions. It’s experimental music that honors tradition, high-concept art that’s deeply tactile, cutting-edge performance built on discarded technology. It reminds us that innovation doesn’t always mean forward. Sometimes it means sideways, backward, or in directions we forgot existed.
For anyone fascinated by where design, technology, and art intersect, Open Reel Ensemble offers a masterclass in creative thinking. They looked at equipment everyone else had moved past and asked: what if we’re not done here yet? What stories are still trapped in these spinning reels? Turns out, quite a few. And they sound absolutely mesmerizing.
