In a music industry overflowing with talent, technical perfection has never been more accessible. The recording technology is sharper than ever, AI can write chart-ready lyrics in seconds, and there are enough YouTube tutorials to school even the clumsiest hands into playing in 5/4 time. But here’s the problem – none of that matters if your music is emotionally vacant and void of authenticity. The songs that stand the test of time, the ones that carve out a space in people’s lives, don’t earn that reverence through faultless production or clever imitation. They do it by feeling real. No amount of studio polish or virtuosity can mask the absence of emotional intention or the weightless imitation of artists who bled for their art.
Emotion Isn’t Optional – It’s the Whole Point
There’s a temptation, especially for artists early in their careers, to treat emotion as something to be added later. A garnish. But if your music doesn’t start with emotion, it has nowhere meaningful to go. The most jaw-dropping guitar solo or acrobatic vocal line is pointless if it doesn’t make someone feel something. This doesn’t mean every track has to be tragic or soaked in angst, but it does mean the emotion needs to be there from the seed of the song. It has to be felt, not fabricated. Emotion is the core material – not the decoration.
Take artists like Elliott Smith or Daniel Johnston. By technical standards, their recordings are miles behind what most unsigned bands can do today on a bedroom setup. But what they do have is emotional immediacy that makes even a whispered lyric sound like a scream in the dark. People connect to that. They need it. You can’t fake that kind of resonance. You can’t auto-tune it in.
Authenticity Isn’t a Marketing Tool
Authenticity has been chewed up and spat out by brand strategists, to the point that some artists think it’s enough to look authentic without ever having to be it. But authenticity isn’t about what you wear, which pedals you use, or dropping names of obscure influences in interviews. It’s about writing from where you actually are. That means resisting the temptation to pretend you’ve lived a different life just because it would sell more records or resonate better in the US market.
If you’re from Croydon, don’t pretend you grew up on a Louisiana porch listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd through the floorboards of your uncle’s bar. Audiences are smarter than ever. They can smell the lie before the second verse. Instead of scrambling to borrow someone else’s voice, focus on developing your own. That’s what will make you memorable. That’s what turns a good song into your song.
Assimilation Kills Art
There’s nothing wrong with being influenced – it’s unavoidable. Every artist is a patchwork of everything they’ve ever loved. But there’s a line between drawing influence and becoming a soulless tribute act. Too many acts stop at emulation. They learn the sonic tricks, the aesthetic, the moves on stage – and then wonder why no one’s talking about their music with any real enthusiasm. It’s because people already have the real thing. Why would they settle for your pale imitation of Nick Cave or your second-rate Billie Eilish cosplay?
Some of the worst examples come from UK-based rock bands that chase the southern rock dragon with the desperation of a tourist buying cowboy boots in Camden. They’ve got the gravel in the vocals, the slide guitar, and lyrics about dirt roads and neon bars – but there’s no cultural context, no lived experience, and crucially, no authenticity or conviction. It’s cosplay, not art. And it’s boring.
If you’re going to write in a genre that isn’t native to your background, you need to bring something new to it. Subvert it. Twist it. Add the tension of your own cultural voice. That’s how genres evolve. If you’re just painting by numbers, all you’re doing is wasting everyone’s time.
Originality is a Risk Worth Taking
One of the main reasons artists end up imitating rather than innovating with authenticity is fear. If you sound like someone already successful, then surely there’s a built-in audience waiting for you – right? Not really. Those fans are already loyal to the originators, and they’ll spot a copy from miles away. If you try to shortcut your way to credibility by sounding like someone else, you’ll forever be a footnote in someone else’s story.
True originality often feels risky. It usually means writing a song that makes you feel exposed. Saying something in a way you’re not sure anyone else will understand. But that’s where the magic happens. That’s where you find the hooks that dig deeper than just the melody. The artists who make the deepest impact are the ones willing to write the songs that nobody else would think to write – not because they were trying to be different, but because they were telling the truth.
Make Music That Hurts a Little
If it doesn’t hurt to write, it won’t stick with anyone listening. That doesn’t mean every song has to be a confessional dirge, but it does mean that the process of making music should cost you something. A bit of pride, a bit of safety, a bit of the armour we all wear to get through the day.
Too many artists are afraid to be ugly in their music. They want it all to be perfectly lit and meticulously worded. But some of the best lyrics in history are clumsy, weird, and unfiltered. That’s what makes them human. There’s no point writing songs that only exist to be background noise for TikTok videos. Write something people would sit alone in a car and cry to. Write the track someone plays five years after a breakup. Write the song that means something even when the hype has gone. That’s the only way to build anything with lasting value.
Conclusion: If You’re Not Feeling It, No One Else Will
The truth is brutal but necessary – your talent will mean nothing if you’ve got nothing to say with authenticity. The most respected artists aren’t necessarily the most technically gifted. They’re the ones who found a way to be honest, raw, and distinct. They didn’t get there by sanding down their rough edges or imitating their heroes to the letter. They got there by letting people in – even when it was uncomfortable.
So, before you invest in another vocal chain plug-in or spend three hours on a photoshoot trying to look like 2005-era Julian Casablancas, take a moment. Ask yourself why you’re really making music. Ask if you’re telling your story, or someone else’s. Ask if what you’re writing costs you something. And if the answer is no – it’s time to start over. Not because you’ve failed, but because you’re finally ready to make something real.
For more advice on how to make an impact with your music, consider our one-to-one artist consultancy services.
Article by Amelia Vandergast