Trump Should Protect the Rights of AI Assisted Musical Artists

Before we get started, please bookmark my music site and check it out after reading this article. And while you're at it, follow me on TikTok at @Crashout.Royalty. That's where you can find more of my music, videos, artwork, and whatever else I'm creating next.

Here's my most recent Hip-Hop release as of this publishing date...

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPLjkEnsM/

And here is my old organic Hardcore/Punk Band ILLITHED

https://mindtreasury.blogspot.com/2018/02/hardcorepunk-band-illithed.html

The AI Music Debate I May Never Have — Because I Value My Time

Hello, I'm the account "Crashout Royalty" for those that are unaware. Multidisciplinary artist and activist researcher JM Talboo AKA BishopNeoWinstonSmith leader of the music group and collective of artists known as #CrashoutAristocrats

Before the imagined debate ensues I want to first acknowledge positive conversations are happening as evinced by the screenshots below. 

I say this because what sparked me writing this is a lot shit talking is taking place online from those opposed to AI music. Makes me wonder if they are industry plants Ad hominem attacks are not an argument, I can talk smack and lay one down too lol but I'll focus on substance and positivity while they act like the miserable people they msst be.

What would happen if I actually debated someone who believes AI-assisted music is inherently inferior to human-made music?

I may never find out.

And that's okay.

One of the reasons I use AI in the first place is because I value my time.

So rather than spending hours arguing with somebody on the internet, I decided to run the entire hypothetical debate through my head.

Here's how I'd approach it.

Not by assuming I'd win every argument.

Not by rigging the experiments.

And not by pretending AI is automatically better than human creativity.

I'd simply ask that we actually examine the claims being made.

And there's an important distinction right from the beginning:

I'm not simply an "AI music maker."

I'm a multidisciplinary artist.

I make music. I write. I perform. I make videos. I make physical artwork. I make digital artwork. I work with photography, animation, costumes, props, locations and visual effects. I showcase other artists and artwork. I use technology. I collaborate with other people. And sometimes I use AI.

Sometimes I use none of it.

That's the bigger picture.

I Don't Like Being Pigeonholed

I've never been particularly interested in being shoved into one category.

Why would I limit myself to one medium just because somebody else wants a convenient label?

If I have an idea that works as a song, I'll make a song.

If it works as a video, I'll make a video.

If it works as an image, I'll make an image.

If it works as physical artwork, I'll make that.

If somebody else's artwork communicates something I want to showcase, I'll showcase it.

If a costume communicates the idea better than words do, I'll put on the costume.

If animation makes the idea stronger, I'll animate it.

If AI helps me accomplish something I couldn't otherwise accomplish—or lets me accomplish it faster—I'll use AI.

I'm not interested in technological purity.

I'm interested in communication and creation.

There Isn't One Way I Make Music

This is where I think a lot of conversations about AI immediately go wrong.

People talk about "AI music" as though there's one standardized process.

There isn't.

I've been making music for years.

I've been in a successful band.

I can perform.

I can rap live.

I've made music without AI.

And I still make music without AI.

AI is simply another set of tools I've added to a much larger creative toolbox.

Sometimes I might use an AI-generated beat and put my own real vocals over it.

Sometimes I might perform the vocals myself and use an AI voice filter as an artistic effect.

Sometimes AI might be involved in the music while the performance itself is completely human.

Sometimes I might use AI for production but write and perform everything else myself.

Sometimes AI is involved in several elements.

Sometimes it's barely involved at all.

Sometimes it isn't involved whatsoever.

So when someone says:

"You're just letting AI make your music."

My response is pretty simple:

Which song?

Which part?

The beat?

My vocals?

The voice effect?

The lyrics?

The concept?

The production?

The video?

The artwork?

What exactly are you talking about?

Because you're imagining one workflow that doesn't actually describe what I do.

I make music in a lot of different ways.

AI is one set of tools I sometimes use within that larger creative process.

The Same Thing Applies to My Videos

And then there's video.

I'm not simply making songs and attaching a generic video to them afterward.

The visual production is its own creative process.

And just like music, I'm interested in using every possible way of making the thing.

AI animation.

Real photographs.

Real video.

Digital imagery.

Physical imagery.

Stickers.

Effects.

Costumes.

Props.

Settings.

Locations.

Practical elements.

Digital manipulation.

Found imagery.

Whatever works.

Sometimes I'll create an entirely artificial image.

Sometimes I'll film something in the real world.

Sometimes I'll take a real photograph and build something around it.

Sometimes I'll make physical artwork and photograph or film it.

Sometimes I'll create digital artwork.

Sometimes I'll take physical artwork and use AI to animate it.

Sometimes Dawn makes physical artwork and I incorporate that into what I'm doing.

Sometimes I'll showcase another artist's work.

Sometimes I'll visit or showcase art in a museum.

Sometimes the strongest visual is simply something I happen to encounter in the real world.

And sometimes I'll combine several of those methods in one project.

That's not a contradiction.

That's the medium.

The Best Results Are Often Hybrids

Think about modern filmmaking.

Computer-generated imagery didn't eliminate practical effects.

Practical effects didn't eliminate sets.

Digital effects didn't eliminate actors.

Photography didn't eliminate painting.

And computer animation didn't eliminate live-action filmmaking.

In fact, some of the most effective visual work comes from combining different techniques.

You can have a real actor standing in a real environment while interacting with a digitally created world.

You can have a physical prop enhanced with computer effects.

You can have real footage combined with animation.

You can have photographs turned into moving imagery.

The best solution isn't necessarily:

"Use only the human method."

It may be:

"Use the right combination of methods for this particular idea."

That's what I'm doing.

The Image Can Say Something the Song Doesn't

There's another reason I care so much about the visual side.

The video doesn't have to simply illustrate the lyrics.

Sometimes it reinforces the song.

Sometimes it expands upon it.

Sometimes it provides another interpretation.

Sometimes it deliberately creates irony.

Sometimes it communicates a completely different but related idea.

You can say a thousand words with an image.

Sometimes more.

A single image can establish a mood, tell a story, suggest a political idea, create symbolism, or make someone question what they're seeing.

I might put something like a They Live flyer into a video.

Maybe the song doesn't literally say the same thing.

That's okay.

The image creates another layer of communication.

The audience makes the connection.

That's part of the artwork.

Visual Language Is Different From Verbal Language

An image isn't simply a paragraph without words.

Visual language works differently.

A costume can communicate satire.

A setting can communicate danger.

A photograph can communicate nostalgia.

A surreal image can communicate an emotional state.

A juxtaposition can create an argument without anybody speaking.

A symbol can make someone think about an idea without spelling out the conclusion.

And sometimes an image can communicate something in a way that a literal statement simply can't.

That's one of the reasons I'm interested in visual storytelling.

I'm not just making a music video.

I'm building another layer of the message.

Physical Art Counts Too

And this is another reason I don't want to be reduced to "AI artist."

I make physical art.

I work with physical objects.

I showcase artwork other people create.

Dawn makes artwork that I can incorporate into the larger creative world.

I make digital artwork too.

And sometimes I'll take something that physically exists and use AI or other digital tools to animate or transform it.

So now we've got:

physical → digital → animated → combined with video → combined with music.

Where exactly are you going to draw the line and tell me which part is the "real art"?

That's the wrong question.

The better question is:

What did the artist create, and what was the artist trying to communicate?

Technology Has Always Disrupted Art

And this isn't even a uniquely modern argument.

We've been having versions of this argument for centuries.

Whenever a new technology changes who can create, who can distribute art, or what art can sound or look like, somebody eventually says:

"This is going to ruin everything."

Sometimes that person has a point.

Sometimes they're completely wrong.

Usually it's more complicated than either side wants to admit.

But the pattern is worth recognizing.

There were people who were suspicious of ordinary people having widespread access to writing.

Then came the printing press.

Suddenly information could be reproduced and distributed on a scale that was previously impossible.

Then came newspapers and mass publishing.

Then radio.

Then recorded music.

Then television.

Then home video.

Then the internet.

Then digital recording.

Then digital photography.

And now we're dealing with generative AI.

Every one of these technologies changed the creative landscape.

And every time, there were people who looked at the new technology and said, in one form or another:

"That's not real art."

"Video Killed the Radio Star"

There's a reason a phrase like "Video Killed the Radio Star" became culturally memorable.

It captured a real fear about technological change.

Radio didn't literally disappear.

The radio star didn't literally die.

Instead, the culture changed.

Television created a new requirement: artists could suddenly become visual personalities in addition to being voices.

That changed what a successful performer looked like.

And then television itself was eventually challenged by cable, home video, the internet, streaming and social media.

The old medium doesn't necessarily disappear.

The ecosystem changes around it.

That's an important distinction.

The Printing Press Didn't Destroy Human Culture

The printing press is another good example.

Imagine living in a world where books are expensive, labor-intensive objects that have to be copied by hand.

Then suddenly you have technology capable of reproducing text on an enormous scale.

You could reasonably be concerned about misinformation.

You could be concerned about low-quality writing.

You could be concerned about people flooding society with garbage.

You could be concerned about political propaganda spreading faster.

Those concerns wouldn't necessarily be stupid.

But the answer wasn't:

"Therefore, nobody should print books."

The technology created enormous new possibilities while also creating new problems.

That's often what technological progress actually looks like.

Newspapers and the Internet

The same thing happened when the internet disrupted newspapers.

People worried about what would happen to journalism.

Some of those concerns were absolutely justified.

The internet created incredible opportunities for independent publishing, but it also created misinformation, clickbait, declining traditional revenue models and all sorts of other problems.

So I'm not going to make the simplistic argument that every technological disruption is automatically good.

Sometimes we should be wary.

Sometimes older ways of doing things really do contain wisdom that we shouldn't throw away.

But that's different from saying:

"New technology exists, therefore everything created with it is artistically worthless."

Those are two completely different arguments.

The Guitar Didn't Stay the Guitar

Music has gone through this process constantly.

The acoustic guitar existed.

Then amplification changed what the guitar could do.

Then the electric guitar arrived.

And there were plenty of people who thought it was loud, obnoxious noise.

Then people figured out what could be done with it.

Entire genres developed around that sound.

The instrument didn't become objectively "better" than the acoustic guitar.

It became different.

And different artists wanted different things from it.

That's the key.

Three Chords vs. Stevie Ray Vaughan

I remember the kind of argument people made about bands like Nirvana and other grunge artists.

You'd hear the criticism:

"They only know three chords."

That's obviously an oversimplification, but the criticism illustrates something interesting.

Someone could look at Stevie Ray Vaughan and admire his technical ability, musicianship and complexity.

And that's perfectly legitimate.

But that doesn't mean the aesthetic of Stevie Ray Vaughan is automatically superior to the aesthetic of a stripped-down grunge song.

Sometimes three or four chords are exactly what the song needs.

Sometimes technical complexity is the point.

Sometimes simplicity is the point.

Sometimes virtuosity communicates.

Sometimes restraint communicates.

The question isn't:

"Which musician worked harder to master technical complexity?"

The question is:

"What is this artist trying to communicate, and does the chosen method communicate it?"

That's an important distinction for AI too.

A technologically complicated production isn't automatically better than a simple one.

And a technically simple production isn't automatically worse.

Complexity isn't the same thing as quality.

People Fear Change for Good Reasons Sometimes

This is where I don't want to turn the argument into some simplistic:

"Old people fear technology and young people understand progress."

That's bullshit.

People sometimes fear technological change for legitimate reasons.

Some technologies genuinely cause harm.

Some things that were once celebrated as progress turned out to have consequences we didn't understand.

Sometimes the people saying "slow down" were right.

Sometimes the people saying "this is going to cause problems" were right.

We should be willing to listen to them.

But there's another lesson from history:

Being concerned about a technology isn't the same as proving that everything created with that technology is worthless.

And that's where I think the AI conversation often goes off the rails.

Technology Changes the Definition of Possible

Every major creative technology expands the range of things an artist can do.

The microphone changed singing.

Recording technology changed songwriting.

Multitrack recording changed arrangement.

The electric guitar changed rock.

Synthesizers changed electronic music and eventually countless other genres.

Sampling changed hip-hop.

Digital audio workstations changed music production.

Digital cameras changed photography.

Computer graphics changed filmmaking.

The internet changed distribution.

Smartphones turned almost everybody into a potential photographer and filmmaker.

AI is doing something similar.

It's changing the distance between:

"I have an idea."

and

"I made the thing."

That's enormous.

So Let's Actually Test the Music

Suppose someone tells me that AI music is obviously inferior to human music.

Okay.

Let's test it.

I'd propose ten songs with broadly comparable themes.

Peace.

Humanity.

Love.

Freedom.

Overcoming hatred.

Making the world a better place.

Five would involve AI assistance.

Five would be entirely human-made.

The listener wouldn't know which was which.

But here's the important part:

I wouldn't initially ask them to identify the AI songs.

I'd ask them to judge the music.

Which songs communicate their message most effectively?

Which are best written?

Which are most emotionally powerful?

Which are most memorable?

Which would they actually listen to again?

Which make them think?

Which make them feel something?

Then, after they've made their judgments, we reveal how the songs were created.

Only then would we test their ability to identify AI involvement.

Because those are two completely different questions.

Can you identify AI?

And:

Does AI involvement make a piece of music worse?

Being good at the first doesn't automatically prove the second.

What If They're Really Good at Spotting AI?

Maybe they are.

That's entirely possible.

Maybe they've listened to enough AI music to recognize certain production characteristics that most people don't notice.

Great.

Let's test that too.

We could compare their results with other listeners.

Musicians.

Non-musicians.

People who listen to enormous amounts of music.

People who don't.

Maybe they absolutely crush the test.

Maybe everybody does.

Maybe nobody does.

Maybe some people are extremely good at it and others are terrible.

Whatever happens, that's useful information.

I'm not afraid of an experiment simply because it might produce a result I don't expect.

That's what makes it an experiment.

And if somebody really is exceptionally good at recognizing AI music, I'd rather find that out than pretend otherwise.

But identifying the technology is still not the same thing as proving that the art is inferior.

Then Let's Remove the Blindfold

Now let's make it personal.

Take one of my songs.

Let's use something like Naptown.

I'll perform the song for you myself.

Live.

No AI.

Just me.

Then I'll play you the AI-assisted version I created.

Now tell me which vocal performance you prefer.

Maybe you'll prefer mine.

I'd actually expect that in some cases. I'm a performer. I'd hope my live performance has strengths that an AI-generated performance doesn't.

Maybe you'll prefer the AI version.

That's possible too.

And here's the funny part:

Either result is interesting.

If you tell me my live performance is better, I'm not going to throw a fit.

I'll probably say:

"Yeah. I'm a performer. I'd fucking hope so."

But then we have to ask what we've actually demonstrated.

The Part People Leave Out: Reality

Maybe when I made that song, I didn't have a studio available to me.

Maybe I was going through some difficult shit in my life.

Maybe I didn't have the money for studio time.

Maybe I didn't have musicians available.

Maybe I didn't have the time to sit there and record thirty takes of the same line.

Maybe AI allowed me to turn an idea into a finished song that otherwise would have remained an idea.

That's not a hypothetical benefit.

That's how technology works.

People sometimes look at the final product and completely ignore the circumstances that made the product possible.

If my human vocal performance is slightly better but the AI-assisted version allowed me to actually finish the song under circumstances where the alternative was not making the song at all, then what exactly have I lost?

And what have I gained?

I gained a finished song.

I saved time.

I saved money.

I didn't need a studio.

I didn't need to coordinate multiple people.

I didn't need to spend hours and money getting another take every time I flubbed a line.

And I could move on to the next idea.

That matters.

What If They Prefer the AI Version?

Now let's turn the tables.

Suppose they listen to both versions and say:

"Honestly, I like the AI version better."

I'm not going to pretend I lost.

I'm going to say:

"Well, shit. Great."

Because I wanted the song to communicate.

If I had something I genuinely wanted to say, and the technology helped me say it in a way that somebody found more enjoyable, understandable or emotionally effective, then the technology accomplished something useful.

I don't need the human version to win every comparison.

The song winning is enough.

And What If They Say the Human Version Is Better?

That's useful too.

Maybe the human version has something the AI version doesn't.

Maybe I have a vocal characteristic that can't be replicated.

Maybe the human performance has a particular imperfection that makes it more compelling.

Fine.

Then I've learned something about the strengths of human performance.

That doesn't prove AI has no value.

It proves that humans and AI can have different strengths.

That's called having different tools.

The Mother's Day Problem

There's another experiment that I don't think an AI critic can solve with a simple production argument.

Suppose I make a tribute song for my mother.

She's getting older.

I have things I want to say to her.

I use AI to help turn those thoughts into a song quickly.

She hears it.

And she cries.

Now somebody tells me:

"Yeah, but it was made with AI."

Okay.

So?

Does that make her tears less real?

Did the emotional response somehow disappear because I used a machine to help construct the song?

Did the love I was trying to express become less genuine?

Did the words suddenly stop meaning what they meant?

No.

The technology doesn't get to rewrite the emotional experience that happened afterward.

My mother didn't cry because she performed a philosophical analysis of my production process.

She cried because I made something for her that meant something to her.

That's important.

Efficiency Doesn't Equal Emptiness

There is a strange assumption that if something becomes easier to produce, it must become less meaningful.

But that's not how technology has historically worked.

A camera didn't make photography meaningless.

Digital editing didn't make filmmaking meaningless.

The synthesizer didn't make music meaningless.

The electric guitar didn't make songwriting meaningless.

Recording technology didn't make live performance meaningless.

Technology repeatedly changes the distance between an idea and its final form.

And that's exactly what AI does for me.

I have more ideas than I could possibly execute using traditional methods alone.

AI reduces the distance between:

"I have an idea."

and

"I made the thing."

That's not necessarily a reduction in creativity.

Sometimes it's an expansion of creativity.

The Real-World Economics Matter Too

Artists don't create in a vacuum.

People have limited money.

Limited time.

Limited access to musicians.

Limited access to studios.

Limited physical energy.

Limited opportunities.

Sometimes you're dealing with family obligations.

Sometimes you're dealing with work.

Sometimes life is simply kicking your ass.

A person might have ten songs in their head and only enough money to record one.

What happens to the other nine?

AI can sometimes change that equation.

Maybe it doesn't produce the same result as a professional studio.

Maybe it does.

But if it allows someone to create something that otherwise wouldn't exist, that's not automatically a negative.

The alternative isn't always "human-made masterpiece."

Sometimes the alternative is:

nothing.

And I'd rather have another imperfect song in the world that genuinely communicates something than have a great idea remain trapped in somebody's head because they couldn't afford the conventional production process.

I'm Not Claiming AI Does Everything

I don't need to claim that AI is superior to humans.

I don't need to claim that AI can replace musicians.

I don't even need to claim that every AI-generated song is good.

Some are garbage.

So are some human-made songs.

Human beings have been making terrible music for a very long time.

The existence of bad AI music doesn't prove that AI music is inherently bad any more than the existence of bad human music proves that humans shouldn't make music.

What matters is what happens when a particular person uses a particular tool to create a particular piece of work.

And Sometimes I Don't Use AI At All

This is worth emphasizing because it destroys the idea that I'm somehow dependent on AI to make music or art.

Sometimes I use it.

Sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I use it heavily.

Sometimes I use it for one small component.

Sometimes I might use AI for a beat but have real vocals.

Sometimes I might have real vocals and use an AI voice filter as an artistic effect.

Sometimes the music is human and the imagery is AI.

Sometimes the music is AI-assisted and the video is AI-assisted too.

Sometimes I'm mixing all of these things.

Sometimes I'm using physical art.

Sometimes I'm using digital art.

Sometimes I'm filming reality exactly as it exists.

Sometimes I'm taking something physical and transforming it digitally.

Sometimes I'm working entirely without AI.

The point is that I choose the tool based on the project.

I'm not pledging allegiance to a machine.

I'm making art.

The Human Is Still Here

This is the part that gets lost in a lot of these arguments.

When I use AI to make music, I'm still here.

I'm deciding what I want to say.

I'm choosing the subject.

I'm writing and shaping ideas.

I'm directing the process.

I'm deciding what works and what doesn't.

I'm rejecting things.

I'm rewriting things.

I'm making artistic choices.

Sometimes I'm performing.

Sometimes I'm using real vocals.

Sometimes I'm combining human performance with AI.

Sometimes I'm using AI for parts of the production.

Sometimes I'm using it because I simply don't have the resources to do something another way.

The fact that a machine participates doesn't mean the human disappeared.

So What Exactly Makes It "Fake"?

At some point I'd stop talking about individual songs and ask the fundamental question:

What exactly makes an AI-assisted song illegitimate?

Is it the sound?

Then let's listen.

Is it the songwriting?

Then let's compare the songwriting.

Is it the emotional impact?

Then let's see what listeners actually experience.

Is it the amount of human labor?

Okay. Let's discuss what the human actually contributed.

Is it the fact that a machine was involved at all?

Now we're no longer talking about whether the music is good.

We're talking about a philosophical objection to the tool.

That's a legitimate position for somebody to have.

But it's important to call it what it is.

The Tool Doesn't Have to Win

This might be the most important part of the whole argument.

I'm not trying to rig these experiments so that AI wins.

Every single comparison is a crapshoot.

Maybe the human song wins.

Maybe the AI song wins.

Maybe the results split right down the middle.

Maybe the person I'm debating identifies every AI song correctly.

Maybe they completely screw it up.

Maybe they identify AI correctly but still prefer several AI-assisted songs.

Maybe they can't identify them at all.

Maybe my live performance beats the AI version.

Maybe the AI version beats my live performance.

I'm willing to live with any of those outcomes.

Because I'm not trying to prove that humans are obsolete.

I'm trying to challenge the idea that the presence of AI automatically determines the value of the finished work.

The Same Principle Applies to the Visuals

If somebody tells me:

"That image doesn't count because AI made it."

My answer is basically the same.

Okay.

Let's look at the image.

Does it communicate?

Does it create the intended mood?

Does it tell a story?

Does it make you curious?

Does it reinforce the music?

Does it create a useful contrast?

Does it make you feel something?

And if the answer is yes, then the fact that AI participated tells me something about how it was made.

It doesn't automatically tell me whether it worked.

Likewise, if I take a real photograph, add stickers and effects, animate part of it with AI, put it over my music, and then combine it with footage I shot myself while wearing a costume in a real location, what exactly is the "real" part?

All of it.

Because all of those are materials I intentionally assembled into a finished piece.

The Question I'd Eventually Ask

At some point I'd ask:

"What exactly are we trying to measure?"

If we're measuring whether somebody can recognize AI, let's measure that.

If we're measuring vocal performance, let's compare vocal performances.

If we're measuring songwriting, let's judge songwriting.

If we're measuring emotional impact, let's see what actually moves people.

If we're measuring efficiency, let's discuss how much time and money different production methods require.

If we're measuring artistic authenticity, then we'd better define what we mean by authenticity.

But let's stop treating all of those questions as though they're the same question.

They're not.

My Position Isn't "AI Is Better"

My position is much simpler.

AI is another tool.

Sometimes it's the right tool.

Sometimes it isn't.

Sometimes human performance is better.

Sometimes AI-assisted production is better.

Sometimes the combination is better than either one alone.

And sometimes I don't use AI at all.

The fact that I can make music and art in different ways is not a weakness in my argument.

It's the argument.

I've already made music without AI.

Now I have additional tools.

Why would I voluntarily pretend those tools don't exist?

I'm a Multidisciplinary Artist

That phrase might sound fancy.

Maybe it is.

But I think it's accurate.

I'm not limited to one artistic medium.

I don't want to be.

I've never liked being pigeonholed.

I'm interested in whatever medium best communicates the idea.

Sometimes that's a song.

Sometimes that's a photograph.

Sometimes it's a painting or physical object.

Sometimes it's a digital image.

Sometimes it's a video.

Sometimes it's animation.

Sometimes it's a costume.

Sometimes it's a combination of all of them.

Sometimes it's somebody else's artwork that I think deserves to be seen.

Sometimes it's Dawn's artwork.

Sometimes it's something I encountered in the real world.

Sometimes it's AI-assisted.

Sometimes it isn't.

That's not inconsistency.

That's creative freedom.

Everything Is Material

There's another philosophy behind all of this.

I tend to see almost everything as material.

An argument can become an article.

A strange experience can become a song.

A photograph can become a visual.

A physical object can become artwork.

A piece of artwork can become animation.

A conversation can become an idea.

A walk can become a video.

A costume can become a character.

A location can become a setting.

A random image can become symbolism.

Even an annoying argument with somebody on the internet can become useful.

That doesn't mean I'm exploiting every moment of my life for clicks.

Quite the opposite.

Sometimes the desire to create content actually gets me out there living more life.

Maybe I want to film something, so I take the dogs for a walk when I otherwise might have stayed home.

Maybe I'm outside and the sun hits the snow just right.

Maybe Harley's shadow falls across a church.

Maybe I capture that.

Now I've had a novel experience.

I've spent time with my dog.

I've gotten outside.

I've created something.

I've broken up the routine.

And I've given myself another memory.

The content becomes a reason to participate in life rather than a substitute for living it.

And sometimes those novel experiences are valuable precisely because they make time feel more substantial in retrospect.

So even the act of creating can feed back into the life that I'm creating from.

That's the loop.

Life produces art.

Art encourages me to experience more life.

Those experiences produce more art.

And around and around it goes.

The Entire Toolbox

That's ultimately why I reject the idea that I need to choose between:

human creativity

and

technology.

Why?

Why can't I have both?

Why can't I use my own voice and an AI beat?

Why can't I make physical artwork and then animate it digitally?

Why can't I photograph something real and add artificial elements?

Why can't I use a costume, a real location, practical props and computer-generated imagery in the same video?

Why can't I showcase another artist's work alongside my own?

Why can't Dawn make something and I incorporate it into a project?

Why can't a museum inspire a video?

Why can't a fictional image communicate a real idea?

Why can't a machine help me turn an idea into something I can actually show people?

Why would I deliberately limit the toolbox?

So What Am I Actually Asking?

I'm not asking anybody to worship AI.

I'm not asking anybody to abandon traditional art.

I'm not asking anybody to pretend that AI-generated material is automatically brilliant.

I'm asking for something much simpler:

Judge the work.

Judge the song.

Judge the performance.

Judge the image.

Judge the video.

Judge the message.

Judge the emotional impact.

Judge the craftsmanship.

Judge the choices.

And then, if you want, ask how it was made.

But don't reverse that order and decide whether something has artistic value before you've even looked at it.

Because ultimately, I don't think the most important question is:

"Was AI involved?"

I think it's:

"What did you do with it?"

And if somebody still wants to debate me after reading all of this?

Fair enough.

Bring your arguments.

I'll bring mine.

But remember:

I value my time.

So if you want to debate me, you're gonna have to pay me.

Have a nice day.

The Number That’s Supposed to Tell You How Smart You Are

By JM Talboo DebunkerBusters.blogspot.com

There is a number that can follow a person for years.

It can appear on a psychological report, a school record, a conversation between parents, a social-media post, or a website where somebody takes a test for fun.

IQ.

We're told that the number represents intelligence.

But what exactly does that mean?

What does a score of 75 represent?

What does 100 represent?

What does 130 represent?

And perhaps the more important question:

What doesn't it represent?

I'm not writing this article because I think IQ tests are a scam. I'm not writing it because I took an IQ test once and didn't like my score. And I'm not writing it because I think everyone secretly has a genius-level IQ.

I'm genuinely interested in the question.

Because the more I look into IQ testing, the more complicated the word intelligence becomes.

And that's where this gets interesting.

---

Let's Give IQ Tests Their Due

Before criticizing IQ tests, we should acknowledge something important:

They aren't measuring nothing.

Modern intelligence testing has a substantial research history behind it. Cognitive ability tests can measure things such as reasoning, working memory, processing speed, verbal abilities, and visual or spatial problem solving. Different tests emphasize different abilities.

And a general factor often called g emerges from correlations among many cognitive tasks.

That isn't imaginary.

IQ and related measures also have real predictive relationships with things such as educational performance, training outcomes, and aspects of occupational performance.

So the easy argument—

“IQ tests are meaningless.”

—isn't good enough.

If a measurement consistently captures something and that something predicts certain outcomes, there is probably something real being measured.

The question is whether we have gradually taken that legitimate observation and attached a much bigger meaning to it.

Because measuring something real isn't the same thing as measuring everything important.

---

Even Binet Warned Us

This is where the history of IQ testing gets fascinating.

Alfred Binet, one of the pioneers of intelligence testing, wasn't simply trying to create a number that would permanently classify human beings.

His original work was connected to identifying children who needed additional educational assistance.

And Binet himself warned against treating his scale as though it were a literal, exhaustive measurement of intelligence.

He wrote:

“This scale properly speaking does not permit the measure of the intelligence, because intellectual qualities are not superposable…”

That's a remarkable statement coming from one of the people responsible for creating the foundation of modern intelligence testing.

Binet also described intelligence as an extraordinarily broad concept involving things such as judgment, practical sense, initiative, and adaptation.

He didn't believe a child's test result should become a permanent sentence about what that child could become.

In other words, one of the pioneers of intelligence testing understood something we sometimes forget:

A test is a test.

It isn't automatically the thing itself.

---

Neil deGrasse Tyson's Question

Neil deGrasse Tyson has made a similar criticism in modern times.

His argument isn't necessarily that cognitive tests measure nothing. His criticism is much more interesting than that.

The basic point is that humans developed tests involving particular kinds of cognitive tasks and then attached the enormous word “intelligence” to the resulting measurement.

Once we call something an intelligence test, people naturally begin treating the score as though it tells them how intelligent a person is.

But perhaps the more scientifically precise question would be:

What abilities does this particular test measure, under these particular conditions?

That's a much less glamorous question.

But it might be a much better one.

---

The Math Problem

One of the interesting arguments surrounding IQ tests concerns mathematics.

Some people argue that mathematical reasoning belongs in an intelligence test because mathematics requires sophisticated reasoning.

Others argue that extensive mathematical education and experience can give somebody an advantage that has little to do with their underlying general cognitive ability.

Both arguments contain something worth considering.

And this gets personal for me—not because my own IQ score proves anything, but because my own educational history makes me think about the problem differently.

I've never particularly loved mathematics. I had a complicated educational history, including substantial time away from a conventional classroom. I also discovered that I could be very motivated to learn things I actually cared about while having a completely different attitude toward subjects that didn't interest me.

So if two people walk into the same test with completely different educational histories, interests, practice, motivation, and experiences, what exactly are we comparing?

General cognitive ability?

Knowledge?

Training?

Test-taking strategy?

Motivation?

Or some combination of all of them?

Probably some combination.

That doesn't make the test useless.

But it makes the number harder to interpret than the number itself suggests.

---

And There Are IQ Tests That Aren't Just Math Problems

It's also important not to build a straw man.

Modern intelligence testing isn't simply a collection of arithmetic questions.

There are nonverbal assessments, including tests based heavily on visual and abstract reasoning. Raven's matrices, for example, ask people to identify patterns and relationships in visual information.

That's important because it demonstrates that intelligence testing has evolved considerably.

The criticism can't simply be:

“IQ is just how good you are at school math.”

It isn't.

The better question is:

How broad is the collection of abilities being sampled, and how justified are we in calling the resulting construct “intelligence”?

That's a much harder question.

---

The Number Can Be Real Without Being the Whole Person

Consider other numbers.

A bank account contains a number.

That number tells you how much money is in the account.

Website traffic contains a number.

That number tells you how many visits occurred.

A person's height is a number.

Their weight is a number.

Their age is a number.

Their marathon time is a number.

Their IQ is a number.

Numbers are incredibly useful because they simplify reality.

But simplification can become dangerous when we forget what was simplified away.

A bank balance doesn't tell you whether somebody is happy.

Website traffic doesn't tell you whether somebody's work is meaningful.

A marathon time doesn't tell you whether somebody is a good parent.

And an IQ score doesn't tell you everything about what a person can do.

Every statistic needs a question attached to it.

What question is the statistic answering?

---

What Is “Success”?

This becomes especially important when somebody says that IQ predicts “success in life.”

What is success?

Money?

Fame?

Career advancement?

Academic achievement?

Longevity?

Happiness?

Relationships?

Freedom?

Purpose?

Helping other people?

Spiritual development?

A person can be extraordinarily successful according to one definition and unsuccessful according to another.

Even longevity is a statistic.

I've joked before that when looking at somebody with enormous amounts of money, one thought that sometimes crosses my mind is:

You're not going to have that money forever.

Maybe I will live longer.

Then I've technically “won” the longevity metric.

But what did I actually win?

That's the problem.

Numbers are only meaningful relative to what we're trying to measure.

---

What About Spiritual Enlightenment?

Here's another example that makes the problem even stranger.

How would you measure spiritual enlightenment?

Years spent meditating?

Hours of meditation?

Self-reported happiness?

Compassion?

Ability to remain calm under suffering?

Reduction in ego?

Brain activity?

Changes in neural structure?

Researchers can measure some of those things.

Brain-imaging research involving experienced meditators has found differences associated with meditation practice and altered states of consciousness.

But even if we can find a reproducible neurological signature associated with a particular experience, that doesn't automatically prove somebody's interpretation of that experience.

At the same time, calling an experience “subjective” doesn't mean that nothing objective is happening.

If a person consistently reports a particular mental state and that state is accompanied by measurable physiological or neurological changes, then something is happening in the organism.

The remaining question is:

What exactly is happening, and what does it mean?

That's a scientific question.

And it illustrates a larger principle:

Measurement and definition aren't the same thing.

---

Fast Thinking Isn't the Same as Deep Thinking

Another criticism of IQ tests is that they reward speed.

There is some truth to the idea that many cognitive tests place time pressure on performance.

But speed itself can be a legitimate cognitive ability.

Rapid pattern recognition can be extremely useful.

So can slow, deliberate reasoning.

Consider writing a song.

I can sometimes generate rhymes very quickly. Years of practice have made certain rhyme structures, word combinations, multisyllabic patterns, and associations almost automatic.

But generating something quickly doesn't necessarily mean I've finished thinking about it.

Sometimes the first line is perfect.

Sometimes it's garbage.

The important part comes afterward:

Does it actually say something?

Can I examine it?

Can I find the deeper connection?

Can I improve it?

Can I recognize when a clever rhyme is just a clever rhyme?

Fast generation and deep evaluation are different processes.

And that's an important distinction when thinking about intelligence.

A person can become incredibly fast at something through practice.

That doesn't necessarily mean they are “thinking faster” in some universal sense.

And somebody who takes longer to arrive at an answer isn't necessarily thinking more deeply.

---

Knowledge Is a Double-Edged Sword

There's another paradox I've experienced myself.

If you know a subject extremely well, you can have an enormous advantage in a debate.

You know the history.

You know the terminology.

You know the counterarguments.

You know where the other person's argument is vulnerable.

You can probably make a much stronger case than somebody encountering the subject for the first time.

But winning the argument doesn't prove you're right.

It might simply mean you know more about arguing that position.

And expertise has another strange property.

Sometimes knowing a field extremely well makes you better at solving its problems.

But sometimes someone unfamiliar with the assumptions of the field can look at the problem and ask a question everyone else stopped asking years ago.

That doesn't mean outsiders are smarter than experts.

It means expertise and fresh perspective are different advantages.

A good critic can therefore be extremely valuable.

Someone who challenges your assumptions forces you to determine whether your argument survives outside your own head.

That's true in science.

It's true in mathematics.

It's true in journalism.

And it's certainly true when investigating controversial claims.

---

Evidence Can Be Right While the Conclusion Is Wrong

This is where another important distinction appears.

Imagine a researcher performs an experiment and finds a genuinely unusual chemical property in a material.

The observation can be real.

The experiment can be real.

The measurements can be real.

And yet the final explanation can still be wrong.

You can correctly establish:

“Something unusual is happening.”

without having established:

“I know exactly why it is happening.”

That's an incredibly important distinction.

A conspiracy hypothesis can contain genuine scientific questions.

It can contain legitimate physical evidence.

It can contain documents that really exist.

It can contain measurements that really happened.

And still arrive at an incorrect conclusion.

The reverse is also possible.

A claim can be dismissed because somebody calls it a “conspiracy theory,” even though individual propositions within it deserve investigation.

The label doesn't settle the question.

Evidence does.

Calling something a conspiracy theory doesn't make it false.

Calling something a scientific theory doesn't make it automatically true.

The same principle applies to IQ.

Calling something an intelligence test doesn't automatically make its score the complete measurement of human intelligence.

---

What About Street Smarts?

Here's where I think the IQ conversation gets particularly interesting.

Most people have heard the terms:

book smart

and

street smart.

We don't have a single universally recognized number that tells us how much street smarts somebody possesses.

But does that mean the ability doesn't exist?

Consider a simple real-world situation.

Someone can have excellent academic abilities and understand complicated material from a textbook while being surprisingly poor at judging what will actually happen when dealing with a physical situation in the real world.

Someone else might have less academic achievement but years of practical experience dealing with tools, machinery, people, hazards, unpredictable environments, and changing circumstances.

Those are different kinds of knowledge and ability.

That doesn't prove one person is globally smarter than the other.

But it does demonstrate that competence is multidimensional.

And perhaps that's the more interesting question.

When someone successfully handles an unfamiliar real-world problem, what exactly are we watching?

Pattern recognition?

Experience?

Risk assessment?

Improvisation?

Practical knowledge?

Working memory?

Planning?

Judgment?

Adaptability?

Maybe all of them.

---

What Would Kaku's IQ Test Look Like?

Physicist Michio Kaku has raised a related idea: perhaps an interesting test of intelligence would involve putting people into unfamiliar situations and asking them to generate realistic possible scenarios.

Imagine being stranded somewhere unfamiliar.

Imagine a major system suddenly stops working.

Imagine having limited resources.

What do you do first?

What could go wrong?

What are the realistic possibilities?

What happens three steps after your first decision?

That's a very different kind of cognitive challenge.

And it raises an uncomfortable question:

If intelligence is supposed to tell us how capable someone is, why don't we routinely test people on their ability to handle unfamiliar real-world problems?

Perhaps because those abilities are much harder to standardize.

And that's exactly why standardized tests are attractive.

They give us numbers.

---

But Standardization Is Both the Strength and the Limitation

A standardized test has enormous advantages.

Everyone receives similar tasks.

Everyone can be compared.

Results can be analyzed statistically.

Researchers can study reliability and prediction.

That's incredibly useful.

But standardization also means deciding beforehand which abilities count and which abilities don't.

The moment we construct a test, we create a particular window through which we look at the human mind.

The window can be scientifically useful.

But it remains a window.

---

What Happens When We Label Children?

This is where the issue stops being merely philosophical.

Imagine a child being told—or having their parents told—that their IQ is 75.

That number can sound devastating.

Now imagine discovering that the child has dyslexia and was struggling to read the questions.

A parent asks:

“Who read the questions to him?”

Suddenly the interpretation changes.

The point isn't that the child necessarily has a high IQ.

The point is that before interpreting a score, we have to understand what happened during the measurement.

Was the child able to understand the instructions?

Were there language barriers?

Was attention impaired?

Was the person exhausted?

Was there anxiety?

Was there unfamiliarity with the testing environment?

Was the person motivated?

Were there educational disadvantages?

Were there sensory, developmental, or learning factors that affected particular tasks?

Clinical psychologists can take many of these factors into account when interpreting cognitive testing.

But a number printed on a page can easily escape its original context.

And once it does, it can become a label.

---

The Danger of Turning a Snapshot Into an Identity

Suppose somebody measures your temperature once.

You get 101 degrees.

That tells you something useful.

But it doesn't mean:

“You are a 101-degree person.”

An IQ score is obviously different from temperature, but the analogy demonstrates the danger of confusing a measurement with an identity.

A score describes performance on a particular measurement.

It doesn't automatically tell us:

• how curious somebody is
• how creative they are
• how courageous they are
• how compassionate they are
• how persistent they are
• how practical they are
• how adaptable they are
• how much they know
• how much they are willing to learn
• how wisely they use what they know
• or what they might become

Some of those things may be related to cognitive ability.

Some may interact with it.

Some may be largely independent.

But they aren't all contained in a single number.

---

Education Changes the Question

There's another fascinating piece of evidence here.

Research has found that additional education is associated with improvements in performance on intelligence tests, with evidence suggesting that education itself can have causal effects on measured cognitive ability.

That doesn't mean one extra year of school magically adds a fixed number of IQ points to every person.

It means something much more interesting may be happening:

The environment can change cognitive performance.

Nutrition matters.

Development matters.

Education matters.

Experience matters.

Practice matters.

Sleep matters.

Motivation matters.

Genes matter.

And the brain itself changes with experience.

So if all of these factors interact with cognitive performance, what exactly does an IQ score represent?

Perhaps it represents something like:

How this person performed on this standardized sample of cognitive tasks at this point in their development, under these conditions.

That's a much more modest statement than:

This number tells us how intelligent this person is.

And maybe the modest statement is closer to the scientific truth.

---

What About Genetics?

Genetics clearly matters to cognitive ability.

But “heritable” doesn't mean “unchangeable.”

Human intelligence is influenced by enormous numbers of genetic factors, each generally contributing very small effects, interacting with environmental circumstances.

That's true of many human traits.

A genetic contribution doesn't mean that environment is irrelevant.

And environmental influence doesn't mean genetics is irrelevant.

The real picture is much more complicated:

genes → development → nutrition → education → experience → practice → environment → brain changes → performance

And eventually:

performance → test score.

Look at that chain.

How many things happened before the number appeared on the page?

---

Maybe the Real Question Is What Happens After the Test

Suppose two people receive IQ scores of 115 and 135.

What can we legitimately conclude?

We can say the testing data indicate a difference in performance on the measured cognitive abilities.

Depending on the test and circumstances, that difference may have meaningful predictive value.

But can we conclude that the person with 135 will make better decisions?

Will they be happier?

Will they be wealthier?

Will they be more creative?

Will they be kinder?

Will they be better at surviving a crisis?

Will they be better at understanding people?

Will they be wiser?

Will they be more spiritually developed?

Will they be more successful?

Not necessarily.

Some of those outcomes may correlate with cognitive ability.

Some may not.

And that's the entire point.

Correlation is not identity.

---

Here's an Experiment I'd Like to See

There's another question that interests me.

What happens when you dramatically change the incentive structure around education?

Imagine a voluntary research study.

First, establish baseline cognitive measurements.

Then randomly assign students to different incentive structures.

One group receives the normal educational incentives.

Another group receives substantial, guaranteed financial rewards for academic performance.

The exact amounts aren't the point here.

The point is the manipulation.

Would the relationship between baseline cognitive ability and academic achievement change?

Would students who previously performed below their measured ability suddenly perform dramatically better?

Would high-performing students improve too?

Would everybody improve?

Would grades improve without corresponding improvements on novel cognitive tasks?

That last question would be especially important.

Because there is a huge difference between:

getting better at school

and

becoming better at learning

and

becoming better at solving unfamiliar problems.

If money dramatically improves grades but not performance on novel problems, perhaps we learned something about motivation and academic performance rather than intelligence itself.

That's exactly the kind of experiment worth doing.

Not because we already know the answer.

Because we don't.

---

So, Are IQ Tests Good or Bad?

Maybe that's the wrong question.

A hammer is good at driving nails.

It is terrible at measuring the temperature of a room.

That doesn't make the hammer a scam.

It means we have to understand what the instrument is designed to do.

IQ tests may be excellent tools for measuring certain cognitive abilities.

They may provide useful information about learning and performance.

They may have meaningful predictive power.

They may help clinicians identify particular cognitive patterns.

All of that can be true.

And it can simultaneously be true that:

an IQ score is not a complete measurement of human intelligence.

Those statements aren't contradictory.

---

The Bigger Lesson

This is ultimately why I find the IQ debate so interesting.

It's not really about whether a number is “real.”

It's about what we do with the number.

A measurement can be scientifically useful and socially misused.

A statistic can be accurate and still be interpreted incorrectly.

A test can measure something important without measuring everything important.

A person can have enormous knowledge and still be wrong.

A person can lack formal education and still possess extraordinary practical ability.

A person can win a debate without having the truth.

A critic can expose weaknesses in an argument without having the correct alternative explanation.

A scientific theory can be wrong.

A conspiracy theory can be wrong.

A conspiracy theory can also contain a true observation.

And an intelligence test can measure real cognitive ability without being the complete definition of intelligence.

Maybe the question we should have been asking all along isn't:

“How intelligent are you?”

Maybe it is:

“What does this particular measurement tell us about you—and what doesn't it tell us?”

Because there is a profound difference between measuring a person...

and reducing a person to a measurement.

And especially when we're talking about children, that difference matters.

The number should be information.

It should never become a prophecy.

The Soundtrack of Revolution: Q50, Tupac, Drill Rap and Following the Breadcrumbs

There are certain stories where you don't know exactly what you're looking at.

You see one thing.

Then another.

Then another.

And eventually you have to ask yourself whether you're looking at a series of coincidences, a pattern created by the culture around you, or something more deliberate.

That doesn't mean you automatically know the answer.

It means you investigate.

That's what I mean when I talk about following the breadcrumbs.

And that's how I ended up writing about BloodHound Q50, Tupac Shakur, Chicago drill, Lil Durk, the music industry, intelligence agencies, and the strange possibility that some of the things happening around modern drill culture deserve a much deeper investigation than simply saying, "That's just street shit."

I Liked Q50's Music. I Didn't Like What He Was Doing.

I want to make something clear before anybody misunderstands my position.

I liked Q50's music.

The beats hit. The cadence hit. The kid had talent.

But there were plenty of times I was watching what he was doing and thinking:

Oh my God. What is this motherfucker doing now?

I'd be sitting around with Don and we'd see some new video or some new piece of bullshit and I'd be like, "Look what this kid did now."

And then five minutes later:

"Goddammit, though. That shit hits."

That's the strange relationship you can have with an artist.

You can recognize talent without approving of the behavior.

I didn't like the violence. I didn't like the disrespect. I didn't like the drill culture when it crossed the line into celebrating real death and retaliation. I don't understand killing somebody over a chain. I don't understand robbing somebody over jewelry. And I don't understand turning every disagreement into a potential homicide.

But Q50 was young.

He was 22.

And that's important.

Because a 22-year-old doesn't necessarily have to remain the person he was at 18, 19 or 20.

People change.

People grow up.

People lose friends and suddenly see life differently.

People become fathers.

People get tired.

People survive things.

People wake up.

That possibility mattered to me.

I even told Q50 publicly to get out of Chicago.

I wasn't telling him that because I hated him.

I was telling him because I thought he was talented enough to have a future and was living in an environment where that future could disappear overnight.

And then it did.

Q50's Death

On September 13, 2026, Chicago drill rapper BloodHound Q50, whose real name was Mikquale T. Cooper, was killed in a shooting at a Fuller Park gas station.

According to the Chicago Sun-Times, Cooper was returning to a Tesla when six gunmen emerged from vehicles and opened fire. He was struck in the chest and shoulder and later pronounced dead. The newspaper also reported that Cooper had recently acknowledged the danger surrounding him, telling DJ Akademiks, "One slipup [and] you're gone."

There is something especially disturbing about that statement in retrospect.

He knew the environment was dangerous.

He knew people wanted him dead.

And yet knowing that doesn't necessarily mean you know how to escape it.

That's one of the biggest tragedies of this entire culture.

People talk about being "at war."

But they're civilians.

They're not soldiers.

A real soldier isn't somebody who loses control and shoots whoever happens to be on the other side. A real soldier is supposed to have discipline. Restraint. The ability to follow rules and control himself under pressure.

If you're a civilian, you can walk away.

You can leave the neighborhood.

You can stop answering the phone.

You can stop making diss records.

You can stop retaliating.

You can break the cycle.

That's what I wanted for Q50.

Not because I thought everything he had done was okay.

Because I thought he might still have time.

The Difference Between Accountability and Revenge

I don't believe people should be murdered because they did bad things.

And I don't want everybody locked in a cage either.

Those two ideas aren't mutually exclusive.

If somebody commits a crime, there is supposed to be a legal system for determining what happened and who is responsible. That's different from somebody deciding they're judge, jury and executioner.

And in Q50's case, there's another question.

Even if you believe he was involved in violence in the past, that doesn't automatically establish that the people who killed him were retaliating for something he personally did to them.

That's particularly important because the entire drill ecosystem can become a cycle of retaliation where people aren't even necessarily killing the person who committed the original offense. They're killing somebody connected to somebody connected to somebody.

Then somebody retaliates for that.

Then somebody retaliates for the retaliation.

And eventually nobody remembers where the cycle started.

That's not war.

That's an engine that feeds itself.

The Fatso Posts

This is where the story becomes much stranger.

After Q50's killing, attention turned toward social-media posts attributed to YFG Fatso, who had previously been connected to Q50 through Chicago's complicated network of friendships, collaborations and beefs.

HotNewHipHop reported that Fatso posted an image of Q50 alongside BloodHound Lil Jeff, an image involving someone burning a $50 bill, and the message:

"We spend 50K today !!!!"

The outlet also reported another message:

"Bet I be da last mf"

along with another message referencing being a "reap." The article emphasized that these posts were being interpreted by fans and were not official accusations or established evidence connecting Fatso to the murder.

This is where I have to be extremely precise.

I'm not going to write:

YFG Fatso confessed to killing Q50.

That's not established.

I'm also not going to write:

The police have proven Fatso did it.

They haven't.

What I will say is that the posts have generated enormous attention because of their timing and content.

It has also been reported that some of these posts appeared in the morning, before Q50's death was publicly known.

I have not independently established the exact timestamp of every post against the first public announcement, so I'm deliberately leaving that as a reported chronology rather than presenting it as proven fact.

But even without that particular timing question, the content is bizarre enough to warrant examination.

Because if someone appears to be saying:

"I'll be the last motherfucker breathing"

immediately around a murder, while also posting imagery involving "50" and a burning fifty-dollar bill, people are naturally going to ask what the hell they're looking at.

That's not proof.

But it is a breadcrumb.

And Then Tupac Enters the Story

Here's where the coincidence gets downright eerie.

The phrase sends you toward Tupac's song "Breathin'", often referred to by the lyric/title phrase "Last MFer Breathin'."

And that song contains imagery about enemies plotting Tupac's death and visions of Tupac being shot in the chest.

Now put the pieces together.

Someone allegedly connected to the Q50 conflict makes an apparent "last motherfucker" reference.

There is "50" imagery.

That sends people back toward a Tupac song involving enemies plotting his death and Tupac being shot in the chest.

Then the person whose rap name is Q50 is actually shot in the chest and killed.

And Q50 dies on September 13, 2026.

Tupac died on September 13, 1996.

Exactly thirty years apart.

At that point, you can understand why people are staring at the screen saying:

What the fuck are we looking at here?

It almost has the absurd quality of a Key & Peele sketch.

Imagine somebody describing the crime in a song, making cryptic posts that seem to reference the same imagery, and then, when everyone notices the parallels, responding:

"What? I don't know what you're talking about."

That's the feeling.

But feeling something is eerie isn't the same thing as proving what caused it.

That's the distinction I keep coming back to.

Facts are not proof of the explanation you attach to them.

The Internet Investigation

And this isn't based on one random post.

In the days following Q50's death, social-media investigators began assembling timelines involving surveillance footage, vehicles, clothing, shoes, faces and alleged connections between people appearing in different pieces of footage.

There is even circulating footage that people say shows a vehicle being stolen near the location around the time of the killing. Other online investigators have attempted to compare the people in that footage with people appearing in Fatso's social-media posts.

Some of those comparisons are striking.

Some may be wrong.

Some may ultimately prove useful to investigators.

Some may simply be people seeing patterns that aren't there.

That's why I'm interested in preserving the material rather than declaring the case solved from my computer.

People online have been discussing this material extensively, including videos and breakdowns from creators such as Seti Nash, Lisa and Poetic Flakko. Other social-media posts are circulating detailed timelines and alleged identifications.

One Reddit discussion, for example, contains users comparing individuals in vehicle-theft footage with people appearing in Fatso's posts and discussing similarities in shoes and clothing. That's community investigation, not a police finding.

Another circulating post describes a supposed digital paper trail involving Fatso and the shooting, including timestamps and shoe comparisons. Again, that's an allegation being investigated online, not an established court finding.

That's the distinction.

The internet can discover leads. It cannot turn a lead into a conviction.

So Who Gave Them the Location?

This is another obvious question.

Q50 was inside a Tesla.

The attackers appeared to know where he was.

So who gave them the location?

Was somebody physically watching him?

Was somebody in his circle communicating?

Was somebody following him?

Was information obtained from a phone?

Was vehicle information involved?

Could somebody have had access to location data?

Those are all investigative questions.

But saying "the CIA hacked his Tesla" would be an enormous leap beyond the available evidence.

Modern vehicles can generate and store enormous amounts of data, and manufacturers can disclose information under certain legal circumstances. But that doesn't establish that anyone accessed Q50's Tesla information, much less that an intelligence agency did so.

So here's where I would put the question:

Who knew where Q50 was, and how did the attackers know?

That's enough.

We don't need to answer the question before we're allowed to ask it.

What If the Police Don't Act?

This is another uncomfortable part of the story.

If people online believe they have identified suspects, and if there really is surveillance footage containing identifiable people, vehicles and other evidence, then eventually there should be a straightforward question:

What did investigators determine?

Not what Reddit determined.

Not what YouTube determined.

Not what TikTok determined.

Not what I determined.

What did investigators determine?

If the online evidence turns out to be wrong, say so.

If investigators identify suspects, say so.

If the evidence is insufficient, explain why.

If prosecutors bring charges, let the evidence be tested in court.

That's how you break the cycle.

Because when there is a vacuum of information, people fill the vacuum themselves.

And when people believe they know who killed their friend but believe the authorities aren't doing anything, that vacuum can become extremely dangerous.

Then retaliation becomes more likely.

And somebody else dies.

Then somebody else wants revenge.

Then another family loses someone.

And the cycle continues.

"We're Civilians."

That's why I have a problem with the language of permanent warfare.

I've seen people essentially say, "We're civilians."

Good.

Then be civilians.

You don't have to be soldiers.

You don't have to kill anybody.

You don't have to avenge every insult.

You don't have to shoot somebody because they disrespected your chain.

You don't have to steal somebody else's chain.

You don't have to make a song about murdering somebody's friend.

You don't have to become the thing you're supposedly fighting.

There is nothing weak about walking away.

There is nothing weak about changing.

There is nothing weak about saying:

I'm done with this shit.

That's actually strength.

And Then There's Lil Durk

This is part of why the Lil Durk situation interests me.

Durk's story is different.

On September 12, 2026, Lil Durk was acquitted of the federal murder-for-hire charges against him. Reuters reported that he remained in custody awaiting a separate federal case involving racketeering and weapons allegations.

Whatever anyone believes about the broader allegations, the legal distinction matters:

an acquittal is an acquittal.

A person is not supposed to be treated as guilty of the charge for which a jury found him not guilty.

And that's important when discussing artists whose lives are intertwined with violence.

Durk lost King Von.

He lost his brother DThang.

Those losses mattered.

You can hear the difference in an artist when grief becomes personal.

That doesn't establish that every subsequent action was justified or that every allegation is false.

It means human beings are affected by what happens to them.

And sometimes people respond to terrible circumstances by becoming worse.

Sometimes they respond by becoming better.

Sometimes they do both at different points in their lives.

That's why I don't want to reduce people to a single photograph of who they were at their worst.

I Wanted Q50 to Change

That's really the part I don't want people to misunderstand.

I liked Q50's music.

I didn't like everything he did.

Sometimes I thought his behavior was completely fucking stupid.

But I didn't want him dead.

I wanted him out of Chicago.

I wanted him to survive long enough to become somebody different.

Maybe he would have.

Maybe he wouldn't have.

Maybe he would have kept doing the same shit for another decade.

I don't know.

That's the tragedy.

We'll never know.

A 22-year-old still has a lot of life left.

A person who is making violent music today doesn't necessarily have to make violent music tomorrow.

A person who grew up around violence doesn't have to die in violence.

A person who was once part of a cycle can become the person who breaks it.

That's what I was hoping for.

And that's why I could watch Q50's videos and simultaneously think:

"What the fuck is wrong with this kid?"

and:

"Goddamn, this motherfucker can rap."

Those aren't contradictory statements.

That's nuance.

But Why Look at the CIA?

This is where people sometimes misunderstand what I'm actually asking.

When I raise the possibility of intelligence involvement, I'm not saying:

The CIA definitely killed Q50.

I don't know that.

There is currently no established evidence that the CIA ordered or carried out Q50's killing.

The reason I think the broader question deserves to be taken seriously is historical.

American intelligence agencies have demonstrably used culture, media, artists and information as instruments of political influence.

That's not a conspiracy theory.

It's documented history.

The CIA's own historical publication describes the Congress for Cultural Freedom as a major Cold War covert operation involving artists, writers, intellectuals, conferences and publications. The agency's own records acknowledge that CIA sponsorship was later exposed.

The State Department openly describes music as an instrument of diplomacy.

Its programs have included American musicians traveling internationally as cultural ambassadors, and modern programs explicitly use hip-hop collaborations, DJs, MCs and other artists for international exchange and conflict-resolution work.

Again:

That does not prove the CIA created drill.

It proves something narrower:

Governments understand that culture matters.

Music matters.

Artists matter.

Young people matter.

Narratives matter.

And governments have deliberately used culture as a tool before.

That's enough reason to investigate questions about cultural influence without pretending the answer is already known.

The CIA Has Also Done Things People Once Would Have Called Crazy

Consider Operation Northwoods.

In 1962, the Joint Chiefs of Staff circulated a proposal for creating pretexts that could justify U.S. military intervention against Cuba. The declassified document included proposed scenarios involving staged or simulated attacks and other deceptive incidents designed to create the appearance of Cuban aggression.

That doesn't mean Northwoods happened.

It means somebody in the U.S. military actually proposed it.

That's an important distinction.

Likewise, the FBI acknowledges that COINTELPRO infiltrated organizations, attempted to sow discord and sought to discredit groups, including the Black Panther Party. The program was later exposed and criticized by Congress.

Again, that doesn't mean every modern allegation involving an intelligence agency is true.

It means the phrase "the government would never do something like that" is historically inadequate.

Governments have done secret things.

Intelligence agencies have infiltrated organizations.

Institutions have manipulated information.

Cultural influence has been deliberately cultivated.

Sometimes these things were denied until documents came out.

That is why evidence matters.

And 9/11 Raises Similar Questions About Knowledge Versus Responsibility

The same distinction matters when discussing 9/11.

There is documented evidence that U.S. agencies possessed significant warnings about al-Qaeda before September 11.

There are also disputed claims about what particular officials knew, what information was shared, and what intelligence operations such as Able Danger actually identified.

Those questions deserve evidence.

But there is a huge difference between:

"Officials had warnings."

and:

"Officials planned the attacks."

The first can be documented.

The second requires a much higher evidentiary burden.

That's exactly the standard I want to apply to Q50.

If somebody claims an intelligence agency infiltrated a group, ask:

Who?

When?

How?

What document?

What communication?

What witness?

What financial trail?

What surveillance?

What forensic evidence?

Don't start with the conclusion.

Follow the evidence.

The Drill Question

Comedian Kurt Metzger has publicly entertained the provocative idea that the CIA played a role in the development of drill rap. That's an interesting hypothesis, but a hypothesis is not a historical fact.

I've also looked at arguments made by artists such as Ice Cube about the relationship between the music business and the prison industry.

Those conversations raise legitimate questions about incentives.

But incentives aren't evidence

Beyond “Durk Is Cooked”: What the Lil Durk Trial Is Really Asking Us to Believe

By JM Talboo 

There is a temptation, whenever a high-profile federal trial reaches the point where the prosecution has presented a mountain of texts, videos, phone records, cooperating-witness testimony, lyrics, photographs, travel records, and other evidence, to reduce the whole thing to a slogan:

“Durk is cooked.”

I understand why people do it.

Some of the evidence presented against Lil Durk looks bad. Some of it looks really bad. There are text messages that sound terrible when stripped down to their most incriminating interpretation. There are cooperating witnesses who testified about serious criminal activity. There are physical and digital pieces of evidence that appear to corroborate portions of the government's broader narrative.

And there are moments when even someone skeptical of the prosecution's theory has to look at something and say:

Damn. That's evidence.

But that isn't the same thing as saying:

That's proof of the government's entire case beyond a reasonable doubt.

That distinction is the reason I have been writing about this trial in the first place.

I am not arguing that Lil Durk is innocent as a proven fact. I am not arguing that the prosecution has no evidence. I am not arguing that OTF-associated people were uninvolved in violence. I am not arguing that King Von was innocent, that drill culture has nothing to do with real-world violence, or that Trap Lore Ross has never uncovered anything legitimate.

I'm arguing for something considerably less exciting:

Evidence should be evaluated according to what it actually proves.

A lyric is not automatically a confession.

A Reddit comment is not a police report.

A theory is not a fact.

A cooperating witness is not automatically a liar—but neither is he automatically telling the truth.

And a pile of suspicious circumstances does not automatically become proof of every element of a charged offense simply because the pile is large.

That standard has to apply to the prosecution.

It also has to apply to the defense.

---

I Have Changed My Mind About Some Things

One reason I have confidence in this analysis is that I have not been trying to reach a predetermined conclusion.

There are things I was uncertain about earlier that have become considerably more convincing as the evidence has come out.

The broader OTF-associated involvement in violence looks substantially more serious than some of the early public discussion suggested.

The government's evidence concerning people around Durk is not imaginary.

There are communications and logistical evidence that deserve serious consideration.

And some of Durk's own statements look terrible.

I am not going to pretend otherwise just because I happen to think the government's ultimate theory remains unproven.

That's not how intellectual honesty works.

If the evidence eventually establishes Durk's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, I will say so.

But the reverse has to be true too.

If the prosecution's evidence establishes that other people committed crimes, that does not automatically establish that Durk personally ordered those crimes.

That distinction becomes extremely important.

---

Wanting Revenge Is Not the Same Thing as Ordering Murder

One of the most important questions in this case is what Durk actually intended.

There is a perfectly plausible interpretation of the evidence in which Durk was furious about King Von's death.

He was grieving.

He was angry.

He was talking tough.

He was “wolfing.”

He was barking.

And some of that barking may have been directed toward people around him who understood exactly what kind of reputation and expectations existed within their environment.

I don't think we should erase that evidence.

But there is still a huge gap between:

“I want revenge.”

and

“I knowingly ordered and paid for a specific murder-for-hire operation.”

Those are not the same proposition.

A person can want somebody beaten up.

A person can want somebody scared.

A person can want retaliation.

A person can talk as though he wants someone dead.

A person can even encourage people around him to “do something.”

None of those propositions automatically establishes the precise criminal intent the government must prove.

This is where the Akademiks interview becomes particularly interesting.

Durk publicly talked about the Quando Rondo situation and, in substance, described what he would do as beating him rather than killing him.

The defense wanted additional portions of the interview admitted under Federal Rule of Evidence 106 and related hearsay exceptions, arguing that the government's selected excerpt needed contextualization.

The judge did not allow the defense to introduce the requested material through that route.

That ruling does not mean the judge believed the government's interpretation was false.

It does not mean the excluded material proves Durk's innocence.

But it matters because context was the very thing the defense said was missing.

And then we learned something else.

According to the courtroom reporting reviewed for this article, the FBI agent discussing the Akademiks interview had watched only approximately 56 seconds of a roughly two-and-a-half-to-three-hour interview.

That is extraordinary context for an article about context.

The government identified a particular snippet as relevant.

The defense said the larger interview mattered.

And the investigator who discussed the interview had apparently not watched the overwhelming majority of it.

That does not establish misconduct.

Investigators routinely focus on particular portions of recordings.

But it raises a legitimate question:

How confidently should we interpret an isolated statement when the investigator relying upon it did not review the larger conversation from which it came?

---

The “911” Problem

This becomes even more interesting when we look at Durk's music itself.

In “911,” Durk includes lines about pushing peace behind the scenes and describes his music as being about things he has seen.

That is not proof that his lyrics are fictional.

It does not establish that he never participated in violence.

It does not erase the more aggressive lyrics.

But it provides something important:

an alternative explanation for what his lyrics represent.

And I think there is a subtle reason this particular evidence deserves attention.

It does not appear to be a giant courtroom-style disclaimer.

It isn't presented as:

“Attention, police: everything I rap about is fictional.”

It is buried in a song.

It isn't something that appears to be a constant refrain.

And there is another Durk lyric, from a much more recent period, where he makes a more conspicuous statement suggesting that what he raps about isn't real—but that one is delivered in a much more tongue-in-cheek, almost joking manner.

Those two things are not identical.

If someone were deliberately constructing a legal defense through their music, the more obvious disclaimer would arguably be the more useful one.

Instead, the older statement is comparatively obscure and matter-of-fact.

Again, none of this proves Durk was telling the truth.

But it makes the question harder:

What did Durk actually believe his music was doing?

And if the prosecution wants the jury to treat lyrics as autobiographical evidence of real-world conduct, shouldn't evidence concerning the artist's own description of his music at least be considered?

That is not an acquittal.

It is context.

---

And Then There Was Plenty of Barking

Of course, we cannot cherry-pick the other direction.

Because there is plenty of wolfing and barking in the record too.

There are messages about Von.

There are statements about retaliation.

There are messages involving enemies.

There are communications that can reasonably be interpreted as pressure.

There are statements that look terrible when read through the government's theory.

The prosecution is entitled to point to all of that.

But here's the question:

What does the barking prove?

Does it prove anger?

Probably.

Does it potentially prove a desire for retaliation?

Possibly.

Does it potentially show pressure being applied to people around him?

Yes.

Does it automatically prove that Durk knowingly ordered and financed a particular murder-for-hire scheme?

That's the proposition that still requires proof.

This is why the word “potentially” keeps coming back.

Not because “potentially” is some magic legal word that creates reasonable doubt.

It doesn't.

A merely imaginable alternative isn't enough.

But a reasonable alternative interpretation supported by evidence is something a jury is entitled to consider.

---

The Vonnie Problem

This is where the cooperating witnesses become extremely important.

Vonnie was not some innocent bystander dragged into the story.

By his own testimony, he participated in serious criminal activity.

And the defense had substantial material with which to attack his credibility.

His jail communications are particularly significant.

They reportedly included discussions about his potential cooperation, his desire to improve his situation, the possibility of monetizing his story, his presentation to the judge, and statements indicating that he understood he needed to perform or present himself strategically.

None of that proves that everything Vonnie said was false.

That would be another overreach.

A cooperating witness can tell the truth about some things while minimizing his own role, exaggerating other people's roles, misunderstanding events, or selectively presenting information in ways favorable to himself.

The relevant question is therefore not:

“Is Vonnie a liar?”

The better question is:

“Which parts of Vonnie's testimony are independently corroborated, and which parts depend primarily upon Vonnie himself?”

That distinction matters enormously.

---

Vonnie May Have Been More Than an “Assistant”

One of the stranger tensions in the testimony is Vonnie's attempt, at various points, to portray himself as an assistant who had little choice but to participate.

Yet the evidence described in court paints a much more complicated picture.

He allegedly handled logistical details.

He was involved with phones.

He dealt with vehicles.

He discussed weapons.

He made tactical suggestions.

He participated in planning.

He knew locations.

And, according to the courtroom commentary reviewed for this article, there were indications that he had relationships with people capable of carrying out violence independently.

That creates a reasonable question:

Was Vonnie merely carrying out Durk's orders—or was Vonnie himself an active participant with his own motivations and initiative?

The latter is not established merely because it is possible.

But neither can it simply be dismissed.

---

The Jam Question Is Different

This is where I think an important distinction needs to be made between different categories of evidence.

Suppose a cooperating witness admits participating in a crime and that admission is independently corroborated by physical evidence, video, distinctive clothing, location evidence, communications, or other objective evidence.

That's not merely “evidence” in the loose sense.

Depending on the specific proposition and the totality of the evidence, that can potentially meet the applicable standard of proof.

Consider the kind of example discussed in the trial coverage involving Jam: an admission of criminal participation combined with evidence concerning distinctive clothing and video footage.

The clothing by itself would not necessarily prove identity.

The video by itself might not conclusively identify someone.

The admission by itself comes from a person with credibility issues.

But when independent pieces converge on the same conclusion, the evidentiary picture becomes much stronger.

That is what corroboration is supposed to do.

And it gives us a useful measuring stick for the evidence against Durk.

A cooperating witness saying something about Durk is one thing.

A cooperating witness saying something about Durk and objective independent evidence directly confirming the critical part of the story is another.

The question is not whether evidence exists.

The question is how closely that evidence connects to the proposition the government must prove.

---

“Don't Book Flights Under My Name”

One of the recurring pieces of evidence is the message:

“Don't book no flights under no names involved wit me.”

The prosecution can reasonably interpret that as evidence that Durk knew something illicit was happening and wanted his involvement concealed.

That is a legitimate interpretation.

But it is not the only possible interpretation.

It could also potentially be read as:

Don't involve my name in whatever you're doing.

That distinction matters enormously if the people around him were acting independently.

And there is an uncomfortable problem for the government's interpretation if people allegedly continued booking travel under his name anyway.

If someone is supposedly directing a highly organized murder-for-hire operation, while simultaneously telling people not to book travel under his name, and those people ignore that instruction and use his name anyway, that creates a strange picture of the supposed mastermind.

It doesn't prove the defense interpretation.

But it raises a legitimate question about who was actually controlling whom.

---

The Payment Question

Another critical issue is money.

The government has presented payments and financial relationships involving people around Durk.

Those payments can look suspicious.

But timing matters.

Purpose matters.

And the specific connection between a payment and the charged criminal activity matters.

A payment to someone who later participates in a crime does not automatically establish that the payment was made for that crime.

This becomes particularly important when payments occurred long before the alleged murder-for-hire operation or continued for ordinary reasons such as supporting someone incarcerated.

If the government wants to prove that Durk paid for a murder, it needs more than:

Durk sent money to a person who committed a crime.

It needs evidence connecting the money to the charged conduct.

That is a much more specific proposition.

---

Commissary Money Is Not Automatically Murder Money

This point may sound almost too obvious to need saying, but courtroom narratives can make obvious things disappear.

People in jail need money.

They need food.

They need hygiene products.

They need personal-care items.

They have other legitimate expenses.

So if Durk sent money to an incarcerated associate, the mere existence of those payments doesn't tell us why the money was sent.

The government may have additional evidence establishing an illicit purpose.

If so, that evidence should be considered.

But the payment itself does not come with a little label attached saying:

“Payment for murder.”

Purpose has to be established.

---

The FaceTime Dispute

Another interesting issue raised during the testimony concerned FaceTime calls.

The prosecution apparently relied heavily on the proposition that certain people were communicating through FaceTime Audio.

The defense questioned whether investigators could see records showing that those calls occurred.

The agent's answer, as reported, was uncertain.

That distinction matters.

There is an enormous difference between:

“We cannot hear what was said during a FaceTime call.”

and:

“We cannot determine that a FaceTime call occurred.”

The former is entirely plausible.

The latter is a much broader proposition.

If call records existed and could establish that particular people were communicating at particular times, those records could be highly relevant to reconstructing events.

If they were unavailable because the relevant records had been deleted or were outside the provider's retention period, that's a different issue.

Again, this is exactly why primary records matter.

---

The Missing Cell-Site Data

Another important limitation described in the testimony was the loss of historical cell-site data.

According to the government's own account, Verizon did not retain the relevant information indefinitely, and by the time investigators sought it, the data was no longer available.

That doesn't mean the government did something wrong.

But it does mean that one potentially useful category of independent corroboration simply wasn't available.

When evaluating testimony about who was where and when, the absence of objective location data matters.

It doesn't establish that the witnesses are lying.

It means the jury has less independent evidence with which to test their accounts.

---

The Deleted Messages

The deleted-text evidence is another place where we have to resist the urge to jump straight from suspicious behavior to the ultimate conclusion.

Durk acknowledged deleting text messages and reportedly encouraged others to delete messages as well.

That certainly looks bad.

If someone knows law enforcement is investigating and deliberately destroys evidence, that can be powerful circumstantial evidence.

But context still matters.

The FBI evidence also reportedly showed that Durk's phones were not synced to iCloud in the ordinary way, complicating some of the government's characterization of what was being preserved or deleted.

The fact that someone deletes messages can mean:

“I am hiding evidence.”

It can also mean:

“I don't want my private communications sitting around.”

Those interpretations are not equally persuasive in every context.

The surrounding evidence determines which one makes more sense.

---

The Flight Evidence Was a Different Animal

And here is where I think intellectual honesty requires giving the government its due.

The flight evidence described toward the end of the prosecution's case is genuinely significant.

Investigators presented evidence that Durk was booking and changing flights around the time arrests and investigative developments became public.

They also presented phone records showing a call between Jason Smith and Durk during the period when agents were executing a search warrant.

That combination can reasonably look like:

“People are getting arrested. Somebody is warning Durk. Durk starts trying to leave.”

Even someone skeptical of the prosecution has to acknowledge that this is a serious piece of circumstantial evidence.

The defense has explanations for the travel.

The arrests were becoming public.

Durk was a celebrity.

The possibility of media exposure at an airport was real.

He had reportedly had his phone seized previously without fleeing.

And there were questions about what investigators knew and when they knew it.

Those are legitimate considerations.

But the flight evidence cannot honestly be dismissed as nothing.

It is one of the stronger pieces of circumstantial evidence presented against Durk because it potentially connects timing, communication, knowledge, and behavior.

That's what good circumstantial evidence looks like.

---

But Even Strong Circumstantial Evidence Has a Target

This is an important point.

Suppose the flight evidence establishes that Durk learned that people around him were being arrested and attempted to leave the country.

What does that prove?

Potentially that he was frightened.

Potentially that he feared being implicated.

Potentially that he knew something serious was happening.

Potentially consciousness of guilt.

But even consciousness of guilt, if the jury finds that inference persuasive, doesn't necessarily answer every other question.

It doesn't automatically establish when he learned what.

It doesn't automatically establish that he ordered the shooting.

It doesn't automatically establish that he paid for it.

It doesn't automatically establish that he knowingly participated in the particular conspiracy charged.

The evidence still has to connect the dots.

---

The FBI Agent Who Didn't Know Everything

There was another moment in the testimony that I think deserves attention because it illustrates a broader problem with expert-sounding government witnesses.

One FBI investigator presented himself as having extensive knowledge of the case and its background.

But under questioning, there were apparently basic things he did not know.

He did not know that “Blood” was not Durk's legal name.

He did not know that Big Country was Durk's security guard.

He did not appear familiar with certain practical realities concerning prison commissary.

And he seemed uncertain about technical questions involving FaceTime records.

None of that means the investigation was worthless.

It does, however, demonstrate why jurors should distinguish between:

“This person is an FBI agent.”

and

“This particular statement by this particular agent is independently established as accurate.”

Credentials don't turn every assertion into fact.

---

The “Open Source” Problem

The same issue becomes especially important when an investigator relies upon open-source research.

Open-source intelligence can be extraordinarily useful.

But it is not magic.

A photograph found online is not automatically proof of what happened.

A caption isn't necessarily authoritative.

A music video isn't a police report.

A social-media post doesn't automatically establish who committed an act.

And an investigator's interpretation of public information is still an interpretation.

That's particularly important when an investigator is constructing a narrative from dozens or hundreds of pieces of public material.

The more inferential steps required, the more carefully each step needs to be examined.

---

King Von and the “Serial Killer” Problem

This same principle applies outside the courtroom.

The King Von story has frequently been presented in documentary-style media as though the conclusion is obvious:

King Von was a serial killer.

I don't think the evidence supports treating that psychological/classificatory label as established fact merely because there are multiple allegations of killings or violence surrounding him.

That doesn't mean Von was innocent.

It doesn't mean the allegations were fabricated.

It doesn't mean his violent reputation came from nowhere.

It means there is a difference between:

“Von was allegedly involved in multiple killings.”

and:

“Von was a serial killer.”

The second statement carries additional assumptions about motive, behavior, psychology, and classification.

The Get Back Gang context may help explain a cycle of retaliation.

Understanding that cycle does not excuse murder.

But neither should the existence of retaliation be ignored when trying to understand why people behaved as they did.

Context isn't absolution.

---

Trap Lore Ross and the Problem of Connecting the Dots

This is also why my criticism of Trap Lore Ross is methodological rather than personal.

I don't have to dislike Ross to criticize Ross.

I can find his work interesting.

I can find him funny.

I can think he has uncovered legitimate information.

And I can still believe that some of his documentary-style presentations move too quickly from:

fact → allegation → inference → conclusion.

When enough dots are connected, the finished picture can look incredibly persuasive.

But the number of dots doesn't necessarily tell us how strong the lines between them are.

That is a lesson this trial reinforces.

---

The Persona Problem

There may be an especially tragic possibility here.

Durk built a public identity around toughness, credibility, loyalty, retaliation, and surviving an environment where appearing weak could have consequences.

That persona may have been commercially valuable.

It may have been socially useful.

It may even have been protective.

And if that is true, then the very behavior that helped sustain the persona can later become evidence against the person who created it.

That's where the “wolfing” issue becomes fascinating.

A person can talk tough without every statement being a literal operational instruction.

A person can pressure people without intending the ultimate thing those people eventually decide to do.

A person can say things because of grief, anger, pride, reputation, fear, loyalty, or some combination of all of them.

None of that means the statements should be ignored.

It means they have to be interpreted.

---

“911” Makes That Interpretation Harder

That is why I don't think the “911” lyrics should be treated as a throwaway.

The song gives us another window into how Durk described the relationship between his music, his observations, and his behavior.

Again, it doesn't prove his innocence.

But it complicates the proposition:

“He rapped about it, therefore he did it.”

And when that evidence is combined with the Akademiks interview, where the public discussion of Quando included an explicit distinction between beating someone and killing them, it creates a competing interpretation of at least some of the aggressive material.

The prosecution can say those statements are self-serving.

Fair enough.

The defense can say they are evidence of what Durk actually meant.

Also fair.

The jury's job is to decide how much weight they deserve.

---

What About Jam and Vonnie Acting Independently?

Here is another hypothesis that deserves to be stated carefully.

What if some of the people around Durk were not simply waiting for orders?

What if they were already motivated by King Von's death?

What if they had their own relationships, reputations, grievances, weapons, vehicles, and contacts?

What if they believed that carrying out violence against Quando would earn them money, status, approval, or gratitude?

What if they acted first and hoped Durk would reward them afterward?

And what if Durk, once concrete action was underway, attempted to distance himself from it?

That would potentially explain some otherwise confusing evidence.

It could potentially explain why someone would possess logistical information without there being a formal murder-for-hire order.

It could potentially explain why people around Durk appeared eager to act.

It could potentially explain why Durk would say not to use his name.

And it could potentially explain why a promised payment becomes difficult to establish.

Again:

Potentially.

The point isn't that this alternative theory has been proven.

The point is that it is a coherent alternative explanation that should be tested against the evidence rather than dismissed simply because the prosecution has constructed a more dramatic narrative.

---

The Strange Mastermind Problem

There is something else worth asking.

If Durk was truly the mastermind controlling the operation, how much independent decision-making should we expect from the people supposedly working for him?

Because some of the evidence described in court makes these people sound remarkably autonomous.

They had their own contacts.

They had their own weapons.

They had their own vehicles.

They had access to locations.

They communicated with each other.

They sometimes appeared to make decisions without Durk.

And there were apparently occasions where people around Durk did things that he explicitly told them not to do.

None of that disproves a conspiracy.

A mastermind does not have to personally control every detail.

But if the government's theory depends on Durk being the central directing force, evidence that the supposed subordinates were independently planning, communicating, and acting becomes relevant.

The more autonomous they were, the more important it becomes to establish what Durk specifically knew and intended.

---

The Difference Between Jam's Proof and Durk's Inference

This is perhaps the cleanest way to understand my position.

Imagine evidence establishing that Jam committed a particular crime:

Jam admits participating.

Video places someone matching his distinctive clothing at the scene.

Other objective evidence corroborates his account.

That can potentially meet the standard of proof concerning Jam's participation.

Now compare that with:

Durk knew Jam.

Durk sent Jam money.

Durk had violent lyrics.

Durk was angry about Von.

Durk sent aggressive texts.

Durk changed flights.

Each item can be relevant.

Taken together, they may be powerful.

But the question remains:

Do they establish the specific proposition that Durk knowingly ordered and financed the charged murder-for-hire conspiracy beyond a reasonable doubt?

That's a different question.

And that's the question the jury ultimately has to answer.

---

I Am Not Saying the Feds Have Nothing

This distinction is important enough to repeat.

I am not saying the government has no case.

It plainly has a case.

It has evidence.

Some of that evidence is powerful.

Some of it is corroborated.

Some of it is circumstantial but compelling.

Some of it is ambiguous.

Some depends heavily on cooperating witnesses.

Some depends on interpretation.

And some appears much stronger when multiple independent facts converge.

That is what a real criminal trial looks like.

The prosecution doesn't need every piece of evidence to be perfect.

The defense doesn't need every government witness to be a liar.

The question is whether the totality of the admissible evidence satisfies the burden of proof for the charges.

---

And This Is Why “Evidence” and “Proof” Matter

This has become my central criticism of the public discussion.

People say:

“Look at the evidence!”

Okay.

Let's look at it.

But then we need to ask:

What proposition does this evidence actually establish?

A lyric may establish that an artist said something.

It doesn't necessarily establish that the artist did the thing described.

A text may establish that someone communicated something.

It doesn't necessarily establish that the intended act occurred.

A witness may establish that the witness claims something happened.

It doesn't necessarily establish that the witness's interpretation is correct.

A payment establishes that money changed hands.

It doesn't necessarily establish why it changed hands.

A flight establishes that someone traveled or attempted to travel.

It doesn't necessarily establish why.

A deletion establishes that something was deleted.

It doesn't necessarily establish what the person intended by deleting it.

But when multiple independent pieces converge on the same proposition, the evidentiary weight can become enormous.

That's proof.

Or, at least, that's the kind of evidence that can potentially satisfy a burden of proof.

And that distinction is exactly what the public conversation keeps losing.

---

What Would Change My Mind?

This is the part of the article that matters most to me.

What evidence would change my mind?

A direct recording of Durk ordering the murder would obviously matter.

A reliable witness with no meaningful incentive to fabricate who personally heard Durk give the order would matter.

Independent evidence establishing payment specifically for the murder would matter.

Communications that unambiguously demonstrate Durk knew the plan and approved it would matter.

Multiple independent sources corroborating Vonnie's most important claims would matter.

Evidence showing that the alternative interpretations of the texts are impossible or contradicted by objective facts would matter.

In other words, I don't need the prosecution to prove something philosophically impossible.

I need it to prove the charged theory.

And if the evidence does that, then it does that.

---

What Would Change My Mind the Other Way?

The defense also has to answer questions.

If the prosecution produces convincing evidence that Durk knowingly participated in the murder-for-hire scheme, then the alternative interpretations I've discussed here become much less persuasive.

If the evidence establishes payment, intent, communication, and coordination in a way that cannot reasonably be explained otherwise, then I would have to acknowledge that.

If Vonnie's critical testimony is independently corroborated, his credibility problems become less important.

If the flight evidence is connected directly to knowledge of the charged conduct rather than merely fear of investigation, that matters.

If the supposedly ambiguous texts are placed into a larger context that makes their meaning clear, that matters.

The point of intellectual honesty isn't to defend a conclusion forever.

It is to be willing to abandon it when the evidence changes.

---

The Larger Tragedy

There is a bigger human story underneath all of this.

King Von was murdered.

People around him were involved in cycles of retaliation.

Durk was grieving.

People around Durk had reputations for violence.

Guns were present.

Money was present.

Loyalty was present.

Fear was present.

And the culture surrounding drill music often blurs the line between artistic expression, street reputation, autobiographical storytelling, exaggeration, and actual criminal conduct.

None of that excuses murder.

None of it excuses retaliation.

None of it means victims don't matter.

But understanding the environment can help us understand why people said and did the things they did.

And I think that matters because people who have never lived in an environment like that can very easily look backward and assume every statement had the same meaning it would have had in their own world.

I like to think I could have done better given the same circumstances.

But I've never walked that road.

And I would dare not want to actually have to walk it.

So I am not going to cast the first stone, motherfucker.

I can condemn violence without pretending I understand every psychological and social force that produces it.

---

Durk Wasn't Only the Persona

There is another part of this story that deserves attention.

Durk was not merely the violent persona presented in some lyrics.

He has also done charitable work.

He has participated in youth-oriented efforts.

He has promoted messages about getting away from drugs and violence.

He has talked about turning hate into love.

That doesn't erase anything.

Good deeds don't purchase immunity from criminal responsibility.

But human beings are complicated.

A person can do good things and bad things.

A person can be sincere in one moment and reckless in another.

A person can want peace while simultaneously enjoying the credibility that comes from appearing dangerous.

And perhaps most importantly:

A person can be both better and worse than the character presented by their music.

That's worth remembering before turning an artist into either a saint or a monster.

---

The Real Question

After everything I've seen, I don't think the most intellectually honest question is:

“Is Durk cooked?”

That's internet language.

The real question is:

What, exactly, has the government proved?

Not what has it alleged.

Not what can be inferred.

Not what sounds terrible.

Not what fits neatly into a documentary.

Not what makes a compelling TikTok.

Not what makes a great headline.

What has actually been established?

If the evidence establishes that people around Durk committed serious crimes, then say that.

If the evidence establishes that Durk was angry about Von's death, say that.

If the evidence establishes that Durk engaged in wolfing and aggressive rhetoric, say that.

If the evidence establishes that he deleted messages, say that.

If the evidence establishes that he changed flights after learning people around him were being arrested, say that.

If the evidence establishes that a cooperating witness participated in crimes, say that.

But then ask the next question:

What does each fact prove about Durk's specific criminal intent?

That is where the case lives or dies.

---

Not “Durk at All Costs”

I don't want this article to become another form of fandom.

I don't want:

“Free Durk no matter what.”

That's not analysis.

But I also don't want the opposite:

“The Feds said it, therefore it's true.”

That's not analysis either.

The prosecution has an enormous responsibility because the government is asking to take a person's liberty—potentially for a very long time.

That requires more than a compelling story.

It requires proof.

And the defense has a responsibility too.

It can't simply manufacture doubt.

If the evidence establishes guilt, then guilt should be acknowledged.

But if the evidence leaves a reasonable alternative explanation for the critical elements of the charged offense, then the burden has not been met simply because the government's narrative sounds more dramatic.

---

The Strange Irony of the Barking

And maybe that's where I keep coming back to this whole “wolfing” idea.

Because I think it captures something genuinely complicated.

Durk may have spent years cultivating an identity in which he had to bark.

Maybe some of that barking was real.

Maybe some of it was performance.

Maybe some of it was grief.

Maybe some of it was anger.

Maybe some of it was pressure.

Maybe some of it was fear.

Maybe some of it was genuine intent.

Maybe it was some combination of all of those things.

And perhaps the most tragic possibility is that the persona that helped him survive, succeed, and maintain credibility could eventually be interpreted as evidence that every bark was a literal command.

That is not something I can prove.

Potentially.

There is that word again.

But it is a reasonable question.

And reasonable questions are not the same thing as reasonable doubt—but when those questions concern the government's interpretation of ambiguous evidence, they are exactly the questions a jury should be asking.

---

For Now, I Am Waiting

The trial is not over.

So neither is the analysis.

I am deliberately not publishing this final version while the jury is still being asked to decide the case.

I don't want to potentially influence a juror.

I also don't want to write another version of this article every time something new happens.

So this is the working conclusion for now.

I may ultimately be wrong.

If the remaining evidence establishes that Durk knowingly ordered, financed, or participated in the charged murder-for-hire conspiracy beyond a reasonable doubt, I will acknowledge it.

If the jury rejects the government's theory, that won't automatically prove every defense theory was correct either.

Trials don't produce perfect historical truth.

They produce verdicts based upon evidence presented under legal rules.

And that distinction matters.

Because at the end of the day, this isn't supposed to be a contest between Team Durk and Team Feds.

It isn't supposed to be a contest between drill fans and people who hate drill.

It isn't supposed to be a contest between Trap Lore Ross and his critics.

It isn't supposed to be a contest between internet commentators trying to get the best thumbnail.

It is supposed to be a determination of whether the government proved the charges.

And that brings us back to the principle that started this entire project:

Evidence is not automatically proof.

But when the evidence is independently corroborated, directly connected to the proposition being established, and strong enough to satisfy the required burden, then it can become proof.

That's the standard.

Apply it to the prosecution.

Apply it to the defense.

Apply it to the witnesses.

Apply it to the lyrics.

Apply it to the texts.

Apply it to the videos.

Apply it to me.

And if the evidence changes, change the conclusion.

Not Lil Durk at all costs.

Not the prosecution at all costs.

The evidence at all costs.

Sources & Further Reading

Court Documents & Primary Sources

U.S. Department of Justice — Lil Durk Federal Case / Superseding Indictment
https://www.justice.gov/usao-cdca/pr/chicago-rapper-lil-durk-charged-superseding-indictment-alleging-murder-hire-plot-kill

Fourth Superseding Indictment — United States v. Banks
https://www.courtlistener.com/

Federal Court Calendar / Case Information
https://apps.cacd.uscourts.gov/JpsApi/file/674177a8-5ef3-4d02-5872-08defc66ab8e

Trial Transcripts & Courtroom Coverage

The Akademy — Lil Durk Trial Transcripts and Court Documents
https://theakademy.blog/

Ceddy Nash — YouTube Channel and Trial Coverage
https://www.youtube.com/@CeddyNash

The Source — OTF Vonnie, OTF Jam and Flacka Trial Coverage
https://thesource.com/2026/08/25/otf-vonni-otf-jam-and-flacka-to-testify-against-lil-durk-in-murder-for-hire-trial/

The Source — Vonnie Trial Testimony
https://thesource.com/2026/09/01/lil-durk-trial-explosive-claims-about-the-quando-rondos-cousins-shooting/

Complex — Keith “Flacka” Jones Testimony
https://www.complex.com/music/a/jaelaniturnerwilliams/lil-durk-trial-keith-flacka-jones-testifies

Complex — OTF Jam Trial Testimony
https://www.complex.com/music/a/alex-ocho/otf-jam-feels-bad-testifying-no-respect-lil-durk-trial

XXL — Lil Durk Trial Evidence and Case Overview
https://www.xxlmag.com/lil-durk-trial-evidence/

Music, Lyrics & Public Statements

Lil Durk — “911” Lyrics
https://readdork.com/lyrics/lil-durk-911

Lil Durk — “911” Track Page
https://readdork.com/track/lil-durk-911

Lil Durk Lyrics — Dork Artist Archive
https://readdork.com/lyrics/artist/lil-durk

DJ Akademiks — The Akademiks Show / Interview Material
https://www.youtube.com/@AkademiksTV

Legal Background

Federal Rules of Evidence — Rule 106: Rule of Completeness
https://www.law.cornell.edu/rules/fre/rule_106

Federal Rules of Evidence — Rule 803: Exceptions to the Rule Against Hearsay
https://www.law.cornell.edu/rules/fre/rule_803

18 U.S.C. § 2261 — Interstate Domestic Violence and Stalking Offenses
https://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/text/18/2261

Background & Related Reading

Mind Treasury — “Beyond ‘Durk Is Cooked’: Lil Durk, King Von, Trap Lore Ross, Rap Lyrics, the Trial, and the Bigger Story Behind the Evidence”
https://mindtreasury.blogspot.com/2026/09/beyond-durk-is-cooked-lil-durk-king-von.html

911 Debunkers — “King Von, Trap Lore Ross, Drill Rap, and the Consequences of Connecting the Dots”
https://911debunkers.blogspot.com/2026/08/king-von-trap-lore-ross-drill-rap-and.html

911 Debunkers — “Debunking Trap Lore Ross’ Contention”
https://911debunkers.blogspot.com/2024/12/debunking-trap-lore-ross-contention.html

911 Debunkers — “Art or Evidence? The Complex Case of Lil Durk”
https://911debunkers.blogspot.com/2024/12/art-or-evidence-complex-case-of-lil.html

A Note About Sources

Court documents describe allegations and legal arguments. Trial transcripts preserve testimony but do not, by themselves, establish that every statement made under oath is true. News reports and courtroom reporters provide observations and summaries. Commentary channels provide interpretation. Music provides artistic expression and, in some cases, potentially relevant statements by the artist.

These sources therefore serve different purposes. None should automatically be treated as a substitute for the underlying evidence.