What Happens When Music Therapists Talk About AI
The conversation didn’t unfold as a debate so much as an eruption.
Within minutes, a single question posted online - about whether artificial intelligence might have a role in songwriting within music therapy - triggered a cascade of responses that moved quickly from curiosity to resistance, from thoughtful ethical concern to outright refusal. “Absolutely not.” “Unethical.” “Dangerous.” “Unnecessary.” Some responses read like protective reflexes; others like warnings issued from lived professional experience.
Anyone who has spent time inside music therapy communities online would recognize the pattern immediately. The discussion wasn’t only about technology. It was about identity.
Beneath arguments about environmental impact, confidentiality risks, cognitive decline, or economic exploitation lay something more fundamental: a deep desire to protect what many clinicians understand as the core of the profession - human creativity, relational process, and the belief that healing emerges through authentic musical interaction rather than automated production.
These reactions are not surprising. Music therapy exists at a unique intersection of artistry and care, where the process of creating together often holds more therapeutic value than the product itself. To introduce artificial intelligence into that space can feel, for some, like an existential threat - not simply a new tool, but a challenge to the very premise of why music therapy exists.
Yet what struck me most while reading through these exchanges was not the intensity of opposition alone, but the absence of a shared framework for conversation.
The dialogue moved quickly into polarized territory, where positions hardened before exploration could fully begin. Questions about ethics, environmental justice, economic sustainability, and professional autonomy surfaced all at once, creating a sense of urgency without a clear place to hold nuance.
And still, between the strong declarations and categorical refusals, quieter voices appeared - suggesting cautious experimentation, practical uses, or middle-ground approaches that preserved therapeutic integrity while acknowledging technological change.
These perspectives rarely dominated the conversation, but they revealed something important: the profession is not monolithic in its response. It is searching.
What happens when a field built on relational attunement encounters a technology that challenges assumptions about creativity itself? What fears are being voiced directly - and which ones remain unspoken beneath the surface? And perhaps most importantly, what does it mean to engage these conversations in a way that moves beyond reaction into reflection?
