I have decided that, from now on, my own musical work will no longer be written or published under the conditions imposed by recommendation algorithms.

For years I have spoken publicly about artificial intelligence, culture, and music creation. I have taken part in debates, defended my position, and argued that technology should serve the artist, not the other way around. Now I want to apply that same principle to my own practice as a composer.

Recommendation algorithms no longer shape only what we listen to. They also end up shaping how we write: the length of a piece, the strength of its opening seconds, the need to retain attention before expressing something meaningful. They reward immediate response, fast retention, and constant turnover.

But not all music is meant to capture attention within three seconds. Some music needs time, return, repetition, and presence. It is not consumed; it is discovered, slowly. My music belongs to that second space.

I do not want to write music designed for the endless scroll, nor to compete in an attention economy that too often turns listening into an automatic, passive, anonymous act. Nor do I want the opaque logic of recommendation algorithms to decide how, when, and before whom a work appears when that work calls for a different kind of relationship.

That is why I am beginning another way of living music.

From now on, my original musical work will be published exclusively for my patrons on Aixeta.cat. I do not see Aixeta as a streaming platform behind a paywall, but as a space for direct connection between the work, the artist, and the listener.

I will continue to be present on social media as a speaker, creative technologist, and public voice in the conversation around culture, artificial intelligence, and creativity. I will continue writing for the performing arts, with their wonderful ephemeral nature. But my authorial music, the most personal and committed part of my work as a composer, will have a different home: without haste, without noise, and without the constant mediation of algorithms designed to retain attention rather than encourage listening.

On Aixeta we already have a space, built around direct relationships, sustained by support for my work and my artistic vision. From now on, that trust will also find a natural and ongoing musical counterpart. We will be able to talk, listen to one another, and build a living community.  For this music, five people who truly listen matter more than one hundred thousand anonymous streams. 

This is not a slogan.

It is an artistic decision.

The first step of this new cycle is Symphony of Little Infinities, a work in twelve pieces and four movements, released one piece every month over the course of a year.

The symphony emerges from an experiment. It takes shape from the emotional and imaginative material that people chose to share in response to a series of abstract forms created with artificial intelligence.

The forms are not the subject of the work.

They are the medium.

What interests me is not what they depicted, but what they awakened in those who looked at them: images, intuitions, memories, fears, desires, associations, questions.

Normally, a work of art is born from the artist's inner world and only afterwards reaches its audience, who receive it, interpret it, and complete it. Here I wanted to partially reverse that process: the audience offers an invisible emotional and imaginative raw material; I listen to it, filter it, reinterpret it, and transform it into music.

This decision is connected to an idea I have defended for some time, and developed in my articles published in Sonograma Magazine: art is not a fixed property of an object but a field of resonance. Art does not exist simply because someone has created a work. It comes into being when others enter into relationship with it. In this symphony, that resonance appears not only at the end, in listening, but also at the beginning, before the music itself is born.

Every person is a little infinity.

And this symphony is born from those shared infinities.

The first piece, Llindar (Threshold), has been released today, on the summer solstice: the moment when daylight reaches its maximum before it slowly begins to recede. A silent moment of change. A place of passage. A threshold.

The work will continue to unfold over twelve months, one piece at a time. I want every fragment to have its own time, its own space, and its own listening.

This is not a retreat.

It is a foundation.

The foundation of another way of publishing, accompanying, and listening to music. A slower, more direct, more connected way. A way in which the audience is present from the very beginning, contributing creative material before the music even exists.

If one of those abstract forms spoke to you; if you are looking to discover music rather than simply consume it; if you share the intuition that there might be another way to listen and another way to live music, the door to my space on Aixeta is open.

Pere Pèries
Summer Solstice, 2026