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Mahalia Barnes
July 6, 2026 — 5:00am
When my husband and I wrote a song, Little Light, for our firstborn, Ruby, I poured my heart into it. The lyrics, our words of advice to carry her through life – for those days we aren’t there to hold her hand or fix everything. In the studio, my band members played it like they too were playing for their own loved ones.
That record is a snapshot of that moment in time.
Every single time we perform that song live, we carry that intention and feeling with us – but the effect is different at every show because we are different and we are able to respond and be connected, move with the emotions in the moment and the state of the world.
We are able to carry today’s hopes and dreams or today’s losses alongside all the history of time and deliver a performance for now in the most essential and pure way.
Some days it still takes me by surprise and emotion takes over. Last year at a gig, a woman came up to me right before the show and asked if I would sing Little Light for her son who had tragically passed away. In a crowd of thousands, I looked out as the song began, and saw her face immediately. I was done. I sobbed throughout – but I tried to give all of me for her and for all of the audience, for Ruby my firstborn and for her son, gone too soon. It was devastating and real and raw and healing.
That is the power of human connection and art. That is the power of music.
That is what AI cannot replace.
Our songs, lyrics, music, melodies, our stories, our production, our voices … these things are not just our job, they are quite literally parts of us – they are our identity. Our souls, our hearts, our lives, our hopes and fears, our dreams, our years of practice and training, our journeys, our personality, our mistakes, our passion.
When I say music is my identity, it is also my family’s legacy. In my extended family there are 24 members across three generations actively working in the arts. My father’s life since the age of 16 has been committed to the Australian people and creative landscape through his music, his voice, books, films, concerts and his presence in our media. I have been active in the music industry since the age of eight, and that legacy is now being carried on with my daughter writing and releasing her own music.
My voice and my songs contain all of me. I am not just data. Art cannot be minimised to data. It must be treasured and protected.
The federal government is reportedly considering a cabinet proposal to weaken the Copyright Act. This would allow AI companies to take copyrighted works without asking the artist, writer, musician, filmmaker, journalist, performer, broadcaster, publisher or rights holder first.
Watering down or changing the existing copyright laws means artists will lose their livelihood. They will lose their voice, their legal rights, their income. And they already have lost some of their IP with no consent or consideration. Our art has already been stolen in the name of training data.
Our elected representatives cannot allow tech companies to take our art, our IP, without our individual approval. Consent, clear communication, and honesty around the scope and realities of what and how our data is being used is not negotiable.
Can you imagine if I could legally use your likeness and make money from it, doing whatever I like without your permission? That is what is at stake here. It’s not just business. It’s personal.
This message needs to be heard loud and clear – we do not give automatic consent to use our art. Some artists can and will choose to work with AI and may be happy to license their work, and those deals are already being struck around the world and here. It is possible and it must be treated on a case-by-case basis – not a blanket ruling.
AI cannot handle my songs with the care, love and respect I create them with. Why should AI and big tech make money from my life’s work, without my permission?
Mahalia Barnes is a singer-songwriter, artist and artist manager.
