In a world drowning in AI-generated slop and algorithmic spoon-feeding, Madeline Rosene grabs the damn microphone and throws a human wrench into the machine with “Love and Algorhythms”. This is a wired, sharp-toothed reflection on the creepy-crawly feeling that a server farm might know the contours of your heart better than the person lying next to you. It’s a howl against the digital takeover of our guts.
Rosene, the LA-based artist already known for her no-holds-barred albums like Raised on Porn and Everyday Existential Crisis, operates like a surgeon. Here, with producer Patrick Windsor in the cockpit, she makes a track that’s a brilliant Frankenstein’s monster of sound: acoustic intimacy clashes with electric riffs, synths hum with unease, programmed drums pulse like a nervous heartbeat, and it all kicks off with an 8-bit intro that feels like a corrupted love letter from a forgotten video game.
The song’s core is a raw nerve, exploring algorithmic intimacy, emotional dislocation, and the bizarre jealousy toward a partner’s social feed. Rosene nails it herself: “It’s about the weird grief of being known by an algorithm.” That’s the rock bottom truth here. It’s satire with a bleeding heart, a track that mocks the absurdity while genuinely mourning the loss of something real.
But she doesn’t stop at the audio. In a giant middle finger to AI-generated content, Rosene teams up with her brother Jack Hubbell to create a hand-crafted claymation music video. It’s a slow, human, painstaking act of rebellion. The video, featuring a clay Rosene doomed to scroll, is being submitted to film festivals via FilmFreeway, turning the whole release into a multimedia manifesto. Art with human hands, fighting for human feelings.
“Love and Algorhythms” proves Madeline Rosene is dissecting the modern condition with a poet’s precision and a rocker’s boldness. In the war for attention, this song is a champion for the messy, glorious, analogue human heart.