Is it ethical to use AI to resurrect deceased celebs?

On January 17th, the world received a gift from beyond the grave.

Balloonerism is not Mac Miller's first, but second posthumous album.

For fans, it’s an emotional moment—another chance to connect with an artist whose presence was tragically cut short.

But it also raises questions that feel more pressing than ever:

At what point does reviving a deceased artist’s work cross an ethical line?

And in a world where AI is increasingly used to resurrect voices and faces from the past, are we heading into a future where death no longer means the end of a career?

“When I’m gone, please don’t release any posthumous albums or songs with my name attached. Those were just demos and never intended to be heard by the public.”

This is what Anderson Paak has tattooed on his arm, like an artist’s version of “do not resuscitate.”

I’ve heard people call this overdramatic, diva behaviour.

However, I’d have to disagree.

After living through the release of Pop Smoke and XXXtentacion’s posthumous releases, not to mention the works of icons like Notorious B.I.G (just 16 days after his murder, mind you), Michael Jackson and Tupac – I understand the sentiment inked into Anderson Paak's skin.

And it goes beyond albums, too.

Apparently, listening past the grave isn’t enough. We have to actually watch these late icons perform.

Think Tupac’s hologram at Coachella, Michael Jackson’s unsettling Billboard Awards performance, and AI-generated advertisements featuring Audrey Hepburn and James Dean.

Even Marilyn Monroe’s voice has been digitally reconstructed for projects.

What was once the stuff of sci-fi is now a marketing tool. Brands, studios, and record labels are bringing back icons because, well, they still sell.

But just because we can, does it mean we should?

When an artist leaves behind unfinished work, there’s always the debate about what they would have wanted.

Mac Miller’s Circles, his first posthumous release, felt carefully considered. It was helmed by producer Jon Brion, who worked closely with Miller before his death.

But as AI becomes more sophisticated, the line between honouring an artist’s legacy and outright puppeteering it gets, well, damn blurry.

There’s a major difference between releasing unfinished work with the blessing of an artist’s estate and using AI to generate something they never approved.

Would Amy Winehouse have wanted new songs crafted from vocal deepfakes? Should producers replicate Robin Williams’ voice for a new Aladdin movie?

These are no longer hypothetical questions. But they also aren't ones we can answer easily.

So we have to ask instead, does this actually work for brands, or is it just plain creepy?

For every digital resurrection that captivates audiences (like Tupac’s Coachella moment), there’s another that sparks backlash.

AI-generated ads featuring dead celebrities often feel deeply unsettling, even dystopian. The reaction to AI Marilyn Monroe narrating a commercial wasn’t nostalgia—it was discomfort.

There’s also the risk of diluting an icon’s legacy. If James Dean “stars” in a new movie, does he remain the Hollywood legend we remember, or does he become a gimmick?

When does reverence turn into exploitation?

So, where’s the line?

Technology isn’t slowing down. And, frustratingly, neither is the demand for nostalgia-fuelled content.

But as AI advances, we need to ask: Who gets to decide when it’s appropriate to bring back a deceased artist?

Their families? Their estates? The highest bidder?

Perhaps the most telling reaction to posthumous releases is our own discomfort. There’s something deeply human about wanting to preserve an artist’s work exactly as they left it.

Because maybe, just maybe, some legacies are better left untouched.

-Sophie, Writer