Ugh. I feel sick to my stomach. And no, this time it’s not because I ate the cheese’n’sausage dip that sat in the refrigerator for two days when the power went out.

I’ve known about auto-tune, or pitch correction, for a few years now. I have a friend who is a respected blues artist (and a verified Kentucky colonel to boot) who used to preach to me about the evils of it. The skeleton in the closet, the elephant in the room. I just choose to ignore it.

This morning I ran across an interview with Neko Case, a solo artist and singer for a little band called The New Pornographers. The interview with her brought this secret back to the forefront of my brain (fueled by the coffee), and now I can’t stop being irked about it.

For those that haven’t met the man behind the curtain, auto-tune (or pitch-correction as it’s sometimes referred to) is a feature in recorded and live music where a piece of hardware or software is used to automagically adjust the “correctness” of notes being sung. And what’s worse is that (reportedly) damn near every artist today uses it. And you just thought they were good singers.

As someone who spends more time with his headphones than with his wife (not by choice, mind you), I humbly think I have a large amount of music listening under my belt. About 10 hours a day for 5 days a week, minimum, if you’re counting. That being said, you cannot help but develop an emotional bond with the performers that are pouring out their souls through their music. It’s natural and it’s comfortable. My music catalog and it’s performers are friends…but in a non-creepy, non-stalkerish kinda way.

But to be reminded that what I hear is an altered product of what came out of their mouths makes me, well, feel a tad betrayed.

No, I’m not the type of person that get’s all indie-self-righteous about it (which perhaps Neko Case is). What burns me about the entire thing is just how complacent and almost demanding the American public has become about auto-tune. I’ve heard the arguments that people pay big for ticket prices for performers and they don’t want to be disappointed by a poor vocal showing. I’ve heard that pop music is supposed to be shiny and well-produced and that we dissenters should just get over it. I’m not rejecting technology. I think auto-tune can be used to correct a sparse number of off notes that would otherwise require laborious amounts of re-recording. But the gross misuse of the technology is nauseating. In a time where we anoint our entertainers with crowns of roses and reward them with unconceivable amounts of money, shouldn’t we at least expect a good product in return? Instead, the public is content with a fit body and a pretty (altered) face that can move their mouth.

I read an interview with Robbie Williams, the celebrated and much loved English performer, who admitted to using auto-tune to make him sound better in the studio. Defensively, Mr. Williams then made the analogy (that apparently must circulate around the music world as I’ve heard it before) that using auto-tune is no worse than using spell-check. “Does that mean that you can’t spell?” No, Robbie. Sorry. While Word may correct what my fingers slip up on, the difference is that I don’t get paid millions of dollars to spell. You however get millions of dollars to sing, and you’re not even doing that well. And don’t give me the “I’m more than that, I’m an entertainer” crap either.

I design. I use technology to design. You could even loosely say that I’m peer-pressured into using a computer to do my job (another argument for ‘artists’ using auto-tune). But I don’t just move my mouse back and forth and let an algorithm place things in the right spot, pick colors or decide what information needs to go where for the most usable effect. Merely opening your mouth, vibrating your vocal cords and having a computer do the rest (including automatically adding harmony) is much, much different.

As my design professor once said, “the music is not in the piano.” Just because you use a tool doesn’t mean it does the work for you. If these artists are playing their own instruments, writing their own lyrics and melodies, then I have less beef with them than the rest. But solo performers like Cher, Madonna, even the great Mariah Carey—what else are you being paid for?

I want to feel the music I listen to. I want to shake my head to Nina Simone’s wrong B flat note. I want to hear Michael Stipe’s voice crack because he’s straining to hit that with all his soul. Hearing James Brown go hoarse makes me smile because the man was collapsed while singing! What I don’t want is a radioscape full of models that have the telltale metallic perfection dripping from their lips. I don’t want a watered-down cultural soundscape. You don’t deserve the people’s hard-earned money. And you certainly don’t deserve any sense of accomplishment, satisfaction or pride in the “work” that you do.

If you can’t hack it without your vocal crutches, get out. But if you’ve got the guts to sing raw and unedited and the fans like it for who you are, then you are worthy of being called an artist. Otherwise, your business card should simply read “Ventriloquist.”