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| Yeah, sometimes I show the artist... |
“I consider myself an old soul, a forever soul, an infinite soul, a soul that ain’t ever gonna die. I feed my soul to love, man. It can’t die.”
If you weigh what Lucky Daye has accomplished against what he's gone through, chalking it up to something bigger makes as much sense as anything.
Born in New Orleans 35 years ago as David Debrandon Brown, he was raised in a religious setting that flirted with sociopathy. Described as a “cult” across multiple outlets - I’d call Fader’s 2019 article the most eloquent on details, Vice’s interview the most thorough - his parents and some of his extended family joined before he was born and followed its strict rules of discipline (e.g., beatings for not eating everything off your plate; “"I just know there was a room that I hated that they put us in.”) and as complete a separation from “secular” society as one can manage in 21st century America. That Daye asked Vice not to identify the now-defunct church adds another layer, as did credible, "no-contest" reports of sexual abuse.
Both his parents had left the "church" by the time Daye was eight, but the experience still separated him from the "normal" around him. He navigated all that as well as he could, and the quality of voice helped; he was charming girls with it for pocket money by 9th grade. His father left when he was young, leaving his mother to raise his siblings and him - something that became harder still after Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans in 2005. Something to note: he tried out for American Idol that same year, singing as David Brown. He wowed all four judges (even that prick Gene Simmons) and went to Hollywood.
Daye’s family moved after Katrina but the search for that religious/spiritual something kept his mother on the same path, if a healthier version of it(?). Feeling increasingly at odds with that upbringing, Daye checked out that life - and with finality and feeling:
“Lucky believed his life’s path wasn’t in singing toward the pews, and he declared as much during a Sunday service. ‘The Devil said, “God told me that this is not my path and he has a bigger purpose for me,” he told the attendees. “I’m not supposed to be here singing.’”
From that day forward, he started playing catch-up, listening to Prince, Rick James, Lauryn Hill and Stevie Wonder; as noted in that Vice write-up, he still listens in snippets, picking out what he needs here and there. First making his way to Atlanta - where he met then/current producer Dernst “D’Mile” Emile II - then to Los Angeles, he toiled through another education (graduate school?), the music industry. Once he found his way in, Daye piled on a considerable body of writing credits starting with Keith Sweat (on 2008’s Just Me) and Ne-Yo. Boyz II Men came next (“Believe Us”) followed by songs for Keke Palmer, Ella Mai (who he might have opened for in 2019), Trey Songz (“Song Goes Off”), then, what feels like a capper, but only because I know her, two songs on Mary J. Blige’s Strength of a Woman album. He's still going in 2020, writing "Better" for ZAYN (yeah, that Zayn...he's big in my house...).
While in LA, he reconnected with D’Mile and started working out material of his own. They released material that became Painted in two parts first (I think) as EP I and II, with “Roll Some Mo” dropping before as the first single. Painted was well-received when it came out, critically if nothing else; Daye picked up four Grammy nominations for it, including best new R&B album. If Wikipedia is to be believed, he got a trip to New Zealand out of it when he opened for Khalid.
Daye’s family stopped talking to him after he dropped that bomb in church, but they're talking again, tentatively, but at least one report. Things looked brighter for him generally as 2019 turned to 2020…which means, of course, God knows what they look like for him now. For people wanting to see him perform, if in a small room, he did a fine turn for NPR’s Tiny Desk series; he brings a full band to back him and, if nothing else, it’s cool to see them integrate all the little sounds that become a song in real time (and it’s a damned fine set besides). At that time, or maybe a little before, he was still somewhere in a place where “here” didn’t feel like the “there” he was getting to. Vice’s piece opened with a nice vignette on that:
“[Daye] seems a bit nervous, at one point revealing he didn't believe his team when they told him about the line winding around the coffee shop. During the performance, he blushes, seemingly disoriented by the fact that the room knows his songs word for word.”
He's probably closer than he thinks, or you like to think so. If your damn heart works…
About the Sampler
Yeah, yeah, he’s only got the one album - now deluxe - but I still built a sampler because I like the Ty Dolla$ign version of “Roll Some Mo.” As for the rest, Daye was another artist I dropped into one of those messy grab-bag posts earlier this year and, between what I did and Spotify’s clumsy algorithm, a couple of his songs slipped into heavy rotation since then - e.g., “Real Games” and “Late Night.” I like the rest of the songs on painted more or less, but it all files the same way for me - no bullshit R&B: simple, solid structure, minimal dicking around with effects, great vocal phrasing by Daye. DJ Booth wrote this good description on the latter:
“…his vocals have a ‘rap-talk’ cadence that elevates him beyond the basic moniker of R&B singer. And, yes, he does sound like Frank Ocean.”
I think Daye’s stuff has more “bump” and more often, but it’s a sound comparison. I got a little more interested in a couple more tracks the second time around - “Karma” and “Try Your Fire” stand out - but something I read…somewhere mentioned that the final tracks on Painted come from a more personal place for him. Those include: “Misunderstood,” “Floods” (nice explaineron the lyrics there), “Call” (pretty guitar on that one), “Try Your Fire” and “Love You Too Much.”
If you weigh what Lucky Daye has accomplished against what he's gone through, chalking it up to something bigger makes as much sense as anything.
Born in New Orleans 35 years ago as David Debrandon Brown, he was raised in a religious setting that flirted with sociopathy. Described as a “cult” across multiple outlets - I’d call Fader’s 2019 article the most eloquent on details, Vice’s interview the most thorough - his parents and some of his extended family joined before he was born and followed its strict rules of discipline (e.g., beatings for not eating everything off your plate; “"I just know there was a room that I hated that they put us in.”) and as complete a separation from “secular” society as one can manage in 21st century America. That Daye asked Vice not to identify the now-defunct church adds another layer, as did credible, "no-contest" reports of sexual abuse.
Both his parents had left the "church" by the time Daye was eight, but the experience still separated him from the "normal" around him. He navigated all that as well as he could, and the quality of voice helped; he was charming girls with it for pocket money by 9th grade. His father left when he was young, leaving his mother to raise his siblings and him - something that became harder still after Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans in 2005. Something to note: he tried out for American Idol that same year, singing as David Brown. He wowed all four judges (even that prick Gene Simmons) and went to Hollywood.
Daye’s family moved after Katrina but the search for that religious/spiritual something kept his mother on the same path, if a healthier version of it(?). Feeling increasingly at odds with that upbringing, Daye checked out that life - and with finality and feeling:
“Lucky believed his life’s path wasn’t in singing toward the pews, and he declared as much during a Sunday service. ‘The Devil said, “God told me that this is not my path and he has a bigger purpose for me,” he told the attendees. “I’m not supposed to be here singing.’”
From that day forward, he started playing catch-up, listening to Prince, Rick James, Lauryn Hill and Stevie Wonder; as noted in that Vice write-up, he still listens in snippets, picking out what he needs here and there. First making his way to Atlanta - where he met then/current producer Dernst “D’Mile” Emile II - then to Los Angeles, he toiled through another education (graduate school?), the music industry. Once he found his way in, Daye piled on a considerable body of writing credits starting with Keith Sweat (on 2008’s Just Me) and Ne-Yo. Boyz II Men came next (“Believe Us”) followed by songs for Keke Palmer, Ella Mai (who he might have opened for in 2019), Trey Songz (“Song Goes Off”), then, what feels like a capper, but only because I know her, two songs on Mary J. Blige’s Strength of a Woman album. He's still going in 2020, writing "Better" for ZAYN (yeah, that Zayn...he's big in my house...).
While in LA, he reconnected with D’Mile and started working out material of his own. They released material that became Painted in two parts first (I think) as EP I and II, with “Roll Some Mo” dropping before as the first single. Painted was well-received when it came out, critically if nothing else; Daye picked up four Grammy nominations for it, including best new R&B album. If Wikipedia is to be believed, he got a trip to New Zealand out of it when he opened for Khalid.
Daye’s family stopped talking to him after he dropped that bomb in church, but they're talking again, tentatively, but at least one report. Things looked brighter for him generally as 2019 turned to 2020…which means, of course, God knows what they look like for him now. For people wanting to see him perform, if in a small room, he did a fine turn for NPR’s Tiny Desk series; he brings a full band to back him and, if nothing else, it’s cool to see them integrate all the little sounds that become a song in real time (and it’s a damned fine set besides). At that time, or maybe a little before, he was still somewhere in a place where “here” didn’t feel like the “there” he was getting to. Vice’s piece opened with a nice vignette on that:
“[Daye] seems a bit nervous, at one point revealing he didn't believe his team when they told him about the line winding around the coffee shop. During the performance, he blushes, seemingly disoriented by the fact that the room knows his songs word for word.”
He's probably closer than he thinks, or you like to think so. If your damn heart works…
About the Sampler
Yeah, yeah, he’s only got the one album - now deluxe - but I still built a sampler because I like the Ty Dolla$ign version of “Roll Some Mo.” As for the rest, Daye was another artist I dropped into one of those messy grab-bag posts earlier this year and, between what I did and Spotify’s clumsy algorithm, a couple of his songs slipped into heavy rotation since then - e.g., “Real Games” and “Late Night.” I like the rest of the songs on painted more or less, but it all files the same way for me - no bullshit R&B: simple, solid structure, minimal dicking around with effects, great vocal phrasing by Daye. DJ Booth wrote this good description on the latter:
“…his vocals have a ‘rap-talk’ cadence that elevates him beyond the basic moniker of R&B singer. And, yes, he does sound like Frank Ocean.”
I think Daye’s stuff has more “bump” and more often, but it’s a sound comparison. I got a little more interested in a couple more tracks the second time around - “Karma” and “Try Your Fire” stand out - but something I read…somewhere mentioned that the final tracks on Painted come from a more personal place for him. Those include: “Misunderstood,” “Floods” (nice explaineron the lyrics there), “Call” (pretty guitar on that one), “Try Your Fire” and “Love You Too Much.”
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