ESSENCE FESTIVAL OF CULTURE ISSUE
Intriguingly complex, seemingly with no desire to compete, one of R&B’s most humble giants says he’s simply “the best at being me.”
Lucky Daye and I have something in common. Some years back, the singer–songwriter, whose aversion to references to time rivals that of Mariah Carey, drove from Atlanta to Los Angeles in his Jeep with the same “I’m doing what I gotta do” attitude that led me to flee the Peach State and head west in my Grand Cherokee just two weeks prior to our interview. I had one of my best friends and a cargo area packed with meticulously chosen items with me. He made the roughly 32-hour drive solo with his belongings in his truck because he had nowhere else to go. Both of us spent that time on the road thinking about one thing: “How I'm going to get everybody back for trying to take away the gift God gave me.”
Though Daye is smirking as he says those words, there’s a calmness to his delivery that lets me know he’s not speaking in jest, even if his intentions weren’t quite as sinister as they sound. I’m trying to match the voice in front of me with the one I hear on his Billboard Hot 100 single “Over,” from his sophomore album Candydrip which was released in March, but the Libra in him already knows I won’t succeed. “I never looked like a singer until now,” he says before correcting himself. “It's not even that. It's just singers never look like me.”
Lucky Daye is headstrong in a way that many folks aspire to be. “I'm not the type of person to take stuff to other people for validation,” he says, noting that goes equally for his music as it does his personal problems. It’s why “Hell, no” is his immediate response when asked whether he could’ve been happy making a living as a songwriter versus a singer. “No way. I can never do that. Respect to people that can. It's just, I'm not that controllable,” says the man who has penned songs for Ella Mai and Mary J. Blige. “My heart doesn't allow me to be. I have to have my own lane.”
To that end, Daye’s not worried about what’s going on in the lanes beside him or how people perceive what he’s doing in his own.
“I'm the best at being me. That's what I know,” he says of his refusal to compete with fellow artists. “I don't know about being the best to anybody else.”
I never looked like a singer until now. It's not even that. It's just singers never look like me.”
I'm not that controllable. My heart doesn't allow me to be. I have to have my own lane.”
I’m not sure whether the defiance he is displaying is innate or a result of growing up in a religious cult where he was told what to believe and where access to mediums that could shape his thinking, including music, was restricted.
“I was the kid that always asked a million questions,” he says laughing. “I would be the dude always trying to figure out how do I not have to sing forever in heaven and still be cool with God? Because they would say, ‘Oh, we're going to be singing and praising in heaven forever.’ And I was like, ‘I don't want to do that. If that's heaven, bro, I ain't trying to go. I did that Sunday.’"
Rebellion and record labels often don’t mix well, especially when the artist’s goal is to beat execs at their own game. Soured by rejection and manipulation after signing multiple bad publishing deals, when he reached L.A., Daye began setting up meetings with labels for sport rather than trying to get signed.
“I got fed up with people telling me they don't like my songs,” he explains. “It got to the point where it was like, okay, I'm going to make some fire songs that they never heard, finish them, play them and when they ask for them, I'm going to say, ‘No.' And I'm going to keep doing it over and over until they talk bad about me and my name spreads and then people start calling me trying to get my songs.”
When that scenario played out in real life exactly as it did in his mind, Daye says, “I kept saying no. I try to say no as many times as they told me no. I still ain't there yet—almost—but I have a little way to go.”
During that quest for vengeance, one important yes was uttered to former RCA records’ executive vice president of A&R Tunji Balogun who cofounded the label Keep Cool to which Daye finally signed. Since releasing his first EP in November of 2018, the New Orleans native has received four Grammy nominations for his debut album Painted, one for his duet, “How Much Can a Heart Take” with Yebba, and a win for Best Progressive R&B Album earlier this year for his EP Table For Two.
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Throughout our interview, musings of “I didn’t care” become such commonplace responses to my inquiries that I was compelled to ask Daye, “What do you care about?” (His answer: “My fans. And people that care about me…genuinely.”) But even he had to succumb to the emotion of becoming a Grammy Award-winning artist last April.
“I couldn't turn it off,” he says of his feelings that day. “I couldn't turn off when I opened the floodgate, like, I'm actually here. And since I'm here, let me realize I'm here. Close my eyes. Open my eyes. This is happening.”
Taking a beat, the normally nonchalant-appearing entertainer adds, “That's who I am. I just said it in the car. I told myself, I'm not crazy. I'm an overload of emotion. That's what Lucky Daye is.”
Realizing we have something else in common, I more state than ask, “So you try to temper it?”
He responds with a quiet “Mm-hmm,” then proceeds to clarify. “Because when I'm happy, I'm really happy. And when I’m lit, I'm real lit. When I'm sad, I'm real sad. People say I'm dramatic. I guess I have a dramatic nature. I take things to the extreme. I don't like to just live in gray areas. I like to go right there. Home run. One kick. Not going to miss.”
I'm an overload of emotion. That's what Lucky Daye is.”
“
I'm not that controllable. My heart doesn't allow me to be. I have to have my own lane.”
“
I'm not that controllable. My heart doesn't allow me to be. I have to have my own.”.” lane..”
“
I wouldn't be selfish enough to think I'm doing any of this for myself. That's why I can be so confident about it.”
“
I'm an overload of emotion. That's what Lucky Daye is.”
“
His words land in the atmosphere like a self-fulfilling prophecy, much like his stage name, chosen after a book he read introduced him to the concept that luck happens when preparation and opportunity meet. It’s a notable distinction from the widespread belief that luck is simply good fortune that happens by chance.
“And that's why they think they can't have it, because they’re not going to do the work. But I work for my luck,” Daye explains.
He works for his happiness, too. I ask this year’s ESSENCE Festival of Culture headliner, who is fresh off the successful North American leg of his Candydrip tour and gearing up for the European portion, whether a statement he made in a 2019 that the only time he’s happy is when he’s onstage still stands. Today, he says, performing is when he’s “The happiest.”
“At that time, the only time I was happy was when I was onstage because I had never felt happiness before. Even the happiest moments of my life were taken. When I get onstage, I’m relaxed. I have somebody to throw all of this energy to and nobody's going to judge me.”
Daye is no longer the young man who has to worry about people turning away his songs. In fact, he’s more likely to suffer the fate of many musicians whose audience clamors for new music at every turn, though when it comes to his fans, he says assuredly, “They're eating, and we've got more stuff coming.”
As for his inability to control their hunger and, consequently, his own timeline for creating, Daye understands that’s the price for the gift he has been given. “I wouldn't be selfish enough to think I'm doing any of this for myself,” he says. “That's why I can be so confident about it.”
LUCKY DAYE
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