The New Orleans singer’s lush, sultry soul-pop goes down almost too easy.
Lucky Daye takes a decidedly old-school approach to contemporary soul and R&B. The artist born David Brown cut his teeth as a songwriter for artists like Ella Mai and Mary J. Blige before releasing “Roll Some Mo,” a smoky breakout that foregrounded the New Orleans native’s weightless falsetto. Daye’s lush soul-pop and sultry lyrics about modern relationships don’t break new ground, but they don’t need to—his music is refreshingly crisp, built for breezy afternoons and sweltering late nights. Daye’s 2019 debut, Painted, netted him four Grammy nominations, placing him among the current class of artists (H.E.R., Anderson .Paak, Giveon) reinvigorating classic R&B for a new era.
Daye’s second LP, Candydrip, expands the scope of his laidback sound only slightly. As on Painted, the new record’s tasteful instrumentation is handled by powerhouse executive producer D’Mile, who furnishes the album with gently plucked acoustic guitar and cinematic strings alongside textural pitch-shifted vocals and rhythmic backbeats. They’re elegant and manicured backdrops for Daye’s musings on love, whether unabashedly horny on slow-burning standout “Deserve” or dissecting a toxic affair on the balmy, Musiq Soulchild-sampling “Over.” Daye’s fluttering voice makes even the most libidinous line sound like an impassioned plea for connection, giving the album’s best moments a sense of raw vulnerability.
Daye chooses collaborators who match his smooth temperament—on last year’s velvety Table for Two EP, he recruited a fleet of up-and-coming women in R&B (Ari Lennox, Joyce Wrice, Yebba) to complement him. Candydrip branches out toward rap and lo-fi soul; Daye vamps alongside Smino over tinkling keys on the forgettable “God Body,” but makes out better on the bossa nova-infused “NWA,” where he teams up with Lil Durk. When Daye links with experimental soul duo Chiiild for the deep cut “Compassion,” their falsettos dance around each other with a soothingly mellow rapport. “Sometimes I know I get dramatic, yeah/But it’s automatic,” Daye sings, a bleeding-heart admission that sounds altogether angelic.
Candydrip’s easygoing sensibility and glossy production are both a feature and a fault; the blandly lovesick lyrics and funky guitar strut of “Feels Like” wouldn’t be out of place in line at CVS. But Daye often finds a surprising sweet spot, like when he lifts a melody from the pre-chorus to Usher’s “U Don’t Have to Call” on early highlight “Guess,” stretching it out into a warbling undercurrent beneath one of his most indelible hooks. The homage to Usher is fitting—Daye is working in the same lineage, emphasizing the strength of his voice to create effortless soul-pop that goes down easy.
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