Photographer: Shervin Lainez

Dali Rose is an Atlanta native who grew up around music but didn’t truly pursue it until his teenage years. Now, he is pursuing it full steam ahead. With the release of his vulnerable EP, Heaven, which explores alcoholism, depression, and loneliness, his music is sure to resonate with listeners. Rose hopped on the phone to talk to NYOTA about his time at NYU, creating his visualizers, and his advice for aspiring musicians. 

Even though you grew up in a musical household that didn’t automatically mean you knew you’d end up pursuing music full time. As a teenager what clicked for you when it came to finding your passion for making music?

It was a gradual progression into it. I have always loved it, but it was independent of my family. When I was growing up, they weren’t pushing it at all. My mom didn’t want me to do it. My mom and dad are separated. I live with my mom, and my dad’s a musician. My mom was an incredible singer in her own right, but she never pursued it. She had a lot of bitterness and resentment towards the industry because of what it did to my dad’s life, and she didn’t want that life for me. So, she always pushed me to pursue something that was stable. So I was a straight-A student, I was a nerd, and I was studying. I’d do my homework on the bus ride home. That’s how I was, but I always loved music. I was disconnected from that side of my family for the most part, and then I found it over the years. I joined the choir, joined a little singing group, and joined an a cappella group. We traveled around the region, and then one of my boys started making music in my senior year of high school. I got on a couple of beats, and then COVID hit. I began making beats myself. They were trash, absolutely horrible, just dog water, but it was fun, and I had nothing else to do. I was broke. I was depressed. I just needed something to do, and then I started taking it seriously, studying it a bit more, and getting into the craft, and now I’m here. 

Tisch seems to be a hub of creativity and really gives its students the freedom and resources to explore their art. How did your time as a student there shape you as a musician?

The Clive Davis Institute at Tisch takes care of the students even after graduating. They kept my card for access during the last semester here because I graduated in December, so there was an awkward period between semesters. They were like, ‘You can still have access to come use the studios.’ So I can still come here and practice and do my thing without paying 20 an hour at some random place. So that’s really, really sweet of them. So I’m here a few times a week putting in my work. But just in terms of the overall program, one thing they did so well was giving people a space to be themselves, for better or for worse. There are a lot of kids here that might need a little bit more structure, but for me, I got my own type of structure just off of leaning on my OGs outside of school and having their feedback and having their training in my ear, so for me, the lack of structure was good to be able to do my own thing. They give you freedom and the resources to educate yourself, and it’s on you to empower yourself to reach a certain standard. It’s cool because if you have that spark inside of you and you have something unique you want to say, you have all the resources to do that. It’s not like [Clive] has produced Grammy winner after Grammy winner, but there’s solid ass musicians that came out of here. Really, really solid, and I guess I’m one of them now, and that’s really cool. If you look at the boards of certain labels, who produced a Grammy-winning album, who did the engineering on this album, who wrote on this album, etc., there are so many Clive alumni; it’s crazy.

Every artist is different and has their own writing process and I’d love to hear about yours. Are you someone who has writing sessions where you sit down and focus in or is your process more spontaneous where you only write when inspiration hits?

Yeah, I’m definitely a little more of the second, particularly on the toilet or in the shower or on a walk; I get something, and then I sing it out on my voice memo, I tap the beat on my knee, and then I sing, and that’s usually how my best songs happen. It just feels like it got dropped, like, ‘Here you go.’ I’ve certainly tried the: I’m going to sit down and give myself a time limit and block this time out of my day to write; that doesn’t really do much for me. It has to come from a more organic place than that if it’s really going to mean something. Sometimes, it just ain’t there; you’ve got to do something else; there are plenty of other things you can practice. You can work on your musicianship, study some of the songs, mix something, and write for somebody else, but writing your own song like that is a little forced; everybody has a different process. 

Your song “The Boy Tried to Fly” focuses on the struggle of a dreamer torn between ambition and self-doubt. Which is very relatable as a lot of people want to pursue their passions but fear often holds them back. Do you hope that message resonates with younger listeners? 

Interesting. I don’t know; people take away what they take away. Hopefully, it’s something good and positive. All I can say is what I’ve taken away from it. Those lyrics all came from trying to be very hopeful when things were very unstable, and I didn’t really know where the hell I was going, emotionally, spiritually, and with life goals and whatnot. So I was trying to stay hopeful, and literally, the boy tried. When I look back on my life, that’s kind of all I want people to be able to say about me. I really fucking tried. And I feel like there’s so much honor in that, whether you succeeded or didn’t succeed in whatever the goal is supposed to be, the goalpost is always moving, but did you try? Did you put in the effort? People always reward and appreciate that, and that’s probably where I get most of my pride from, knowing that I work hard. That might be corny to some people, but I don’t really give a damn. The underpinning of anything that’s ever worked is being willing to try.  

“The Boy Tried to Fly” has a unique visualizer. How involved are you in the creative process for your visualizers, your photos, etc., as an artist?

I had my boy shoot it, which wasn’t much of a shoot. I had just gotten this little VHS camera; it was like 200 bucks on eBay, and I shoot stuff on it for fun a couple of times a month. For any video I put out, I ask my boy to shoot it, and sometimes, my girlfriend shoots with me for fun. Each tape is 20 dollars, and then there’s two hours of space on it, so you have everything on there that’s been shot over the last two months; from there, I just splice it all together. There’s a lot of value in the big concept music videos, like the Doechii’s, the Kendrick’s, the Tyler’s, with people pushing the boundaries, but I don’t have the budget for that or the time. So for me, it’s like, ‘Okay, what’s the coolest thing I can make right now?’ Then I splice up all the footage in a way that actually matches up with the song, and it’s this cool little montage. It looks all grainy and weird, and you don’t really know how I shot it and what’s going on, but I think that’s cool. So yeah, that’s all me, save for my boy, bless his heart, who shot that with me in the Navy yards one day. If I ever get a little more money for the budget, I might make different decisions, but I honestly kind of like it. 

Talk a bit about your EP Heaven. Were you nervous to dive into such vulnerable territory on the record? 

I think the therapeutic process already happens when I write it. Honestly, I wrote all those songs months and months ago, and I’m in a better space. So, I’ve definitely moved on from that and am ready for it to be out for art purposes and career purposes so I can fully move on to other things. But in terms of the songs, I’m very excited that I was so vulnerable and had the strength to do that at that time. I’m very excited for people to hear and interact with that, and I’m glad I was able to put it down on a canvas and let it exist in time. Just be a moment, and people can interact with that however they want. They can be like, ‘Oh, this just sucks,’ ‘Oh, this is amazing.’ However they want to react to it, I welcome all of that because I interact with things every day, and I have the same reaction. And I cherish that. I’m like, ‘Damn, this is fucking trash, or ‘Man, that’s the dopest thing I’ve heard in a long time,’ and you get excited. I would love to give somebody those reactions, particularly for songs that I pushed myself on, sonically, production-wise, and lyrically. It’s really, really cool. And again, I welcome the positive and the negative. At least I made you move. You know what I’m saying?

During the time of working on your EP, who were some artists you looked to for inspiration?

I was listening to a lot of King Krule. I was listening to a lot of Nina. I was listening to an incredible, ridiculous amount of Sly, just absurd, all day, every day Sly Stone. And not the Sly Stone hits like “Dance to the Music.” I was listening to Riot Sly Stone, Small Talk Sly Stone, Fresh Sly Stone – that’s the Sly I was listening to. So that for sure, along with an absurd amount of Jimmy Hendrix, a lot of Earl Sweatshirt, and a lot of underground hip-hop. This girl named Jessica Pratt is incredible. Alice Phoebe Lou is kind of in that Jessica Pratt lane but is doing her own thing. Anything indie, almost Lo-fi, blues, rock, soul funk, that’s my world, and that’s where I was pulling from.

What advice do you have for aspiring musicians? 

We’re at a time in history where culture has been commodified and shrunken down to the most digestible, and that’s the product of hyper-capitalism, unfettered capitalism. And you see what’s happening with the government, I mean, it’s oligarchs taking over with a literal fucking coup. So now more than ever, people need to come from an organic, true place of having something to say. It doesn’t have to be some huge social, cultural, or political statement, but an honest reflection of what you are going through and what people around you are experiencing versus making decisions to make fucking money and get clout and clicks. From my perspective, that is what music has been for the last 20 or 30 years. Of course, there are incredible artists still around doing dope things, but for the most part, that’s where the industry is and has been, and it’s to the detriment of the culture. And again, culture is just the reflection of what’s going on politically and socially, and we see what’s happening; it’s all falling around us. So, to right the ship, some of the movement towards sunshine has to come from the people and the arts. So I’d implore people to do that: have something honest to say, a statement on what you’re really going through. That’s really all it is. And if you’re coming from that place, you’re doing yourself, your loved ones, and the world a favor. 

This story first ran in NYOTA’s Art is Life Issue. Read more from the issue here and purchase a print copy here