1. How would you describe your sound or artistic style to someone hearing you for the first time?
I usually tell people: don’t come in looking for a lane. My sound isn’t one thing, and that’s not an accident. On any given day, I might be in a studio working on something soulful and R&B-driven, then turn around and write something rooted in worship, then step into a spoken word space. What ties it together isn’t genre — it’s intention. I write music that tries to meet people where they actually are. Not where we think they should be. Not where it’s convenient. Where they are. The production is always polished, the vocals are layered with care, and the writing is specific enough to feel personal even when it isn’t your story. That’s the thread. If you’re coming to me expecting one sound, you’ll probably be surprised. And I think that’s okay.
2. When did you first realize you wanted to pursue music seriously?
I’m not sure there was one moment. Music was never separate from life — it was just always there. I started singing in choir around five or six, and by seven I was playing saxophone. I grew up competing in all-city and statewide band competitions in high school, singing in invite-only selective choirs. My father performed with Kool & The Gang. My aunt was a member of The Monitors on Motown Records. My grandmother was a published poet. So in a lot of ways, the question was never really if — it was more about when. Even when I went on a full scholarship to study Chemical Engineering, music was still finding me. The discipline of that program actually made me a better writer, strangely enough. The focus it required carried over. After I moved to Nashville for engineering, the pull of the music community here was too strong to ignore. And at some point, I decided to lean all the way in and start building.
3. Who or what are your biggest influences, both musically and outside of music?
Musically, I grew up in a household where R&B, gospel, classical and everything in between weren’t separate categories — they were just what was playing. My mother would put on classical music because it was nostalgic for her; her grandmother was a classically trained pianist. So the range was always present, always normal. The artists I gravitate toward are ones who know how to make you feel something specific, not just something general. Outside of music, my biggest influences are the people I come from. My grandmother’s way with language as a published poet showed me early that words have weight, that the right phrase in the right order can stay with someone for decades. My family’s history in music gave me a reference point for what it looks like to take artistry seriously as a craft, not just a passion. And my faith has shaped how I think about purpose in the work. What is this song for? Who does it serve? Those aren’t industry questions. They’re personal ones.
4. How does your personal life or background shape your creative process?
Almost everything I’ve lived informs what I write. The Chemical Engineering background is real, and it shows up in how I approach a song: structurally, systematically. I don’t just wait for inspiration to arrive. I work toward it, build toward it, and then I let creativity take over once the framework is in place. Growing up in ministry, being a preacher’s kid, watching faith show up across five generations of my family’s story — that shapes the way I think about why music matters. It’s not just entertainment. It’s service. And Nashville specifically has given me a community of collaborators who push me. I’ve been in rooms with people doing serious work, and that raises the standard for what I’m willing to put out.
5. Can you walk us through your creative process from idea to finished project?
A song idea can come from anything: a feeling, a truth I keep circling back to, a concept that won’t leave me alone. From there, I typically start with the melody that best serves that idea. As the writer and creative director on my projects, I want to bring something of substance to the producers and vocal collaborators I work with. I try to give as clear a picture as I can, even if it’s just the vibe or the emotional core of the track, so the sonic identity actually fits what the song needs to say. The back-and-forth in that process matters. And then when it comes to the vocal performance, if it’s my project, I want to make sure it lands the way the song deserves. Lastly, every person who touches a project gets acknowledged. That’s not a formality. That’s accountability.
6. What has been the biggest challenge you’ve faced so far as an emerging artist?
Being multi-genre in a world that wants to sort you quickly. The industry, and sometimes the audience, is more comfortable when you fit a clear category. And for a long time, I think I let that pressure shape how I presented myself, leaning into one lane more than others just because it felt like the safer read. What I’ve had to work through is trusting that the breadth is the point. That the range isn’t a liability. It’s the most honest thing about what I do. The challenge isn’t really external. It’s internal. Deciding, every day, to resist the pressure to shrink the work down to something more digestible.
7. What moment in your journey made you feel like this could really become something big?
There have been a few. But the ones that stay with me aren’t the big-stage moments. It’s the quieter ones. Someone telling me they put a song on during their hard days, when they just needed to be reminded that it won’t always be like this. A little kid singing one of my songs back to me when they recognized me. Those regular moments that most people wouldn’t think to count. Nobody’s writing think-pieces about them. But something in me recognized them immediately as the reason. That’s different from applause. Applause tells you that you performed well. When someone tells you a song met them in a place they didn’t even know they needed to be met, that’s when you understand what this is actually for.
8. How do you balance staying authentic while also thinking about growth and visibility?
I think about it less as a balance and more as a filter. I want all of me to be able to step into a room. And the only way to do that is to be authentic. People feel what’s real. When you’re not actually being yourself, they feel it too, even if they can’t name it. Something reads as off. So when I’m making decisions about what to release, how to present it, who to work with, I keep coming back to the same question: does this actually reflect who I am and what the music is trying to do? If yes, it probably serves both goals at once. If not, whatever visibility it might bring isn’t worth what it costs. I’ve watched artists build audiences on versions of themselves they can’t sustain. I’d rather grow slower and build something that holds.
9. What themes or emotions do you find yourself returning to in your work?
Confidence. Not the performed kind, the kind you have to discover. There’s something I keep writing around: the space between where someone is and where they know they’re supposed to be, and what it actually takes to close that gap. That shows up differently depending on the genre. In an R&B song it might sound like ownership and self-assurance. In a worship song it might sound like surrender and trust. In spoken word it might sound like grief or reckoning. But the root question is usually the same: what does it take to step fully into who you are?
10. What sets you apart from other artists coming up right now?
There are so many ways people are being creative and giving excellence to their music right now. What I bring is a different kind of precision. The engineering background isn’t just a talking point; it literally shapes how I think about song construction, about building systems that can sustain a music career, about what a song needs to accomplish. And I pair that with a genuine heart toward service: the song isn’t about me, it’s about what it does for the person receiving it. But here’s what might surprise people: when I step inside the studio, I try to shed all of that. The engineering, the songwriting background, the worship leading, the analytical mind — I try to set it down and show up as my most vulnerable self. To let the sound that’s in me bleed onto the song, so the emotion is felt, not just how technically capable my voice is. The craft gets you in the room. The vulnerability is what makes the song stay.
11. Is there a song, project, or piece of work that feels especially personal to you? Why?
“Give It To Em” is personal in a specific way. It’s an R&B record, confident in tone, but what it’s really about is the moment you stop waiting for permission to take up space. I’ve spent time in this industry being careful, being measured, wondering how much of myself was appropriate to bring into a given room. This song is the answer to all of that: give it to em. All of it. The range, the depth, the complexity, the confidence. Every part of it. It took real work to get to a place where that felt true rather than just declared, and I think people can hear the difference. So for anyone who feels like “Give It To Em” is their anthem… me too. Me too.
12. What have you learned about yourself since starting to share your work publicly?
That I’m more comfortable with the work than I am with the visibility. Making music is private, even when it’s meant to be shared. The moment it goes out into the world, it starts having conversations you’re not in the room for. Learning to let that happen without needing to correct every interpretation has been the real education. I’ve also learned to balance instincts with timing. Early on I second-guessed a lot of creative decisions. The more I’ve worked, the more I’ve learned that the instinct is usually right, but knowing when and how to execute it is its own skill. You can have the right idea and force it down the wrong path and it won’t look like a right idea anymore. It’ll just look like a mistake. So now the work is learning to trust the instinct while also giving it room to find its proper moment.
13. If you could collaborate with any artist right now, who would it be and why?
It genuinely depends on the track. I’m a music nerd, and I listen across everything: Jazmine Sullivan, Jonathan McReynolds, KB, Kirby… there are artists in every space I’m working in who I’d love to be in a room with. Picking one is like walking into a candy shop and being told you can only leave with one piece. I don’t think I can do it.
14. What can listeners or viewers expect from your upcoming releases?
More range. More specificity. I’ve been intentional about building a catalog that doesn’t sound like one thing, not because I’m trying to prove something, but because that’s honestly what’s in me. What’s coming reflects all of it: the R&B, the depth, the production, the craft. What you can expect is music that’s been made with real attention to sound, to feeling, to what it actually does for the person listening. That’s the standard I hold. It hasn’t changed.