Dave Tony Perspective on Monotony

I don’t think it was one single moment—it was more like a slow, undeniable pull. But if I had to name a turning point, it was when I realized my survival depended on expression.

Growing up as a Jehovah’s Witness, I was constantly taught to suppress parts of myself—my questions, my identity, my creativity. I was told to stay in line, not stand out, and definitely not sing too loud. But I remember being a kid, standing in front of the mirror, singing songs I wasn’t even supposed to know, and thinking, this is who I really am. That little boy in the mirror knew he was born to perform—even if the world around him wasn’t ready for it.

Later, when I started doing background vocals and sharing stages with artists like Patti LaBelle and Lady Gaga, it hit me: I don’t just love this—I need this. Performing wasn’t about fame. It was about freedom. It was the one space where my voice couldn’t be silenced, where my truth could live out loud.

That’s when I knew: I’m not here to play small. I’m here to create, to tell the truth, and to move people—not just with notes, but with soul.

If I could go on tour with any artist, it would be Billie Eilish or Beyoncé—and here’s why:

Billie Eilish represents fearless individuality. Her music lives in that vulnerable, haunting space I often write from—the place where whispers carry truth and silence holds weight. She’s unafraid to be minimal, introspective, and different, and I connect with that deeply. Touring with her would mean sharing a stage where emotion is prioritized over spectacle—where being raw is the power move.

Beyoncé, on the other hand, embodies artistic mastery and full liberation. Her ability to blend performance, activism, and soul is exactly where I see my own evolution heading. She doesn’t just put on a show—she creates a movement. Touring with her would be the highest version of what I believe art can do: shake the room, shift culture, and still leave space for spiritual reflection.

Both artists own their lane, but they do it with depth, intention, and vulnerability. That’s what I aim for too. So sharing a stage with either of them wouldn’t just be about exposure—it would be about alignment.

If I could go on tour with any artist, it would be Billie Eilish or Beyoncé—and here’s why:

Billie Eilish represents fearless individuality. Her music lives in that vulnerable, haunting space I often write from—the place where whispers carry truth and silence holds weight. She’s unafraid to be minimal, introspective, and different, and I connect with that deeply. Touring with her would mean sharing a stage where emotion is prioritized over spectacle—where being raw is the power move.

Beyoncé, on the other hand, embodies artistic mastery and full liberation. Her ability to blend performance, activism, and soul is exactly where I see my own evolution heading. She doesn’t just put on a show—she creates a movement. Touring with her would be the highest version of what I believe art can do: shake the room, shift culture, and still leave space for spiritual reflection.

Both artists own their lane, but they do it with depth, intention, and vulnerability. That’s what I aim for too. So sharing a stage with either of them wouldn’t just be about exposure—it would be about alignment.

I explore truth—plain and simple. But truth through the lens of identity, faith, freedom, and healing.

My music digs into what it means to find your voice after it’s been silenced, to reclaim parts of yourself you were told to hide. I talk about the tension of growing up in strict religion, navigating the world as a Black queer man, and breaking out of systems—both internal and external—that tried to define me.

I explore heartbreak, hope, and the in-between spaces people are afraid to sit in. Some songs are loud with rebellion, others are soft with reflection. But every song is a step toward liberation—not just for me, but for anyone listening who’s ready to live fully and unapologetically.

Whether I’m singing about love, loss, spiritual awakening, or resistance, my music is about helping people feel seen—and encouraging them to tell their truth out loud.

Alternativ and Pop and Soul

One of my earliest memories of music was being in the house with my mom—my aunt, but she’s always been mom to me. She didn’t drive, so a lot of our time together was spent in the house. And even though we were Jehovah’s Witnesses and weren’t allowed to listen to gospel or a lot of “worldly” music, she still had her favorites.

She loved groups like The Stylistics, The Delfonics, and I’ll never forget the first time I heard “Lady Marmalade” by Labelle. That track hit me different. The harmonies, the attitude, the power in those voices—it was like the music gave me permission to feel alive in a world that often told me to be quiet and conform.

I remember hearing those songs float through the house, and even at a young age, something in me woke up. I didn’t know the words for it then, but I knew music was going to be my way of surviving—and later, my way of telling the truth.

Monotony” is personal. It comes straight from the part of me that felt trapped in cycles I didn’t choose—religious cycles, emotional cycles, identity cycles. I grew up as a Jehovah’s Witness, where everything was routine, scripted, and restrictive. Questioning things wasn’t encouraged, and being different—especially being queer, being creative, being me—was seen as a threat. That environment taught me how to hide, how to shrink, how to move through life without really living it.

This song reflects that emotional numbness—that sense of waking up every day, doing what you’re told, saying what you’re supposed to say, but feeling completely disconnected from your own spirit. That’s monotony. It’s not just about boredom—it’s about spiritual suffocation.

Add to that being a Black queer man in a world that often wants you to perform but never fully belong, and the monotony becomes survival. You start to feel like you’re living in someone else’s version of your life.

So this song is my truth. It’s the sound of me sitting in that stuck place, naming it honestly, before I made the choice to break free from it. It’s not just a mood—it’s a moment from my journey. A necessary chapter on the way to freedom.