Two thousand miles from home and fresh off the release of his new album ‘Gold Mine,’ Nashville’s Stephen Day delivered a 24-karat masterclass in the enduring power of the live show.
by guest writer Alex Ashley
“A Bar on the West Side of Town” – Stephen Day
“When I say ‘Stephen,’ y’all say ‘Day!’” calls a tall man from the middle of the room, already on his feet.
“Stephen!”
“DAY!”
“Stephen!”
“DAY!”
Above, from the second-floor balcony, a velvet curtain draws back. Through the greenroom window, a silhouette appears: the man of the hour, Stephen Day, 29, briefly backlit and still. The crowd catches on in waves, and within seconds, the room erupts.
It feels staged, but it’s not. It’s the kind of moment that only happens when the energy is just right. When the room is ready for someone.
As the clock ticks closer to 9 PM, a young woman—there alone—leans over to a man and his partner.
“Is this your first time seeing him?”
“No, it’s my second,” one replies.
She smiles. “Yeah, I saw him in 2022 with his blue album [‘The Shapes I’m In’]…”
Here in Los Angeles’ Troubadour — the hallowed temple of Laurel Canyon lineage — Day’s show has already begun, and he hasn’t even taken the stage.
For those unfamiliar with Day, he’s spent the past decade quietly carving out a space in the indie-soul singer/songwriter universe – equal parts throwback and fresh-faced romantic. A preacher’s son and Georgia native now based in Nashville, TN, Day built his career the old-fashioned way: self-releasing records, touring relentlessly, and winning fans one room at a time. His debut EP, Undergrad Romance and the Moses in Me, quietly snowballed into a streaming success, helping launch a catalog that’s now racked up over 140 million plays. It set the stage for a series of records that landed him a deal with Riser House Records. Tour slots with Allen Stone, Stephen Sanchez, Teddy Swims, and Ben Rector followed, plus a sync in the Will Ferrell comedy Strays. But this stop at the Troubadour, backed by a major indie release and a band firing on all cylinders, feels less like a career checkpoint and more like a coronation.
The night opens with Anna Vaus, a California-born, Nashville-based singer/songwriter fresh off the release of her album “Downhill from Here.” With a crystalline voice floating over the chime of a 12-string Guild—played by her guitarist and fiancé, Kevin Monahan—Vaus delivers a set that makes her roots unmistakable. She opens with a cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams,” then nods to Laurel Canyon with originals like “Trace of You” and “Happy Trails.” Though her songs have been cut by Keith Urban, Maddie & Tae, and Carly Pearce, it is her own voice and storytelling that leaves the strongest impression: wherever she lives now, she’ll always be a California girl.
When Day and his four-piece band — Chris Karabelas on drums, Andrew Brown on bass, and Harrison Finks on keys — finally descend from the greenroom, their shadows spilling down the staircase, the capacity crowd is already electric.
They crack into “Kinda Cowgirl,” a groove-forward but lowkey soul-pop opener that serves as the perfect entry point into Day’s world: “Take my jacket off / I’ll take another Scotch,” Day sings. Then, with a smirk, and a wink to Shania Twain: “Put a quarter in / and watch her spin / you’re still the one I want.”
Second is “Gold Mine,” the namesake of both his new record and the tour itself—a shimmering cut that marks his first foray into the indie label world. But live, it lands like a mission statement:
“Eyes are closed, don’t lie to me
I want to feel you close and feel something
Don’t want that counterfeit make believe
I just want the real thing”
And that’s exactly what he and his band deliver, executing musical moment after moment that never feels anything other than authentic. From feel-good grooves like “On Top of the World,” to heartfelt ballads like “If You Were the Rain,” where Day seems to embody a cross between Allen Stone and the late Bill Withers.
The night sees other touchstone musical moments that anchor and elevate the set.
“Gold Mine,” Day shares, was born from deep dives into ’70s soul and the dusty twang of ’50s and ’60s country music. He then launches into “Folsom Prison Blues,” a blistering Cash cover that hits like a shot of adrenaline, before rolling straight into his own “Hey Lady.” Or less overt ingredients to the night that could slip by unnoticed for some, like when he uses the familiar melody of “Mr. Sandman,” the 1954 Chordettes hit, as the intro to his song “Oscar,” or keyboardist Harrison Finks pitch-bending lush pedal steel parts with his synthesizer.
Some of the night’s most disarming magic comes halfway through the set, when Day and the band huddle around a single mic for what he calls “perhaps the weirdest thing you’ll see all week.” Armed with toy-sized instruments—a pint-sized bass, pocket percussion, and a melodica – Day leads a whimsically lo-fi version of “Drive South,” with Harrison Finks adding featherlight harmonies.
There are other moments, too, where the groove, and Day’s signature wit and charm, give way to a gentler touch with the audience. “Do you guys mind if I just play my guitar for a minute?” Day asks, before planting himself on the floor, stage right, for a blues-drenched guitar solo while Harrison Fink holds down a steady pulse on synth.
At one point, the band slips quietly back upstairs, leaving Day alone with his guitar. What follows is a three-song acoustic stretch that marks the emotional core of the night. It begins with “Autumn Song,” a tender, timeworn ballad he wrote as a student at Belmont. “I’m still fallin’ out of love with you,” he sings, his voice barely brushing the mic, “and I’m headin’ for the door / Not sure if I’ll go through…”
Stephen Day has curated something rare here: A live show that feels less like performance and more like a fever dream hang with your most musically gifted friend.
Day’s stage presence is loose-limbed and low-stakes; the kind of funny that doesn’t beg for attention or get in the way of the music. The jokes don’t land so much as tumble out. “Dang it, dude!” — he pokes fun at himself — accidental punchlines from a brain moving slightly faster than the room.
From the shoulders up, Day himself — wide-eyed, with a mile-long smile tucked beneath a thick manicured mustache — could’ve given Jason Sudeikis a run for his money as Ted Lasso. In a scoop neck white t-shirt and flowy oversized brown suit, keeping the beat with a pronounced shoulder roll, he embodies a kind of 80s yacht-rock dad energy—part retro showman, part sleepover camp counselor—eccentric, endearing, and blissfully lost of time
On the side of the stage, a giant spinning wheel awaits its moment, when members of the audience will take their turns at a giveaway of surprises. Set to a dramatic musical buildup, Day dances around the stage before announcing the night’s winner, calling up a young woman in the audience to “SPIN! THAT! WHEEL!” For Severance fans, the moment feels reminiscent of Milchick’s Choreography and Merriment.
It’s all somewhere between alternate universe and planet earth. But here’s the thing: It works — all of it — without feeling like shtick.
Day is no rookie; he’s a seasoned performer, with more than a decade of live shows under his belt.
But tonight, he didn’t just play the Troubadour – he presided over it, functioning as not only a headliner, but also a steward of the sacredness of live shows, in a room built for just such a communion.
“Don’t want that counterfeit make believe
I just want the real thing”
Stephen Day’s 25-night Gold Mine Tour, which commenced on February 19 in Minneapolis, MN, reads like a carefully plotted journey through the heart of America’s indie music circuit. Spanning nearly two months, the routing stitches together some of the most iconic, intimate rooms across the country: Bowery Ballroom in New York, Terminal West in Atlanta, the Troubadour in Los Angeles.
It’s an artist’s tour, not a pop star’s blitz. The flow reflects a deliberate pacing: Clusters of East Coast and Southern dates before sweeping westward for a high-impact finish in major coastal hubs. It’s a classic build-from-the-ground strategy – touring hard, connecting in smaller rooms, and proving the music works in real time. It’s the romantic, nomadic tradition of letting the miles pass beneath your feet in order to earn your audience.
Now they’re in the final stretch, panting toward the finish. Three more cities – Phoenix, Dallas, Austin – and then it’s done. Some of the band will head straight into the next tour. For Day, it’s back to East Nashville – to a quiet life with his wife, their dogs, and a yard.
As Day and his band wind into the night’s final stretch — “All This Space,” “Brooklyn,” and “For Life (Take You Out, Treat You Right)” — I realize I’d been waiting for something. A story. A moment of collapse between artist and audience where he shares his journey. Especially in a room like this, built on the bones of ’60s and ’70s singer/songwriters who bled autobiography into every verse.
There are flashes, of course. References to his native Georgia, to Nashville. But Day seems to keep the personal at a distance, letting the songs do most of the talking. Still, I’d been waiting for the answer to the question: Who is Stephen Day?
But then I look around, and I see a good 60 percent of the room singing along to one of his songs. They’re not waiting for the story behind the music. They’re already living in it.
Upstairs after the show, the stage is cleared, and the marquee letters have already been swapped out for tomorrow’s act. Stephen Day lingers with a few bandmates, making the rounds and exchanging hugs with VIPs and longtime friends. Across the room, Harrison Finks — Day’s keyboard player — is grinning ear to ear.
“Tonight was crazy,” he says. “There was something about that crowd. I dunno, man. I guess there was something in the air.”
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Alex Ashley is a journalist and musician based in Los Angeles and Seattle. His reporting has appeared in Rolling Stone, The Atlantic, NPR, and other national outlets. When he’s not writing, he’s on stage—touring as a professional musician and songwriter.
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