Lady Dan Writes Her Own Prophecies

With no fear of pedal steel or bold lyrical accusations, Austin-based artist Lady Dan brings a playful bite to her Americana undertones in a debut album born from isolation.

Written by Laiken Neumann

Photos courtesy of Earth Libraries

 “How long can I make a career out of being pissed off?” Tyler Dozier prematurely, part-jokingly ponders the longevity of her musical project, Lady Dan. Fresh off the release of her debut album, I Am the Prophet, Dozier’s career has just begun chugging up the foothills.

Teeming with Americana-infused sonics and religious imagery, the 26-year-old’s first full-length reflects on her inner contradictions and spiritual healing. Dozier pens her self-described “melancholic cowboy” music when someone hurts her feelings, creating either a fiery call-out or enlightened musings in the aftermath. “If I can make a career out of processing my emotions, then that's fine with me,” Dozier says. “I'll just be healthier for it, I think.”

A fan of traditionally masculine names, the Birmingham native wished her parents named her “Danielle,” after her father, Daniel, so she could slyly go by Dan. Long before she pursued music, a friend told her if that were the case, he would call her “Lady Dan.” It stuck. She kept the name in her pocket for when she started writing “music (she) was proud of” at 21 and recording music two years later in late 2018. “I just had this moment one day where I was watching one of my favorite musicians (Rayland Baxter) do an interview at a festival, and I was like, ‘Why am I not doing that?’” she says. “‘I could be doing that. I can just go make an album if I want to; it's not that hard.’”

Soon after this virtual encounter with Rayland Baxter, she relocated to the most “neon,” “rhinestone cowboy” city in Texas: Austin. As Dozier adjusted to the city’s Western glitz, March 2019 saw the independent release of her first EP, Songs for the Soulless, featuring bounding folk tracks like “Kicking and Screaming” and existentialist piano ballad “Better than Hell.” 

Touring throughout the summer and fall of that year, Dozier returned to Austin in November, only to meet the end of a six-month relationship. In the unstoppable combination of post-tour yearning and post-breakup wallowing, Dozier’s restlessness threw her into her next project: her debut album.

“I was doing my little sad girl thing, but my sad girl thing is like, instead of being sad, we just find the next thing to focus on,” the artist says. “I was a couple days off tour, not having a good time, and I just remember being like, ‘Okay, so I guess now is the time to just do a full-length album.’”

When the global pandemic hit four months later, Dozier, left with cancelled SXSW shows and a temporary closure of her day job at a coffee distribution warehouse, now had the time to truly focus on her music. So, like many greats before her (Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, Henry David Thoreau, and Jewel’s aunt, Mossy Kilcher), the artist isolated herself in a single-room, family-owned cabin in what she describes as “the middle-of-nowhere, Alabama.”

Six weeks alone resulted in profound emotional reflection and almost half of an album.

Armed with an additional slew of three-to-four-year-old songs, she trekked to the home studio of Nashville-based producer Jeremy Clark in the heat of summer. Dozier gushes over Clark, a member of Nashville band Okey Dokey who both produced and mixed her album, calling him “a musical genius… or even a regular genius.”

“A lot of my inspiration came from early 2000s freak folk like the Microphones, Mirah, and Neutral Milk Hotel,” Clark chimes in, describing his intention for Dozier’s LP. “But also, I pulled anywhere from Paul Simon to Jimmy Eat World to Miles Davis to Sufjan Stevens... I think this record had a lot of ‘2000s folk meets ‘70s dad rock’ going on, sonically.”

Through pedal steel-laden acoustic melodies, glittering DIY percussion, and swaying orchestral movements, the 11-track LP avoids congealing into one particular sound. Dozier’s harmonized wit runs deep, the project’s main throughline.

Despite Dozier’s typical influences of Laura Marling or Wimberley-based Jesse Woods, she admits, “There are some songs (on the album) where... I feel like I'm channeling this ‘90s female, angsty rock star, not fully like Alanis Morissette, but pretty close.” This energy emanates from “Misandrist to Most,” in which Dozier asserts her independence. “Often restless and feeling ignored / Feigning directionless and existentially bored,” she voices into a surging solo of twangy chords. Her angst dissipates into beaming reclamation: “I’ll be my own savior / I’ll be my own best man.”

Double-edged spite drives much of her music. Each track begins with the central question: “How dare you?” “I Am the Prophet” copes with the disappointing cycle of modern romance through thunderous feedback and bored declarations: “I’m just a woman / Not your holy heroine muse.” Throughout the album, subtle nods to both God and the devil see her grapple with her beliefs through sly remarks. “I don’t think there’s a savior in man / Not even in God,” she drones. Whether pointed at herself or those who’ve scorned her, Dozier’s lyrical daggers stay sharp.

Now a year since her isolated escapade in rural Alabama, Dozier looks back fondly, even if she describes it as a “fever dream.” The songstress knowingly refutes her own lyrics: “I feel very sentimental of that time,” she laughs. “Although I did, you know, write into that song ‘Paradox,’ ‘like, ‘I’m back in Alabama and God’s laughing at me.’” The track is antithetical in more ways than one: “Do I want to be loved or left alone?” she coos, wrestling with her mutually exclusive desires. “I’m often contradicting myself, and I also think that’s okay,” Dozier says. Her vulnerability strikes as wholly honest, reared by a deep self-awareness.

With vaccines abound and the potential of touring on the horizon, the future seems optimistic; Dozier now practices her playing to gear up for live shows. “You get that weird guilt of like, ‘Why has this been so good for me, and so hard for a lot of other people?’” the singer-songwriter says of her pandemic experience. “But I think just awareness is like the best way to approach it.” Her careful intentions allude to the consciousness at the heart of her craft.

“I've just been learning the same lessons over and over,” Dozier confesses. “Of just regaining ownership of self, regaining my power, not letting other people dictate how I feel or what I do with my life.”

Her repetitive cycle of growth builds a wise character in her writing. Dozier’s internal reflections are sometimes wry, but always true. Though her conflicts often arise at the hands of others, she’s always reckoning with herself, putting the power in her own hands — even if it takes form as an emotionally wounding ballad.