Conversations with Kasey Gold

Today we’d like to introduce you to Kasey Gold.

Hi Kasey, so excited to have you with us today. What can you tell us about your story?
My name is Kasey. I originally come from Europe, but I choose not to emphasize that part of my background publicly — not out of secrecy, but because I believe that where you’re from doesn’t define your talent or your worth. I want my audience to experience me for who I truly am, without preconceived labels.

Back home — in a Middle Eastern country, to give you a hint — I was a well-known singer. I experienced fame, public recognition, and financial success, but I didn’t feel connected. I didn’t feel that I belonged. The culture there doesn’t embrace R&B, pop, and soul the way America does — it just isn’t part of the musical DNA. So I found myself having to commercialize my sound, dilute the soul in my music, and create something that wasn’t from my heart.

A year ago, I made the hardest yet most honest decision of my life: I gave it all up. I walked away from the fame, the contacts, the record label. I disappeared overnight. I moved to the U.S. to begin a true journey — to find myself musically, to create from the heart, and to no longer let a label tell me who I should be. I’m now committed to being 100% true to my art, and to sharing my real voice and the melodies that constantly live in my head.

Since childhood, I was deeply influenced by pop idols like Britney Spears, TLC, J.Lo, Justin Timberlake, and Timbaland — the entire Y2K era that shaped my sound and soul. I started singing and dancing in cultural programs and competitions as a kid, and at 13, I got my first MacBook and began producing music on GarageBand. I uploaded my first tracks to YouTube, and unexpectedly, things took off. A local label reached out and signed me, and for almost 10 years, I lived inside the industry — releasing hits, performing, touring — yet I felt disconnected from the why behind it all.

I would bring my original R&B ideas to producers, and they’d say, “This sounds too outdated.” But to me, that sound was timeless. When I moved to America, I released my first single — a track I actually wrote at 13 — with a producer who truly believed in me and my sound. We polished the production together, and suddenly, it just felt right. Like the world was finally ready for it. And the response proved it: people resonated with it in a way I’d never felt before. It was the first time I released something that was 100% me — and people loved it.

Now, I’m working on my debut album, Millennium — a tribute to the Y2K sound I grew up on and still love deeply. I’m no longer afraid to bring that energy back because I know there are people out there who crave it just like I do.

My message to listeners is clear: be who you are. Believe in your art. Keep going even when you hear “no.” I’ve started over from zero, and it feels like home. For the first time, I feel seen. And I know — no matter how long it takes — I believe in my music and in the beautiful audience here in America that finally feels like the right place for me.

I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
No, it definitely hasn’t been a smooth road — and honestly, I don’t think I would’ve wanted it to be. The struggles shaped me and gave real meaning to what I do.

Leaving behind a successful music career, a record deal, fans, and financial security in my home country wasn’t easy. I disappeared overnight from a world I had built for nearly a decade — a world that didn’t truly reflect who I was as an artist. I left fame behind to start from zero in a new country, with no guarantees, no support system, and no one waiting for me. It was terrifying.

There were moments I questioned everything — my decisions, my voice, my worth. There were nights I cried in silence, wondering if anyone would ever connect with the music I believe in so deeply. Starting over in a place where no one knew who I was, where I had to rebuild everything from the ground up — it was isolating and emotionally exhausting.

But I knew I had to do it. Staying in comfort would’ve meant betraying my art. And honestly, the hardest part is happening now. Choosing to give up everything I built, starting completely over — especially at a stage where I’m no longer 17 — it takes courage. It’s not easy being the “new girl” again. But I did it to be who I truly am, in the place that finally feels like home.

The truth is, I never felt fully connected to the place I came from. And maybe that’s why I was always drawn to American culture — to the music, the language, the TV shows. Even as a little girl, I felt something deep in me that said, “this is where you belong.” And now, being here, I finally feel that alignment.

Today, when someone hears my music and says, “This feels real,” I know every sacrifice was worth it. The pain, the fear, the doubt — they led me to a place of honesty. I’m no longer just making music — I’m telling my story. And for the first time, I know people are really listening.

Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
Today, I support myself through royalties from the music I left behind, along with personal creative projects. I’m independently producing my own album — both on my own and with some incredible producers I’ve been lucky to meet here in L.A.

One of them is Teezio, who mixed “On My Mama” by Victoria Monét and worked on Chris Brown’s Grammy-winning album 11:11, among many other hits. I’ve also been blessed to connect with several serious, respected producers in such a short time — all because of music. I was honestly surprised by how warmly I was received, how much support and respect I’ve gotten from people here — and that’s what gives me the strength to believe I’m on the right path.

I’m not afraid of struggle — in fact, I welcome it. Because the hard moments are where my best songs are born. In my music, I speak openly about the journey — the “no’s” I received, the doors that closed, and how I turned them into a strategy of yes for my listeners. People need to hear this:
There is no reason you shouldn’t go for it, even if someone told you that you’re not good enough, not the right fit, or not what they expected.

F* it.
Do it anyway.
You deserve to be heard.**

Risk taking is a topic that people have widely differing views on – we’d love to hear your thoughts.
One thing people don’t always realize is that when you leave your country to start over — especially in a place like the U.S. — you’re not just risking your career. You’re risking your identity, your stability, your language, your comfort zone.

English isn’t my first language. Every day, I’m learning how to express myself more clearly — not just in lyrics, but in real life. I’m learning how to speak up in a new culture, how to network, how to present myself in a system that’s completely different from what I grew up with.

Financially, it’s also a challenge. The cost of living in the U.S. — especially in L.A. — is significantly higher than where I came from. A dollar here isn’t the same as it is back home. I had to find new ways to earn, to sustain myself while investing everything I have into my music — emotionally, creatively, and financially.

So yes, I’m taking risks on every level. But I remind myself daily: this is the price of freedom. This is what it costs to live truthfully, to make music that’s real, and to become the person I was always meant to be — even if it means rebuilding everything from the ground up.

And honestly? That’s a risk I’m proud to take.

Pricing:

• Prices vary depending on the project. Serious inquiries are welcome via DM or email.

Contact Info:

• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kaseydoingit/
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@Kaseydoingit
• Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/kaseydoingitbig
• Other: https://open.spotify.com/artist/1PJDHybuVoVTvmW2Sf85NG?si=cqszTyrnRFK7LnZ0ufaa4Q

Image Credits
mozesart – photographer