It’s a regular party-hearty Friday night in Himmarshee, Fort Lauderdale’s historic nightlife district. Say, 2011. A singer and guitarist from Southwest Ranches — say he’s 21 — is trying to worm his way up onto the stage at the blues hole-in-the-wall known as the Poorhouse. He’s fired-up but he’s a neophyte, schlepping his gear around with him on the off-chance he gets his shot.
“And I would be like, ‘Hey, man, can I just sit in for a song or something?’ I was just young and wanting to play. I went so many times and didn’t get to play. But I just kept coming, and eventually they let me up for a song. And I probably screwed it up somehow. And it’s like, ‘All right, you can get down now.’”
That scenario wouldn’t go down the same way today. Not because the Poorhouse isn’t still there, which it still is after 30 years, but because that singer from Southwest Ranches — well, he’s a whole other story. Earlier this year, you see, he got to sit in for a few months on a significantly bigger stage — national television. And he definitely didn’t screw it up.
Perhaps you recognize the man with the decidedly biblical name — Adam David — as a recent contestant on “The Voice,” which just began its new season on NBC. When the Goliath of a singing competition ended last May, David was the last man standing. It was a torturous, dark-horse victory for the 35-year-old musician who now hails from Oakland Park — and it holds poignant parallels to his redemptive life as a recovering addict, six years clean.
Adam David Waldstein was born in Miami, but he came of age in Broward, attending Cypress Bay High School, Broward College and then Miami Dade College. “I’m South Florida, through and through, man,” he says.
He was only 8 when he picked up the guitar. “I grew up writing songs. It’s one of the reasons I started singing.” The one he wrote and released during his “Voice” campaign, “Savior,” resonates as a testament to his own salvation: “Nobody’s ever gonna come and save ya / But you can save yourself.”
But David’s path onto “The Voice” was a long, trying one, reflective not only of the frustrations that have dogged his life as a performer but also of his nerve-wracking trajectory to the championship. As it was, it all came close to not even happening.
“I signed up on a whim, dude,” David says. Having failed auditions in 2012 and 2016, a “screw you” attitude kept him from accepting invitations in subsequent years — until this time, in 2023.
“I was getting over being sick. I was laying in bed. I just saw the email and was like, ah, f— it.”
With the deadline to record the songs for his audition video staring him in the face, he nearly lost his voice. “I felt like they were terrible, but you know it’s either that or don’t turn them in. So I turned them in. And, honestly, that was the theme of the whole thing for me — pushing through the anxiety: ‘This is not going to happen for me. So I’ll just do my best.’ And a couple weeks later I got an email saying, ‘You made it through.’ And I just kept making it through. And then I won. It’s really nuts.”
But it didn’t come easy. David hung on by a thread through a nearly four-month gauntlet of gladiatorial-sounding challenges — Battle Rounds and Knockouts — all beginning with the Blind Auditions. That’s the show’s conceit, when competing celebrity coaches listen to but don’t view the contestant’s audition until, duly impressed, they turn their chairs to face them.
David’s was the kind of dramatic victory the show has rarely seen. Since “The Voice” first went on the air 14 years ago — about the same time he was trying to get on stage at the Poorhouse — David was only the third single-chair-turn winner, and only the second saved from elimination with a last-ditch performance voted on live by the viewing audience. And he was the first such “Instant Save” winner to be coached by a man.
That coach was Michael Bublé, who “turned” for David even before he finished the fourth line of a reggae-inflected “Baby, I Love Your Way.” Unchallenged by the other coaches, the Canadian crooner with the slick style seemed an unlikely match for a vocalist whose gritty, soulful style and bearing conjure Joe Cocker (sans the gyrations). Fittingly, it was David’s rendition of a Cocker cover, “You Are So Beautiful,” that helped win him the crown, which comes with a $100,000 prize and an option on a recording contract.
Now plans are in the works for a Nov. 21 concert at Savor Cinema in Fort Lauderdale — “a homecoming victory show,” says David’s manager, Jason Cabello, who’s also been filming a documentary of David. Focusing on “a musician in recovery,” he began shooting six months before the “Voice” appearance. Since the show ended, Cabello says, David has been composing songs for an album with some “heavy-hitter songwriters in Nashville and Austin.”
“I’ve had the time to shift the attention off of gigging my soul away to putting it into some words and new music,” he says. It was in the bars and restaurants of downtown Fort Lauderdale where Adam David began gigging his soul away — and that’s where our conversation picks up.
So how did things go after you got to sit in at the Poorhouse?
I found myself in a group of phenomenal musicians that I looked up to, and I was the worst one. I learned a lot from them. Eventually, I started getting gigs, playing all over, sometimes three gigs a night. That Himmarshee area — Fat Cats, Poorhouse — that’s where I cut my teeth. I used to play Tarpon Bend as a duo till 9, then pack my stuff on a cart and run down the street to play at the Apothecary by 9:30.
I’ve played more as a solo-duo-trio act — for a long time, I played with Julius Pastorius, Jaco’s son — but three years ago, I started producing my own concerts with an eight-piece band. The most recent one was March 28 at the Savor Cinema. It’s a 250-seat theater. I think we sold around 300 tickets. It was before I won.
I also play at the treatment center I went to, Recovery Unplugged [in Fort Lauderdale]. That’s really important to me ’cause that’s where I got my life back. I went in March 28, 2019. I did the whole thing, a f—ing detox and the stepping down of treatment intensity. I lived in a halfway house. I wanted to get it right this first time. I didn’t want to have to relive that darkness. And while I still do, occasionally, it’s a different kind, and I have the tools to deal with it. Fast forward six years and I’m here talking to you.
What was your addiction?
Drugs and alcohol — you know, the gamut. What I’ve learned is the substances are a coping skill. And you stop using and you’re left with that thing the substances helped for a while and eventually stopped helping — the feeling-less-than and all the doubt. The cool thing is there’s nothing in the way for me to work on those things now. That’s really where the work starts.
I was gigging full-time leading up to that, almost seven days a week. There was no balance. I was doing exactly what I wanted to do. But I wasn’t happy because I wanted to be performing for people who wanted to be there, not just because they were eating burgers and drinking beers with their friends. Who wants to play for people who don’t care? Playing in South Florida can feel like that sometimes. People don’t clap after you play a song … or five songs. You can go a whole night without applause, and if you’re playing day-in day-out for years, putting your heart and soul in, it’s tough. I wrapped up my self-worth in how I was received. I used to say I’m a pitcher of water and I fill everybody’s cups, but I would go home empty. And so I would use. I’ve learned to fill my cup in other ways today.
How did you deal with going from playing bars without applause to competing on a national TV show?
When I made it to Top 20, I had a moment of like, at what point are you going to start to believe that you belong here? To just start letting go of the what-if-I-don’t-succeed and start believing that you’re capable? That was a big thing Michael Bublé was trying to instill in me. It’s not a thing that you just do. If you just wait for yourself to believe, it won’t happen. It’s a muscle that you have to flex. It’s a choice. And with the reinforcement from these coaches, Michael in particular, I started to choose to believe. I started journaling and meditating every day. And that had a lot to do with choosing what I was going to believe — like visualizing Michael saying my name as the winner of that round or whatever.
Were you surprised to see Bublé turn for you in the Blind Audition?
Ironically, they asked us a bunch of times, ‘Who do you want to turn?’ And, truthfully, Michael wasn’t someone I considered. But that’s how my higher power works — if I’m given the choice, like 75 percent of the time, I’m gonna make the wrong one. So when it really counts, my higher power just gives me the answer. ‘This is what you’re doing. Trust it.’ That’s how I saw that moment.
When he turned, it was surreal as heck. That was the most nervous I’ve ever been. I’m having conversations in my head trying to be present, like, ‘Dude, don’t f— up. Just do what you know.’ It took a second, but it put me at ease because now the pressure was off a bit. I’ve made it on the show. Now chill the f— out. Now play the song.
Do you think you could’ve done it if you were still using?
I don’t think I could have surrendered to the flow of it the way I needed to. I was like, man, how do these people do this? It’s like driving a Honda your whole life and jumping into a Ferrari. It wasn’t until the third round where I started to be able to ground once I was on stage. The answer was stage time.
There was one song I did, “Bring It on Home” — that was the whole thing for me. I talked to Bublé the night before. ‘Dude, I don’t think this one is going to be good.’ And this is the cool thing. I don’t know if saying this out loud is a good thing but it’s true: I screwed up the lyrics. I haven’t seen anybody talk about it. I sang the third verse too early. I was like, no big deal, I’ll just sing the second verse in place of the third verse. So I’m getting to the end of that verse and I’m reaching for the words. They’re not there, dude. So now I’m like, oh, we’re on national television. And that was the moment I was like, well, here we go. And I just started singing like it was pure instinct. I don’t even know what I sang. They weren’t the verses. I mean, guttural sounds, you know, whatever. I just sang the blues. And I avoided going blank on live TV.
None of it was easy. From beginning to end, I used every tool I’d earned after getting clean. My whole time being in recovery has been a series of ‘let go and let God,’ just do your best to let go of the outcome type of stuff. And that’s what this whole thing was. I don’t think that’s specific to this show, because I’m realizing I’m using the same muscles now. It’s a life thing.
So, what is life like now?
A big thing is I wanna be involved in the community more. I grew up here. If I can give back and contribute in an evolved way, that would be a dream. And I’ve had these visions of going back to some of the places I’ve played, after reaching a certain level of success as an artist, and just packing them up. I used to play here for nobody, now let’s pack the s— out of this place. You know what I mean? Bring some money into the venues. It’s an exciting thing to think about.
