The industry might know him now for his writing on “Are You Even Real” — the Teddy Swims and GIVĒON collaboration that went No. 1 on R&B radio and appears on a Grammy-nominated album. But TaeJaun’s foundation wasn’t built in boardrooms or major label sessions. It was shaped during long nights at REC Philly, back before their Fashion District location, when access wasn’t about keycards or programs. “I would pay for two hours late at night, and the guy would just let me rock out the whole night,” he said. That kind of quiet permission — the off-the-record generosity Philly offers its creatives — became part of his artistic DNA. It’s not always official. But it’s real. And it’s often the thing that makes the difference.
That difference became public when I’ve Tried Everything But Therapy, Teddy Swims’ debut album, was nominated for Best Pop Vocal Album at the Grammys. TaeJaun wrote one of the standout records on that project, and he found out the way a lot of creatives do: through a casual, slightly confusing call from a friend. “Lucid FaceTimed me like, ‘Yo, congrats,’ and I was like, ‘What are you talking about?’” he laughed. “You always find out from a random call.” He wasn’t shocked. If anything, he sounded steady. “I always knew anything was possible,” he said. The nomination didn’t feel like luck. It felt like alignment.
That mix of belief and work ethic was sharpened through years of recording in Philly. Though he’s from Voorhees, New Jersey, TaeJaun calls Philly the place where he found creative community and learned to build his own. “It introduced me to community, and it gave me the opportunity to create my own,” he said. Spaces like Breed Studios and REC Philly formed the backdrop for his growth — not just as a writer, but as an artist willing to take ownership. His first event, a listening party for a self-released project, drew over 100 people. That kind of energy doesn’t come from marketing. It comes from showing up, consistently, in the right rooms.
TaeJaun’s music carries that same clarity. Whether writing for himself or others, he’s guided by melody and instinct. “I try to go for the weirdest melody that still feels like ear- candy,” he said. His catalog stretches across genre — alternative R&B, pop, rock, even country — but it all moves from the same center. He’s equally focused on his own releases, steadily dropping singles while building toward a full-length project. When asked why he keeps releasing under his own name, his answer was simple: “I think anybody that writes songs is an artist. There is no separation.”
The Grammy nomination isn’t a turning point. It’s a milestone. TaeJaun is still independent. Still recording. Still figuring out the balance between industry reach and independent freedom. “It’s a weird balance,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure I’d trade it.” He’s currently preparing a new project for 2026. In the meantime, he’s giving himself permission to reflect. “I’m learning how to celebrate,” he said. That’s what this season feels like — not reinvention, not arrival, but recognition. The pen was already working. The Grammys just caught up.