Honest I Do by Danny Storm: A Forgotten Gem That Still Hits Hard
Alright, let me just say this upfront—Danny Storm’s Honest I Do isn’t some flashy, overproduced masterpiece. It’s raw, real, and dripping with emotion. Released way back in 1962 in the UK under Piccadilly Records, it feels like a time capsule from an era when rock and pop were still finding their feet. And honestly? That’s what makes it so special.
First off, big shoutout to Johnny Keating for directing this thing. The man knew how to bring out the soul in every track without drowning it in studio tricks. You can tell he wanted these songs to breathe, to feel alive. And they do. Like, seriously, if you’ve got a heart, you’ll feel something here.
Now, onto the tracks. Let’s talk about “Sad But True” first because wow—it punches you right in the gut. It’s one of those songs that sneaks up on you. At first, it seems simple enough, but then Storm’s voice cracks just slightly on the chorus, and suddenly you’re not listening anymore; you’re feeling. He sings about love gone wrong, but not in some clichéd way. Nah, this is personal, like he’s whispering secrets straight into your ear. By the end, you’re sitting there thinking, “Yeah…been there, felt that.”
Then there’s the title track, “Honest I Do.” Oh man, this one sticks with you. It’s upbeat compared to “Sad But True,” almost playful even, but don’t let that fool you. There’s pain hiding behind those bouncy melodies. When Storm belts out the line, “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” it hits different. Maybe it’s the sincerity in his voice or maybe it’s because we’ve all been on one side of that apology at some point. Either way, it lingers long after the record stops spinning.
What strikes me most about Honest I Do is how human it feels. These aren’t perfect performances—they’re messy, flawed, and utterly beautiful. In a world where modern music often feels polished to death, hearing something as unfiltered as this is refreshing. Hell, it’s more than refreshing; it’s kinda healing.
And here’s the kicker: Danny Storm never really blew up the way he should have. Like, why isn’t this guy mentioned alongside other British legends from the ‘60s? Maybe it’s because life doesn’t always play fair, but damn, it makes me wish I could go back in time and give him a hug (and maybe a better marketing team).
So yeah, Honest I Do might not change your life overnight, but it’ll remind you what music is supposed to be about—connection. If you ever stumble across a copy of this album, grab it. Stick it on, crank up the volume, and let yourself get lost in its honesty. Because sometimes, being honest is the hardest—and most rewarding—thing you can do.
Oh, and hey—if anyone knows where Danny Storm is now, tell him thanks. From me, and probably everyone else who stumbles upon this little slice of magic.
