The first season of “Dave” made rapper Lil Dicky—real name Dave Burd—more powerful than his non-believers could have ever imagined. In the crowded landscape of TV, the series that riffs on Burd’s dreams of being the biggest rapper in the world became FX’s most-watched comedy of all time, beating out previous favorites like “Atlanta” among others. The brilliant first five episodes of Season 2 prove this was no fluke, especially as the writers find even more gold in the show’s polarizing premise: the story of a white rapper’s rise, with storylines and ensemble members that call out the character at its center. When it comes to its comedic drama, its character-based twists, and even its gross-out humor, “Dave” is on another level.
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The writing is just so damn good and thoughtful, so much that it makes Dave’s annoying-on-paper character more palatable. Instead, he becomes a conceit, that you’re going to watch a show about how Lil Dicky struggles to prove his skills and keeps pissing people off, but you’re going to stay because the button-pushing ends with his development, and the story is going to address all that you’re thinking about to its massive audience (if anything, some conversations about race and privilege could be even longer). Season 2 of “Dave” raises these ideas in an often towering fashion, like when one excellent episode, written by Biniam Bizuneh and directed by Kitao Sakurai has him facing his characteristics of appropriation and narcissism in a sit-down with none other than a curious, vigilant Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Like many episodes of “Dave,” this interview somehow then slams into gross-out, excellently timed physical comedy that ties it all together, treating certain elements like a sneaky, slow build-up to an incredible punchline. The series’ plotting is reliably unpredictable, and it makes for layered, symmetrical episodes that never feel like they are just killing time, even as “Dave” embraces the ease of a slacker saga.
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“Dave” begins its season with a high-point for Lil Dicky, one that he swiftly falls from. In desperate pursuit of popularity, he decides to write a K-pop song called “I Just Took a Shit in Korea,” and invests much of his money from his new record deal in making a music video. He doesn’t even like K-pop, he later admits, but it’s a typically calculated, reckless move from someone no one would want to work for. In a storytelling fashion that is reliably unpredictable, Dicky and his friends, hype man GaTa (playing himself) and manager Mike (Andrew Santino), find themselves scrambling through Korea, wondering if they have doomed themselves and their career with bits of weed. All the while, Lil Dicky remains selfish with his developing star power, throwing people under the proverbial bus and damning his own career. The episode feels bigger and more tense than other “Dave” episodes, and if it’s the weakest of the incredibly tight five episodes offered for press from Season 2, it’s because it more sets the stage for upcoming brash artistic decisions that could destroy what little Dave already has.
One of the best things about the show, in both seasons, is it does not use a typical arc for the musician/skill story; it does not actively destroy the notions of mediocrity, even though one might demand that from a show that on paper could also be about Chet Hanks. Instead, the qualities that make Dave a great rapper are treated as a mystery box. There are only glimpses at what makes his talents exceptional, as in the bookending freestyles of Season 1, which echo real-life performances from Burd that display their own ingenuity with words, switching cadences on a dime, catching you underestimating him, and then over-delivering with a multi-layered bar (“They playin’ my song, LeBron is noddin’/Am I James Worthy?”). That very idea becomes one of “Dave’s” boldest plot facets—because what sounds less appealing than a white rapper in 2021 than one who barely has the tracks to back it up—and it sets up superb tension for the rest of this season. “Dave” may be a clearly calculated part from Burd, but it gets a compelling energy from positing Dicky’s skills as a briefcase that may or may or may not have something golden inside.
Dave—the character—is a neurotic, narcissistic, frustrating mess, made charming by Burd’s performance, and the way that he says very bizarre things in a sincere, innocent fashion, as if he were doing stand-up for his young audience’s parents. The show amplifies the man-child elements that have made similar characters at least endearing—it’s the story about a white rapper in Hollywood that Judd Apatow never made—especially as Burd’s stubbornness starts to affect the relationships that were fortified in Season 1.
“Dave” has a great deal of affection for its side characters, so much that you wish it gave even more to them. Who could love someone like Dave? The story asks this question with its different relationships, none more powerful than with his now-ex, Ally. Taylor Misiask’s performance has always been one of the show’s best features, especially with the heart and comedy she brings to scenes that speak in the show’s language of playfully immature but meaningful. Misiak is another facet of “Dave” that has sneaky power, but cannot be underestimated.
There’s a special affection in “Dave” for the show’s biggest heart, GaTa. In Season 1, he had an episode that highlighted his bipolar disorder, and how he beats much of it through positivity and rapping. This season, an episode written by Burd follows GaTa with less frantic nature but the same nervous energy, as he wanders through Los Angeles at night trying to get help with charging his phone. The uncomfortable slow-burn of its pacing says plenty about race without heavy-handed imagery, or taking the course you’d expect. It brings to mind how GaTa is seen by others outside his circle, even though we know how unflappably sweet and friendly he is. In the show’s classic fashion, the episode ends on a note that’s emotional and meaningful to GaTa’s big nature, one of many moments that shows how “Dave” is not only about Burd but his orbit.
“Dave” proves to be bold and sharp in gradually developing the arcs of the supporting characters, but it’s not out-and-out funny. It does not try to be, in part because the series has the space to follow these characters into awkward situations that detail where they are in their careers (like a bar mitzvah, or that interview with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar).
Dave is someone you want to follow, even though the show is often about how thoroughly obnoxious he can be. “Dave” deals with cultural appropriation, even though its focus is on a white rapper whose tone-deafness is a constant issue. And it’s not a comedy, even though the emotions can be punctuated with a slow burn that leads to an explosive gag. His rap name is Lil Dicky, but none of it is a joke. It’s this constant conversation within “Dave” that continues to make it a fascinating triumph, even if you hope Lil Dicky was right when he freestyled back in 2019 that “there will never be another like me.” [A-]
“Dave” Season 2 premieres on June 16 at 10p ET/PT on FXX.
