Chris & Kev: How Music, Destiny, and Friendship Created an Unbreakable Brotherhood

One of the many definitions of the word inspiration is “the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something—especially something creative.” Oftentimes, we use the word casually or offhandedly to describe something merely unique or interesting. But if we take this complex term literally—not figuratively—true inspiration occurs when something or someone does something so powerful that it causes a sudden or gradual shift within our minds—one that compels us to act on that stimulus in a meaningful and transformative way.

Every now and then, we meet individuals whose creative energy is so potent that their ideas, perspectives, and artistic essence leave a lasting imprint. If we open our minds just enough to be poured into, it only takes a brief encounter with someone like this to propel us into the never-ending realm of true inspiration.

After a pivotal encounter with two incredible artists—Kev (aka Datboykev) and Chris (aka Nosteezz)—I can honestly say that spending six hours in the studio with them, observing the flow of their creative minds and how naturally our chemistry developed, not only shifted the trajectory of my creative journey but also brought clarity to a once-undefined path. Their evolving artistry and innovative concepts presented me with the idea of an unexplored direction—one I’m genuinely excited to embark on.

Part One: A Chance Encounter

Before I delve into the recent experience with Chris and Kev, I have to briefly journey back about a year—around this same time—when I first met Kev while working on an independent film project. Without going into specifics (since the project isn’t finished yet), there was a segment where I attended public gatherings to film and interview people, aiming to showcase the beauty of humanity in all its forms.

After filming at one large outdoor event, I packed up and started heading back to my car when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Kev and another individual leaning against a car, presumably just hanging out. There were people everywhere, and I was extremely tired from all the interviews, so even though we made eye contact, I didn’t think to say anything. I quickly walked past him—but a few seconds later, Kev randomly said something to me. I can’t remember exactly what it was—it was brief—but before I knew it, my camera was back on the tripod, and I was interviewing him.

During that impromptu interview, I was struck by his optimistic outlook and the profound way he articulated his thoughts, drawing analogies from relatable aspects of life. Little did I know at the time that storytelling was one of Kev’s core gifts—not just as an individual, but also as an artist. I later found out he was also a musician. I don’t recall him mentioning his musical background during our brief interview, but after we followed each other on Instagram, I looked him up and discovered his catalog of music.

Artists express themselves in various forms—some of which people agree with, and some they don’t. But there are no rules that govern art, and that’s exactly what makes it so unique and complex. Kev is very much an expressive artist, and the manner in which he conveys his feelings in music includes vulgar and explicit lyrics—something I don’t typically listen to. However, I was so intrigued by our spontaneous interview that I wanted to learn more about him as an artist. As a result, I made a rare choice to temporarily tune out the profanity and focus on the melodic stories he was telling.

Once I filtered out some of the strong language, I was able to appreciate the depth of storytelling in his music. In a strange but captivating way, it felt like he was sharing abstract pieces of his life through melody. What stood out most was how his rhythmic, and at times hazy, tone seemed to float effortlessly over the unique instrumentals, creating a alluring sound.

While the majority of his songs featured explicit content, I was pleasantly surprised to find that he also had a smaller catalog of songs for listeners like me who don’t typically gravitate toward profanity in music. That smaller collection was so melodic and catchy that I found myself putting those songs on repeat and unconsciously learning every lyric—something I often do when I discover a new artist on Spotify. But this time, it was different. I had actually met and shared a real conversation with the person behind the music, which in turn created a unique artistic connection I had never experienced before.

Part Two: A Glimmer of Hope

After hearing Kev’s music, I knew I had to reconnect with him and pursue an artistic collaboration. I sent him a message on Instagram, asking if he’d be interested in letting me film a visual of him performing one of his songs—and to my excitement, he agreed.

We didn’t have a concrete plan or strategy. I was constantly filming at the time and didn’t have the capacity to put together an elaborate treatment. So we kept it simple and, ironically, decided to meet up at the same outdoor park where we first met. Kev got in my car, and I drove us to a nearby train station where we began filming.

We started later in the evening, and about two hours in, the sun had already set. Suddenly, it was nighttime. We had to settle for the short amount of footage we captured, but I wasn’t worried—I knew I had enough for a solid visual. After we packed up, I drove Kev back to his car, and along the way, we started talking about life, art, and his music.

He wanted to share more of his songs with me, so I handed him the aux cord, turned up the volume, and he methodically walked me through the who, what, when, and where of each song. What started as a quick drive turned into a casual cruise around the city—we spent about an hour just riding, listening, and talking.

During one of the songs, a vocal hook instantly caught my attention. I asked, “Is that you singing the hook?” He smiled and told me it was his friend Nosteezz—someone he frequently collaborates with. I felt a little bad for getting so excited about a part that wasn’t his, but what struck me was how genuinely supportive he was of Chris and how gifted he thought Chris was vocally. Kev was just as much a fan of Chris as I was.

As we continued talking, it became clear that Kev was confident in his own talent. He didn’t view Chris as competition, but as an artist whose voice and skill elevated the music that he creates. In a creative space where artists often compete, it was refreshing to meet someone so secure in his artistry that he could uplift a collaborator without hesitation.

After hearing more of Chris’s music during that ride, I knew I wanted to work with him too. He was effortlessly talented, with a sound that felt dreamy and romantic—music that made you want to fall in love with someone or call someone who you fell out of love with. Like Kev, his artistry had its own distinct identity. Still, I wasn’t sure if he’d respond. Musicians at that level are often hard to reach. But I took a shot and messaged him on Instagram, asking if he’d be open to filming a visual for one of his tracks.

To my surprise—he responded. And he agreed.

The process was nearly identical to the one with Kev: no big plan, no overthinking—just meet up, film, and create something meaningful. And that’s exactly what we did.

One of the hardest parts of working with artists as talented as Kev and Chris is the fear that it might only happen once. I knew I wanted to collaborate again, but I wasn’t sure if the opportunity would come. So, I chose to appreciate those moments for what they were and held onto hope that we might work together again someday.

But then life happened—as it always does—and one month turned into several. Our connection gradually faded, not by choice, but simply because time passed and we each moved forward on our own paths.

Around the time we all lost touch, I went through a rough couple of months that deeply affected my motivation to create. Life felt inconsistent and uncertain, and I found myself stuck in a cycle of trying to stay afloat. The only consistent part of my routine was going to the local park for long walks while listening to music, trying to pass the time.

By January, I went out for a walk and opened Spotify—just like I always did. But this time, my yearly "Most Listened To" summary popped up on the screen. And I’ll never forget seeing Chris’s name on my list, right alongside other well-known artists I regularly played. I was genuinely shocked. I hadn’t even realized how much I’d listened to his music that year.

What made it even more surprising was knowing that some of Chris’s earlier work had been made on an iPad—not in a professional studio like the others on my list. Seeing his name next to these mainstream artists felt strangely uplifting. It reminded me that greatness doesn’t always come from big production—but from raw, authentic creativity.

Still feeling the weight of everything I was going through, that one small moment gave me a spark of hope I couldn’t fully explain. I was so excited that I called Chris twice and even texted him when he didn’t answer—compelled by something I couldn’t ignore. When he finally called back, I told him he had made it onto my yearly Spotify list. He seemed a little confused, but that didn’t matter. I just needed to let him know that I had become a genuine fan of his music, almost without realizing it.

Later, I sent him a screenshot of the Spotify summary and told him we’d work together again soon, once things settled down for me.

Out of all the chaos and creative doubt I’d been experiencing, that phone call gave me a glimmer of something I hadn’t felt in a long time—hope. I didn’t realize it at the time, but writing this now makes it clear: that was the first moment I openly projected a brighter future, despite the storm I was in. By telling him we would work together again, I unknowingly spoke life into myself. I reminded myself that there was still something waiting for me on the other side of the struggle.

Four months passed. The chaos began to settle, and I knew I was in a better place because my creativity started flowing again. I got back in the saddle, and when I was ready to create, I reached out to Chris and Kev. I told them I was ready.

And just like that—almost a year later—we had a new plan in motion.

Part Three: The Scary Part

It might just be me, but it seems like the best art is often created when we’re financially challenged—aka broke. When you have no money and no budget, planning becomes easier because you immediately know what can and can’t be done. For the things you can’t afford, your creativity steps in to compensate for the lack of resources—and somehow, incredible art is made.

But when you start to progress financially and gain access to more resources, creating art can actually get harder. You find yourself in this strange in-between space—you have just enough financial flexibility to upgrade your gear or invest in better tools, and the allure is real. But every purchase feels like a risk, like it could throw your stability off balance. You’re no longer as free as you were when you had nothing to lose, when making art with whatever you had was your only option.

That was exactly my situation when I reached back out to Kev and Chris.

Although my finances had improved, I had moved farther away than before. Now, there was a significant physical distance between us, and I knew that if this collaboration was going to happen, I’d have to travel to them—which meant spending a substantial amount of money.

When I met them last year, I was a radical, spontaneous, carefree creator. I filmed anywhere, anytime—no plan needed. Now, I’m still radical, but my approach has become more focused and intentional. Naturally, I started paying close attention to every detail, especially the costs—travel, car rental, studio booking, and all the logistics involved. When I added everything up and saw how much I’d be spending on this one trip, the reality hit me. Hard. The pressure started to build, and with it came fear. I started questioning whether the collaboration was even worth it.

But by this point, I was already deep into planning with Chris and Kev.

And there was added pressure, too. I had proposed this exciting idea, and both Kev and Chris were fully on board. They were genuinely enthusiastic—they even produced another song specifically for the collaboration. I could feel their energy every time we spoke. And yet, despite their excitement, I found myself searching for any reason to back out. Even the day before, I was 98% ready to cancel. But deep down, I knew I couldn’t.

With fear and anxiety in my heart, I threw caution to the wind and decided to go for it.

I booked the studio. Rented the car. Managed all the logistics, fully aware that I was taking a great risk—but hoping it would lead to something extraordinary.

Part Four: The Part When Everything Goes Wrong

The day of the collaboration, everything was finally in place. I’d managed to get a semi-full night’s rest (which almost never happens), secured the rental car, and scheduled a stop to pick up supplies for the film before hitting the road. 

But as soon as one thing went wrong, it was like a domino effect—everything started falling apart. My excitement slowly unraveled into frustration, and without even realizing it, that frustration began to drain my energy.

The supplier I’d been relying on dropped the ball at the last minute, setting me an hour behind schedule. Once I finally got on the road, it felt like there was traffic in every crevice of the city. While driving, a close friend called to check on me. Half-joking, I said it felt like every driver on the road was trying to run me off it. That’s when she casually reminded me, “You realize it’s Memorial Day weekend, right?” Suddenly, all the heavy traffic and chaos on the road made sense.

Somehow, I still managed to arrive just five minutes before our scheduled studio time. I messaged Kev and Chris to let them know I’d made it, and they said they were on their way. Nervous and excited, it finally began to sink in—this was really happening.

Then, about 20 minutes into waiting, a text popped up in the group chat that read:

“We were in an accident and we’re stuck.”

I sat down, overwhelmed by a flood of guilt. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was my fault—if pushing this collaboration somehow led to this. The mind is a beautiful thing, but moments like this show how easily it can spiral without a moments notice.

I sent multiple texts and tried calling—just hoping to know they were okay. But no response came, only deepening my worry. I wandered around the studio, caught in a strange emotional limbo—calm on the surface, but vulnerable underneath. Then, after about ten minutes, a new message from Chris appeared:

“We’re on the way.”

The relief and joy that washed over me were indescribable. That simple message gave me a sudden surge of energy—and for a brief moment, sparked a wave of insight. I thought about all the internal doubts, external setbacks, and unpredictable chaos we’d faced just to get here. And in that moment, I knew—when we finally stepped into the same room again, it was going to be powerful.

When they arrived, Chris called and told me to meet them in the parking lot. I rushed downstairs. Chris looked like he’d just been in a fight, and Kev was drenched in sweat—as if he’d lived five lifetimes in a single day. The first thing we did was laugh—a stress-releasing, collective laugh that came naturally, as if our bodies knew we needed it.

I’m not sure if it was adrenaline or pure determination, but without pausing to explain what happened, Chris and Kev kept walking toward the studio entrance, and I followed. As we moved, I don’t remember exactly what Chris said, but it was something like, “We’ve been through a lot—but we’re here, and we’re going to make it happen.”

Everything happened so fast, I couldn’t fully process those words—but they stuck with me. In that moment, I knew: this collaboration was truly meant to be.

Final Part: Nocturne No. I

The incredible thing about Chris and Kev is that when you hear the quality of their music, you’d think it was produced in a top-tier studio. But most of their songs are recorded right from their bedrooms—so this collaboration marked the first time they stepped into a studio with professional, high-end equipment.

Even though we lost a significant amount of our booked time, I knew I wanted to capture their first reaction walking into the studio. Honestly, it turned out to be one of my favorite moments of the entire experience. Watching two incredibly talented artists express pure, unfiltered joy for something many musicians probably take for granted was both humbling and powerful. Kev and Chris explored every detail of the space—touching buttons, plugging in cords, figuring things out with curiosity and awe.

There was one hilarious moment when Kev put on the headphones to warm up for his performance. Mid-note, he suddenly stopped and shouted, “I can hear myself!!” Seconds later, Chris ran into the booth yelling, “I can hear you too!!!” and we all burst into laughter. It was funny, but also powerful—to see their pure excitement in this new environment they were quickly learning to navigate.

When it came time to film, Kev went first, stepping into a level of emotional vulnerability he hadn’t shown on camera before. He later told me that expressing his raw emotion while performing on camera was completely new for him. But rather than shy away from that discomfort, he embraced it—and delivered a performance that felt deeply honest and real.

Soon after, Chris took his turn, and the creative energy in the recording booth continued to flow.

Watching them perform through a camera lens was something special—you could feel every emotion behind their lyrics. More than once, I caught myself lost in the moment.

I wanted to capture a variety of shots of Chris and Kev, which is why I booked two studios—one for the recording session and another for photo and video. Because of our late start, time slipped away quickly in the recording booth, so we had to wrap that session sooner than planned before moving into the second studio. But even that transition felt exciting. We could all sense the project taking shape, and there was something surreal about watching it finally come to life.

When we arrived at the second studio, a renewed rush of collective energy hit us as we stepped from one extreme to another. This space was bigger, sleeker—and filled with professional lighting, rigs, and gear. Yet none of us had a clue how to operate it. We thought simply pressing the power button would do the trick, but quickly discovered the lights needed to be synced with the cameras—something we had no idea how to do.

Lighting was essential—we couldn’t move forward without it. Even though I had booked the studio and was technically leading the shoot, Chris and Kev sensed my panic. Without any formal ask, they jumped right in. Kev pulled up YouTube tutorials on how to sync the lighting system, while Chris began pressing buttons and exploring every control. Minutes later, they had the lights synced perfectly with the cameras, and we resumed filming and photography.

By this point, everything was flowing, and it was overwhelming in the best way possible to see it all finally coming together. Everyone had creative ideas, and we fed off each other's energy. I was supposed to be directing and filming, but it got to the point where they were filming each other—and I just stood back, watching as Chris and Kev gave me suggestions on how to improve certain shots. It was beautiful to see their zeal for creating and collaborating throughout the session.

A little after 11:00 PM, with about an hour left on our studio booking, we shot the final performance. Then we decided to film a sit-down interview—our final bow to an unforgettable day. Just like my previous collaborations with Chris and Kev, this one seemed to end as quickly as it had started. But as I packed up my gear and walked back to the car, I couldn’t help but think about how close I came to letting fear stop me from ever experiencing this.

During the interview, Chris unknowingly said something that felt so timely and personal: “You just have to keep going—because you never know how it’ll all end.”

Those words stayed with me long after the cameras stopped rolling. They echoed the fear and uncertainty I faced before deciding to take this leap—and reminded me that the creative journey is never straightforward. It’s messy, unpredictable, and often challenging, but it’s also where growth, connection, and true artistry live.

This collaboration with Chris and Kev became the first installment of The Nocturne Series, a project that highlights artists who create in the nighttime hours. The interview and the full film from this session with Kev and Chris will be released soon—and I’m truly excited to share the fleeting moments that were captured.

More than anything, this experience with Chris and Kev reaffirmed that sometimes the biggest risks lead to the most meaningful rewards—and that inspiration, when embraced, has the power to transform not just our art, but our lives.