From Tin Cans to Soundscapes: The Birth of Nick Zetki

It was 2004—21 years ago—when I first composed a tune by mouthing it aloud. With the help of a talented friend, Seizo, who brought it to life on the keyboard, we gave it musical form. I was thrilled. But somewhere along the way, I let that project go.

Growing up, learning music was a distant dream. In the economic conditions of my family, singing classes were a luxury. It was already a stretch that they put me through an English-medium school. Besides, in our village, there was no music teacher in sight.

Yet, the love for rhythm was alive in me from the beginning. I remember being five years old, asking my grandfather to punch holes in an empty Farex baby formula tin. I’d string a rope through, wear it around my neck, and mimic the street drummers I heard from afar. The moment I heard the beat, my feet moved. I ran to them—fascinated.

These drummers lived on the outskirts of the village. At the time, I didn’t understand why they were pushed away, why they lived separately. Later, I learned the reason: caste. That cruel invention of our society. I abhorred it. I defied it whenever I could—by inviting them into our home, by honoring them in my heart. They were, and still are, my heroes.

Dan du du dum, dan du du dum,

dan dan du tutudu tutudu tutudu…

To me, that was divine. I am a devotee of sound.

I drummed on anything I could find—a table, a tin, a bucket. Anything.

Years passed. Life moved. Merit-based America lifted me, and with it, a desire returned—to revive the passions of my childhood. I pursued them, then got distracted. But something shifted in late 2018. I began a second innings—picking up acting, writing, directing. One by one. What followed was seven intense years of creative rebirth, sometimes guided by intention, more often sparked by necessity.

As an independent producer, I relished the freedom—but I also faced constraints. Waiting on collaborators, navigating extended turnaround times—months in most cases, and even a year in one—pushed me to adapt. Craft after craft, I learned to a professional degree. Fortunately, I never believed in excessive specialization. Whether in the IT industry or in art, I’ve always felt that a human being is naturally a generalist.

My wife and daughter both sing beautifully. It’s pure joy to hear their voices fill the home. By last year, having taken my projects significantly forward, I felt a strong pull to finally learn singing and composing.

That’s when I began learning under Soundarya—a terrific teacher, my guru, and a true force of nature. She has a powerful philosophy: "If you can talk, you can sing." It might sound simple, but in her voice, it becomes a bridge to confidence.

Soundarya doesn’t just inspire—she helps you learn faster by meeting you exactly where you are. As a young girl in India, driven purely by passion, she once took a 10–12 hour bus ride just to reach a city where she could learn Western music. That alone tells you what she’s made of.

Her dedication today is no different. She pushes past her own limits to match her students’ commitment—and often exceeds it. She wants to reduce the time it takes for us to learn, and she walks that extra mile with grace. Through this article, I pay my heartfelt tribute to her.

It’s my dream to sing alongside my teacher on a stage someday soon.

instagram.com/singerkrsoundarya

Around the same time, I discovered Cubase, Ableton, and other traditional and modern DAWs. I also found guidance from generous YouTube mentors—especially Ethan Davis, creator of the channel Complete Producer, whose clear teaching helps me build a foundation for music production.youtube.com/@CompleteProducer

It reminded me of another late realization: how slowly I’d embraced technology. The iPhone launched in 2007. But it wasn’t until 2009, when my friend Nishant showed me a silly game—tossing paper into a dustbin against the wind—that I got my first iPhone. I never downloaded that game, but I loved what the phone could do.

More recently, the rise of AI in music hit me like a shockwave. Early last year, my wife told me that a colleague of hers had sent her a song—completely written and composed by AI. That stunned me. But I didn’t go there. What is creativity if someone—or something—does all the work for me?

Still, after many attempts to move my music singles forward—facing extended wait times—I began to wonder: What if I could use AI to support, not replace, my process?

So I experimented—lyrics by me, tunes mouthed and then shaped using AI technology.

And thus, Nick Zetki was born—after deep reflection on the ethics of using AI in the creative process.

The name itself is an anagram of Citizen KK—a fusion of my identity with the tools of our time.

I didn’t want technology to replace me. I wanted a new medium. This avatar emerged from the tension between technology and soul, speed and sincerity.

For me, Nick Zetki represents a commitment to original thought while respectfully embracing collective innovation. To keep that integrity clear, I chose to credit Citizen KK for lyrics and Nick Zetki for the final musical arrangement—honoring what is mine and what is co-created. It’s a space where instinct meets intelligence—human and machine in honest collaboration.

Nick Zetki is more than an alias—it’s my way of honoring my roots, embracing the tools of today, and telling stories that carry the pulse of real people.

Right now, I’m working on many Tamil-English singles that blend native folk rhythms with ambient synth textures—a tribute to the street drummers of my childhood and the global citizen I’ve become. Some of these songs are for our films. Others are standalone singles. We record both in the U.S. with local talent for the English versions and in India for the Tamil ones. I’m also pushing my own boundaries by composing full English-only versions for the first time.

In this journey from tin cans to soundscapes, from the alleys of caste-segregated villages to cross-continental music labs, I’ve come to realize:

Art finds a way.

It always has.

Nick Zetki is not just a brand. It’s a promise—that no matter the constraint, I’ll keep showing up—with sound, with soul, and with sincerity.

To create not just for the sake of output, but to stay true to the rhythm that has always lived inside me.

And to keep learning—formally and humbly—so I can honor the craft, and the countless musicians who have spent years mastering the art of composition.