Finding a Voice That Would Not Let Go

Written by Malik Perkins
December 17th, 2025

Some stories only reveal their weight when you slow down long enough to hear them in full. Not the clipped version. Not the resume. The story that includes interruptions, setbacks, and moments that could have ended everything but somehow did not.

Chris’ story is one of those.

When we talked, there was no performance. A child moved in the background. Life was happening in real time. That felt appropriate. His creativity has never existed separate from life. It has always been braided into it.

Chris grew up on the west side of Dayton, Ohio, though his earliest years were split between Dayton and Lynchburg, Virginia. He was born in Dayton, spent several formative years in Virginia, then returned home around the age of seven or eight.

“I didn’t really know how rich Dayton’s history was,” he said. “The church I went to was right next to Zapp and Roger’s studio.”

Music was present long before it became intentional. Church played a major role, not just spiritually but musically. Gospel was foundational. Hip hop was constant. R and B filled the gaps.

“That’s what I was born into,” he said. “Hip hop has always been an outlet for me.”

His first experience creating music came from wanting to follow his brother’s lead. He wrote his first 16 bars around the age of 11 or 12, recording on a karaoke machine with double cassette tapes.

“We had a homemade studio,” he said. “Sound quality was trash, but you could play it in the car. You could play it at church. It was digestible.”

As he moved into high school, life became heavier. Responsibility arrived early. Faith became more complicated. Trauma was no longer abstract.

At 16 years old, Chris was shot.

“I said, God, am I going to die,” he recalled. “And I heard, no.”

Music did not disappear after that moment. It deepened. It became survival.

At Central State University, his projects CA Revolution and Movement Music reshaped campus culture, fueled constant performances, and turned dorm rooms into gathering spaces.

“That was the first project where I felt like I could take myself seriously,” he said.

After college, life expanded. Marriage. Fatherhood. Work. Responsibility. Music slowed, not because it disappeared, but because life demanded range.

“There is no perfect moment,” he said. “You take the moment you have and make it perfect for your dreams.”

This is not a story about becoming famous. It is a story about surviving, growing, and never letting go of the voice that carried you through.