Article: NiickC Running Toward the Light

Nov 1
5 min read

“The second I want to quit is when I have to make something. It’s wood to the fire.”

Inside the rise of Nick C, the self-taught artist whose DIY tracks and film debut prove that passion can outpace perfection.

- Musician: NiickC aka Nick Convine -

If you ask Nick Convine what people should know about him, he’ll shrug. “I make music. I act. I work in aged care.” There’s a humility there that doesn’t quite square with the pace of his last year: more than twenty self-recorded tracks on streaming platforms, a sync placement for his song “Runaway” in the feature film ‘Blue Horizon’ (which premiered 11 May at the Gold Coast Film Festival), and a cameo on screen because the director wanted him in the story,

not just on its soundtrack.

It’s a milestone that arrived fast. “I’ve only been doing music for a year and two months,” he says, still a little stunned. But for anyone who listens closely, the speed makes sense. Nick’s work carries the urgency of someone who understands time — someone who’s sat with people at the end of their lives and decided not to wait for permission to begin.

The spark & grind

Nick’s journey to where he is wasn’t textbook and he is keeping firm to this. He dropped out of high school, found his way back into education through the New York Film Academy (Australia) joining its final intake before it closed; and let the experience blow open his shell. “If I didn’t go then, I would’ve missed the chance,” he says. “I met people who changed my life. That’s where everything aligned — where I met Josh, who later brought me into Blue Horizon.”

The academy didn’t just teach him technique; it taught him belief. That belief, he’ll tell you, isn’t some airy mantra. It’s practical, stubborn and daily. He still works early shifts in aged care, still fights doubt, still builds songs from his room with a budget mic, audio interface, phone and BandLab. “You don’t need thousands for studio time,” he says. “You can make it sound good enough for a film in your room.”

Freestyle first, truth always

Nick’s creative process is a cinema of instinct. He scrolls through 20+ beats until one tells him a story. He hits record, freestyles a full take, layers a second melody, then returns the next day to shape what his gut spilled out. “The beat tells me what to say,” he explains. “I build the song around a line that hit(s).”

It’s messy, emotional, and by his own admission, a pain sometimes. But it’s honest. Early tracks were character studies; “Myself” was a turn inward. “It was the scariest thing I’ve released,” he says. “I wanted to be as vulnerable as a classmate who poured his heart into a short film. Since then, I’ve written the real stuff.”

That realness now threads through releases like “Leave It Alone” (with an intro interlude that confesses the urge to quit and the promise not to). He’s evolving into a songwriter who treats confession like craft — the more precise he gets, the more universal it sounds.

The LAROI Boy who found his own voice

Ask Nick about influences and he lights up: The Kid LAROI. The signature is literally on his arm. “I’d never connected like that before,” he says. “He showed me you can make it from Australia at this age. I used his sound to discover my own.”

There’s also Post Malone in Nick’s DNA, those early records that rode shotgun with him through a hard chapter, and a curveball wish list for future collabs (Post Malone and Luke Combs) that hints at Nick’s genre-fluid instincts.

He calls his own sound “cinematic”, and it fits. Even his quickfire answers map to widescreen: the first song he loved was LAROI’s “Tell Me Why,” the one he wishes he wrote is “Forever & Again,” the last thing he played in the car was an unreleased work-in-progress called “By the Ocean.”

The film Moment

Blue Horizon is a hinge. “Runaway” doesn’t just appear; it arrives. Once as a scene’s heartbeat, and again, bigger, like a door bursting open. “He told me it’s a build-up with the instrumental, then when the punch lands, the song hammers,” Nick says.

Then there’s that cameo: a reaction shot the director added after the cut. “He really wanted me in it,” Nick grins. “It’s quick, but it’s there. And it means something.”

Nick was also on the Gold Coast Film Festival red carpet for the premiere. And if you check his Instagram, there are photos. It arrived with a huge buzz and ended with the same vibe. There may even be a “Blue Horizon” tattoo. He laughs when he admits it, but beneath the joke is a kid who promised himself he’d step into his own story and keeps doing it.

Why it matters

Behind the momentum is a reservoir of perspective. Nick works in aged care.

He listens when people share the wisdom of endings: the chances they didn’t take, the things fear stole. “I’ve got one life,” he says. “I’m not built for a nine-to-five I don’t want forever. The fear’s there — but when I step into the room, it goes.”

It’s not just philosophy. It’s fuel. When self-doubt bites, he flips it into output. “The second I want to quit is when I have to make something,” he says. “It’s wood to the fire. I tell myself there’s no other vision of me that makes sense, so I turn the feeling into a song. And then — boom — the new one means more than the last.”

Surviving to create

Nick doesn’t perform his life as trauma. He tells it straight. At 13, he was diagnosed with a rare form of leukaemia (PML).

He remembers Livewire’s games rooms, holding the Olympic baton, two-hour chemo sessions, and the way innocence buffers shock. He remembers being told the survival rate was 95%, and how that loosened the grip of fear.

He remembers the darkest days too, when he didn’t want to go back for chemo, and the friends he made on the ward — Bailey and Ben — who didn’t all get to leave.

The story hurts, but he doesn’t package it. He gives it to you like a kid who had to grow up and kept his softness anyway. “Music helped,” he says. “Friends helped. My mum — always.” Practical magic for a practical dreamer.

Maybe that’s why older people feel like peers to him now. He’s learned the value of time, the texture of presence, the weight of choosing and it shows up in his body of work so far.

What's next

After the 11 May premiere, the focus shifts to a music video with the Blue Horizon director, more singles (an acoustic project is forming), and the steady build of an audience that doesn’t need much convincing once they hear. Acting auditions are selective as tattoos aren’t always casting-friendly, but commercial work is bubbling, and he’s got the patience to play the long game (plus NDAs to keep him mysterious).

He wants New York; a sold-out arena in a city that mirrors his pace; but he knows that every room counts. He knows you can go from seat to stage if you keep showing up.

Before we wrapped, I asked what he hopes people take from his music. He pauses. “I hope they feel what I felt making it,” he says finally. It’s the most Nick answer possible: humble, precise and true.

“Runaway” is already out there. “Leave It Alone” too. “By the Ocean” is knocking. The rest is moving fast.

And if you need a headline for this chapter of his story, it’s simple: a young artist in a room with a mic, a phone, and a promise to himself — running toward the light and bringing the chorus with him.