Benjamin Booker

The last place you’ll find Benjamin Booker is where he was yesterday.

The artist grew up in a woodsy trailer park on the outskirts of T ampa overlooking a
sewage plant, surrounded by rebel flags and religious fanaticism. “The neighbors
burned a cross in my yard when I was 6. We didn’t really socialize with a lot of people
around us after that. I spent all of my time in my head.”

Eventually, he found his way to the local DIY punk scene, a welcomed escape, and
never looked back. After releasing his Waiting Ones EP , he was picked up by blogs and
signed to a label shortly after news spread.

His 2014 self-titled debut album dabbled in fuzzy americana-inspired garage rock. The
raw, stripped back, analogue recordings hinted at the past, but underneath the surface
were contemporary songs about gay marriage, growing up in a post-9/11 world and
erotic asphyxiation. Then, after nearly losing his life in a shooting in New Orleans, he
retreated to Mexico City and wrote his second album Witness (2017)—a darker album
that ran lush string arrangements, 60s balladry, boom bap, and 70s glam rock through
Shawn Everett’s futuristic mixing filter.

Both albums were met with critical acclaim and led to world tours, a spot on just about
every festival you can think of and opening slots for T ame Impala, Jack White and Neil
Young. But then, he disappeared.