On the Rise
Benét

“I never had any intentions of being an artist. I just loved the idea of it. My mom used to take me to big concerts like Maxwell, so I thought you had to have a big band and be famous forever!” he says now, his casual tone reflecting a comfort in the unexpected. But that comfort came with experience – the Virginia-born singer/songwriter has a way of stumbling into things that change his life, music included.

When he joins our Zoom call, the digital room fills with the warmth of a familiar friend. He opens with the first question of the conversation: “How is your day going?” Though a small gesture, it offers a glimpse of the curiosity that quietly powers everything he does.

For Benét, music has always been tethered to connection, and it found him early. His mother, a singer herself, placed him in “every choir in the world” growing up. He recalls feeling self-conscious about how peers might view choir, but those spaces became the foundation of his strongest friendships. “I loved being in choir. That’s how you really make friends – you all trauma bond together!” he laughs. “I’m still friends with so many people from choir, and I love them.”

Choir gave him both a space to explore his voice and an early understanding of musical collaboration. But it also introduced a kind of emotional dissonance. As a transgender kid expected to perform in formal, feminine clothing, Benét found himself forced into a role that didn’t align with who he was becoming.

“It was such a seesaw of emotions,” he explains. “I loved to sing, I loved meeting people and being in the groups. But when it came to concerts, all of the girls had to wear dresses – and I was a baby transgender. It ruined performing because I had to be something I wasn’t for a little bit.”

Despite that, he never stopped singing. If anything, the tension only sharpened his resolve to perform authentically. “Sometimes I would miss a concert and get a bad grade because that attire didn’t match with me at all,” he says. “But I always knew I could be myself and still get my solo. I wasn’t going to compromise that.”

He’s candid, too, about how long it’s taken to feel at home in his body. “I had this sadness that I wasn’t born in the right body,” he shares. “I love being transgender, but growing up, I had a hard time accepting my identity. Therapy really helped me to accept the things that I can’t change.”

Benét speaks with ease now, but becoming secure in his identity – both personally and artistically – was anything but straightforward. He credits his mother’s support, a post-high school period of confusion, and a series of unexpected detours for guiding him here. One such detour: joining a clown band at a theme park as a self-taught trombonist.

“I actually got fired from that job,” he grins, recalling how he landed the gig without really being able to read music, unlike his fellow bandmates who he credits as “some of the most incredible trombone players you could meet.” “That experience taught me a lot," he adds. "My colleagues really helped me. We had such a connection, they taught me everything. And the experience instilled in me that I’m a great performer.”

The firing, as it turns out, was a blessing. “If I learned anything, it’s that maybe people should get fired more often,” he jokes. “It forces you to take the plunge. That job ending got me thinking about what I really wanted to do. The second time I got fired, from Target, I moved to New York.”

While Benét might accept that “it’s just life,” he doesn’t take it passively. Instead, he asks questions, seeks out help, and throws himself into what brings him joy. After his high school slump, he began uploading YouTube covers and eventually tried writing over lo-fi beats. It wasn’t until a friend released a song on Spotify that he realised just how accessible making music could be. “My friend Jason put a song on Spotify, and I was like, ‘You can do that?!’ He told me his friend Cameron helped him, so I emailed him.”

That message kicked off Benét’s career. Together, he and Cameron made “Funny”, his first song, which would later attract the attention of Bayonet Records. He didn’t have a catalogue at the time but quickly got to work. The result was his 2021 EP Game Over!, followed by a debut album Can I Go Again? in 2023.

With his new album Make ‘Em Laugh, out today, it feels like Benét has fully arrived. The album is bright, eclectic, and emotionally rich, pairing conversational lyricism with genre-hopping arrangements that swing from guitar-led indie rock to experimental pop and gospel-inspired soul. “I wanted this album to be fun,” he says. Not in spite of its emotional weight, but because of it. Written in the wake of a breakup, Make ‘Em Laugh traces the complicated aftermath. Rather than aiming for closure, it leans into uncertainty: “What went wrong?” “Am I okay?” “What now?”

Benét likens the record to a game of Cluedo: a slow, twisting investigation into the breakdown of a relationship. This time, though, he had therapy as a guide. He started sessions while making the album, and their impact is audible – not just in the lyrics, but in the looseness and humour of the project. “To be completely honest with you, I struggle with acceptance,” he says. “Something my therapist told me was, ‘The wall is red.’ It’s not about asking why the wall is red, or if it can be blue. It’s just red.”

Even as he admits that he’s still learning how to let things be, there’s a clarity to his presence that suggests real progress. And while Make ‘Em Laugh confronts heartbreak, it never drags. There’s a silliness and lightness that reflect Benét’s own joyful contradictions. On our call, he moves easily from deeply personal reflections to laughing fits. You’d never guess he might be grounding himself with reminders about red walls.

That sense of community carries through the record, especially in its collaborators. AnnonXL brings electric energy to “Slimmer”, and Faye Webster – Benét’s best friend – features on the title track. When I ask what it was like to work with her, he lights up. “It’s so great when you have a good work–friend balance. We’re able to be honest with each other because we’ve worked together so much. I also run her Discord. I’m King Minion. And I just love her down!”

This love and creative partnership with Webster extends to Mamalarky bassist Noor Khan in what Benét calls a “triocito.” “We are in love with each other,” he says, beaming. “I think I was one minute late to this call because I was hanging up with them! We just want each other to win. Having a pure, honest relationship with these two people is life changing.”

Producer Carlos Hernández also played a vital role, helping Benét expand his ideas without the pressure that had weighed down previous projects. “I put so much pressure on the first record and it shows a bit,” he says. “For this one, I just wanted to bring in friends and people whose music I admire, and write together. I wanted to chill. And I told Carlos that from the start.”

The result is a record that holds complexity without collapsing under it, one that lets sadness and silliness share space. Even the title, Make ‘Em Laugh, feels like a thesis: a coping mechanism, a plea, and a punchline.

Beyond the people who shaped the record, one place holds particular weight in Benét’s story: the iconic Brooklyn venue Baby’s All Right. After moving to New York, he worked door shifts there, soaking in the atmosphere and building connections. The day before our interview, Billy Jones – the venue’s co-founder – had passed away. “Before I even talk about Baby’s, I just want to say rest in peace to Billy,” he says. “So much love to him. He changed so many people’s lives.”

Despite having a full-time job, Benét still picks up the occasional shift there. It’s partly loyalty, partly reverence for a place that has shaped him so deeply. “Baby’s really is just a feeling. It’s indescribable. Everyone rides for each other. We just love a good song.”

Through it all, curiosity is Benét’s guiding principle. A willingness to sit with discomfort, joy, contradiction. His songs don’t chase clean conclusions. They hold space. They ask. They listen. “I want people to feel like they can do their dishes to my music, or ride to school, or give it as a Christmas present,” he says. “And then come to a show, say hi, and we laugh together.”

Even now, Benét still wonders: “Am I being too chill? Is my chillness coming off as not believing in what I’ve done?” But maybe that wondering is part of the work. He doesn’t need to have all the answers, what he’s built already carries clarity, care, and character. Through music, friendship, and a refusal to shy away from the uncomfortable, Benét is making space for himself and inviting others in. That’s enough. More than enough.