ON TH E RE CO RD

“It’s essential. As much as water or anything else. Seeds, food? Nourishment, just like the sun. Sometimes you can put on some music that will make you feel better. You know, the sun comes out. I think it’s so important,” Benson exclaimed. “When I was transitioning from a difficult time in my life, that’s one thing I said to myself, like, ‘I’m gonna kind of dedicate my life to music.’ It gave me something to do. Because at first, it was like a little tiny light, like, ‘Okay, I need to go there.’ And then it became apparent music was something I was passionate about.”

Between all three of Benson’s current professions, he injects this into everyth ing he does.

Benson’s myriad know-hows stem from his openness to experience and diversity of lifestyles he’s led.

With a reminiscent smile, Benson recalled, “I’ve had lots of jobs. I spent two and a half years basically living on the road as a Tibetan tour monk. So they fly here, they go to work, visa, etcetera. They do monk stuff, and we travel around. And I basically was like a roadie, if you will, for the Gaden Shar tse monks.”

Benson absorbs something new from each c areer pivot.

“It depends on each job,” he illustrated. “Like in a kitchen, you get really mindful of sharp things. You don’t want to cut your finger off. You start noticing how chemistry works as a chef, so you have to be mindful of how you blend things, just like as a DJ, you’re blending things together. It can be two totally different things but sometimes odd combinat ions work.”

Benson speaks with an air of spirituality, and a fascination with the daily, even mundane, aspec ts of life.

“Having experience with so many different things, you just kind of blend everything together, just like us,” he said. “My name is Joe, but what does that mean? I’m everything that’s ever existed. Same with you. We’re gold, silver, and space dust. We have receptors for sound and taste and all that. So we’re part of those things.”

In regard to his teaching position, Benson explained, “About the first four weeks I had a student spitting on me every day. But again, some of the things I went through with the monks [taught me] compassion and patience. I try to take myself out of my [own] point of view. Even then, we were kind of taught to just keep teaching, to keep our attention fixed on some thing else.

"That’s actually a secret amongst teachers is none of us know what the hell we’re doing. Obviously we do to some extent, but we go to work every day not knowing what’s going to happen. Just go because you want to be there. Enrich people’s lives and teach them about something. Like when I can teach them about a piano player, like Thelonious Monk [or musicians like] James Brown and M iles Davis.”

At the core of his love for music is its capacity for human connection a rhythm, a heartbeat, that binds people across time and space.

“It’s like a little bit of time that was recorded, so you can hear it. I don’t know, I just think it’s really cool to hear something that happened so long ago, just as it happened,” Benson explained, grinning. “It’s kind of like folklore in that way, it’s from a specific time and place. A record is a direct transfer, usually from a magnetic tape, as the music was heard at that time.

“It’s awesome it makes you feel connected to older generations.”

STORY BY SARA LOCKE

PHOTOGRAPHY BY BILL SITZMANN DESIGN BY MATT WIECZOREK