In 1986 James Benton left Kentucky and moved into the Chelsea Hotel in NYC, spending much of his days there writing poetry in the lobby or in his dingy 6th floor room, usually with a cheap jug of Carlo Rossi not far from hand. He admits now that the poems written there were mostly very bad, infused with a rather blurred observation of eccentric residents and curious visitors. During his stay at the Chelsea he was given an acoustic guitar by one of the clerks working there and took it as a sign that he should at least start practicing a bit more and to perhaps give poems a little rest. After a series of rather painfully unbearable jobs that included a short gig at a criminal telemarketing firm he landed a position at The Bottom Line working as a host. “The pay was shit, but they fed me pretty good burgers and I was able to hear and meet some great musicians, including Keith Richards, Suzanne Vega, David Johansen and Odetta, the later, actually giving me a verbal blessing as she exited the door one night. However, the money I had stolen out of my Father’s suitcase ran out with a quickness living my little dream of living at the Chelsea and finally I found myself facing the cold, unwelcomed reality of having to move into the YMCA around the corner, and I became confronted by guys knocking on my door in the middle of the night whispering through the thin door what they would like to do with me while the cockroaches treked over the ceiling and walls. I only stayed one night.” He then moved into a dank, rodent infested, closet like space on the upper west side where the views consisted of watching an occupied body bag being transported down a dark hallway and PCP crazed guys convulsing on the sidewalks at night. New York was quickly becoming a cold and lonely place and he finally hauled out south to the Florida Keys where he stayed at a sort of Quasi rainbow hippydom commune on Big Pine Key called The Long Hair Ranch, sleeping in tents, palm shacks, school buses and at times his car. “One of my best friends down there was a guy named Electric Ed. The people at the ranch would take turns preparing the evening vegetarian meals that would cost a dollar per person. When it came to Ed’s turn to make the meal, he would stuff the money in his pocket that was to be used for buying the food items and head down to the local Winn Dixie and use the money to stock up on some cheap beer. He would then proceed to dumpster dive for the evening meal.”
After a couple of years in the Keys he decided to move to N. California where he mingled a bit with some Native American Indians, learning the ways of ceremony which included all night peyote prayer meetings. The following few years were spent
floating back and forth across the country, delving into mysticism and taking up a Zen Buddhist practice, although he no longer calls himself a Buddhist.
“I am just a free being, coming and going out of time now.”
James only began performing publicly in 1997 after moving to the island of Crete with some encouragement from a close friend there and began writing profusely both poetry and songs. Several gigs and a radio show later, he moved to the mountains in the South of France where he now lives and recently recorded Heavy Hearts, his self released debut album.
He is currently working on finishing a documentary about a group of Rom (gypsies) who are being terrorised by the French government, taking care of his little cat, and writing a few more songs.