Carter Benjamin (formerly known as Benjamin Carter) doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. Within minutes of our call, he’s diving into the origin story of Black Boys on the Radio Part Two, his latest project that completes a deeply personal two-part exploration of identity, belonging, and the messy work of claiming space in a genre that hasn’t always made room for him.
“Part one was very much like, this is why I’m making rock music as a black man,” Benjamin explains, his Tampa-born, Cayman Islands-raised accent threading through the conversation. “Part two is like, this is who I am.”
The distinction matters. The first installment emerged from a pivot: Benjamin was making R&B that wasn’t resonating, feeling increasingly disconnected from his own work. A session with friend and producer Jesse Barrera, intended as a way to “blow off steam,” became something else entirely when the title track poured out in ten to fifteen minutes.
What started as a new band project called La Sainte Chapelle quickly became something he couldn’t separate from his own story. “I didn’t want to create a whole new thing when I wanted people to see my story,” he says. “I’m making R&B stuff, but I am a guy who loves rock music and was playing shows in basements, going to hardcore shows, watching Turnstile in churches in Maryland.”
Part two digs deeper. While the first project explained his presence in rock spaces, the second explores who that person actually is – someone grappling with loneliness, isolation, and the universal longing for connection. “My friends who weren’t black would tell me they just heard loneliness, someone longing to feel connected,” Benjamin recalls. “I was like, yeah, that’s exactly the theme.”
When I ask about “Skin,” the album’s anthemic centerpiece with its powerful question about fantasizing “in a world where skin only makes you human,” Benjamin lights up. Written on his last day of a month-long creative sprint away from his wife and daughter in Brazil, the song flowed effortlessly despite his creative exhaustion.
“We’re all the same. Let’s not be so divisive,” he says. “It’s okay to own that I’m black. It’s okay for you to own that you’re white. Love the shape and size that you’re in. But let’s not make it a separation.”
The producer initially worried the lyric might be “cheesy,” but Benjamin trusted his instinct. He still dreams of the day crowds will sing it back to him, even as “Sticks n’ Stones” took off on TikTok instead. “I’m doing all this independent,” he laughs, “so some things click and some things don’t at first.”
His approach to songwriting is refreshingly unfiltered. When I ask about navigating contradictions, intimacy versus isolation, desire versus self-preservation, he keeps it simple: “Just living.” He writes without pre-planning, letting lyrics emerge in the moment, sometimes not understanding their full meaning until later.
That vulnerability extends to his entire creative philosophy, captured in his mantra: “elevation by representation.” For Benjamin, representation isn’t just about visibility, it’s about connection. “When I listen to music and hear an artist say something that resonates, I’m like, oh yeah, it’s just like me. Maybe I’m not crazy. Maybe I am crazy, but at least there’s another crazy person.”
This grounding keeps him secure even as he navigates the precarious economics of independent artistry. “I genuinely don’t give a fuck if I gotta go work a full-time job,” he says with disarming honesty. “I’d be working my corporate gig doing sales somewhere and still put out an album once a year. I’m doing this because I really like it.”
With Black Boys on the Radio complete, Benjamin’s already working on what’s next: a project diving deeper into desire, craving, love, and loss. But whatever comes, the mission remains – helping people feel less alone, one song at a time.
If you want the chance to witness Carter's magic in the flesh, catch him at The Umbrella Concert Series in Concord on 11/20. After speaking to him for just a moment, I know it will be a show to remember.
Written by David Nathaniel