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There are artists who perform, and then there are artists who bare themselves. For Keaton Henson, British singer-songwriter, composer, and visual artist, making art has never been about entertainment. It’s always been a form of quiet confession. His music carries a kind of vulnerability that is almost difficult to listen to. His illustrations, often grotesque and skeletal, are equally haunting. And his presence in the public eye feels like an unresolved contradiction: a deeply private person with a deeply personal body of work.
Henson’s career began not with music but with drawing. A self-taught illustrator, he left art school early, finding himself instead in songwriting. His 2010 debut album Dear… was recorded alone in his bedroom and was never meant to be released. But the lo-fi, heartbreak-laced folky songs found their way online and struck a chord. That intimacy, that unfiltered sadness, made the album a quiet cult hit.
It was around 2012 when he started gaining wider attention. Back then, his lyrics flooded Tumblr dashboards. Dear... and the follow-up Birthdays earned him the unasked-for title of “king of sad boys”. Songs like "Party Song" or "Sweetheart, What Have You Done To Us?" carried a kind of emotional wreckage that was hard to turn away from. Henson rarely performed live due to his anxiety and agoraphobia, and that reclusiveness became part of the myth. While fans found poetry in the pain, Henson lived the other side of it: one of isolation, stunted by mental illness.
His 2016 album Kindly Now grappled with self-sabotage and grief, its closing track “Alright” offering a fragile mantra: “I’m not okay, but I’m trying.” It’s this honesty, this refusal to perform resilience, that makes his work so arresting.
Yet, from the start, Henson resisted the trappings of fame. He refused to tour, leaving fans to discover him through headphones and hushed recommendations. “I am not a performer,” he once said. “I am a nervous person who sometimes sings.”
Sitting in a small town in India years later, I couldn’t have imagined that I’d be talking to Henson over Zoom in 2023. He was kind, funny, and self-aware, far from the sombre figure people sometimes imagine. This was around the time he released House Party, a purposeful shift in sound and tone. It retained his emotional clarity but paired it with bolder, almost pop-rock production. Thematically, it still explored identity, disconnection, and performance, just in a louder voice. Henson described it to me as “putting on a mask to talk about the mask,” a playful yet piercing take on performance and persona. He was trying something different. And it worked.
Not all his music leans into lyrics. Somnambulant Cycles is one of his instrumental works, a sparse, ambient composition that sits alongside earlier neoclassical releases like Romantic Works and Six Lethargies. The meditative collection explores the notion of sleepwalking while also aiming to create a sense of passive calm and shows how Henson’s music often moves beyond genre and into mood.
Even his seasonal releases reflect his emotional lens. Last year, he quietly put out "A Christmas Song", a stripped-back piano and strings piece that offers a melancholic, honest view of the season. It’s about loneliness and distance more than celebration, which makes it, in many ways, unmistakably his.
Henson’s refusal to conform to the typical expectations of artists has been constant. He has performed in complete darkness, hidden behind curtains, and even live-streamed gigs into people's bedrooms. During the pandemic, this became his way of staying close while staying away. “I can’t be with you, but here’s my voice in your home,” he once said.
He has never promised a resolution. His songs end abruptly. His drawings are often incomplete. His albums do not follow arcs – they spill. But that’s also why his work resonates. It feels true to how we actually experience life.
Today, artists like Julien Baker and Ben Howard cite him as an influence. But Henson’s real legacy lies in the deeply personal connection fans have with his work. People write his lyrics in notebooks, send him letters, and feel seen in his silence.
Henson doesn’t aim to fix anything. He offers companionship instead. As he sings in "Elevator Song", a stark acappella piece about suicide, “You are not alone in anything.” It’s not a resolution, but it’s enough to feel understood.
Here are some excerpts from our 2023 conversation, where he reflects on success, fame, and his creative process, a glimpse into the person behind the art:
What is your creative process when it comes to songwriting? Do you view composing melodies and writing lyrics as separate crafts, or do both aspects go hand in hand?
I find it interesting that composing classical Instrumental music feels like a different process for me compared to writing songs. When composing, it feels like a slow and detailed building process, while writing songs feel more spontaneous, as if they just flow out. Sometimes, a song comes together quickly, almost in the length of the song itself, and then I refine and edit it.
Although they feel like different things, I try to approach songwriting as a unified process where the melody and lyrics naturally fit together. The tune usually comes to me first, and as I develop the chords, the lyrics naturally develop alongside them. I aim for the lyrics to naturally go with the chords so they happen at a similar time.
I believe there are two distinct approaches to creating, which I have discussed with various musician friends. One approach can be described as being a mad scientist, where you experiment, dismantle, and reconstruct ideas until they become something magical. The other approach involves having conversations with a higher power or source of inspiration, where ideas seem to come from an unknown place, and you must be receptive enough to capture them.
It's fascinating to observe how some of the greatest bands, like Radiohead, embody both of these approaches. For instance, Jonny Greenwood represents the mad scientist, while Thom Yorke seems to have conversations with a higher power. It is this combination that contributes to their greatness.
Many listeners find your music to be incredibly relatable and emotionally resonant. How do you navigate the fine line between expressions of vulnerability and privacy when crafting such personal songs?
It's an intriguing dilemma for me because I highly value my privacy and have no desire to be famous or have my personal life exposed. However, the music I create happens to be confessional in nature, making it challenging to find a balance. I've been striving to navigate this balance and ask myself how I can keep aspects of my life to myself while sharing my emotions and vulnerabilities through my music.
I've come to realise that I can choose which parts of myself to share. I can be completely honest and open about my sadness and anxiety, but I reserve other aspects, such as my sense of humour or my love for gardening, as more private.
Despite revealing my deepest flaws and feelings through my music, I still feel a sense of protection because I don't actively engage in daily social media updates, sharing my home or trying to appear relatable and funny. This choice provides me with a sense of safety and maintains a level of privacy that I cherish.
What is your definition of success? What is your purpose in making music?
My definition of success revolves around leaving behind a body of work that holds substance, providing a glimpse into the essence of my soul. If someone can listen to my music after I'm gone and truly understand who I was, then I consider that a success. It's about creating a comprehensive collection of songs that make sense as a whole.
Additionally, the ability to focus solely on making music without the need for multiple jobs or distractions holds importance to me. I came to realise that many preconceived notions of success, like selling out big venues or winning awards, ultimately offer little fulfilment. They serve as benchmarks that, once achieved, only lead to setting new goals further away.
Therefore, for me, success lies in looking back at my body of work and feeling a sense of coherence. While I may always want to make tweaks to chords or lyrics, I mostly feel content knowing that my work has meaning and resonance, which brings a sense of personal fulfilment and success.
Do you think it’s possible for a singer-songwriter to be a recording artist only and not a performing artist to be successful?
I'm really trying my best to navigate this challenge. It can be tough. You see, I'm fortunate enough to have various creative outlets like painting, composing, writing poetry, and creating books. I count my blessings for that.
However, the music industry has this expectation that you not only write songs but also perform them. And to be honest, that's where it gets difficult for me. I recently realised that performing on stage just isn't my strong suit. I pushed myself hard, thinking maybe I could do it, but it was not my natural inclination. I thrive when I'm alone in my room, pouring my heart and soul into my craft.
But here's the thing that worries me. It seems like nowadays, it's not enough to be a performer; you have to be a personality. You have to be an influencer. Many opportunities in the music industry, like record labels and press coverage, hinge on how many followers you have on social media.
It's as if being relatable online has become an art form in itself. And that's where the concern arises. What will happen to those brilliant songwriters who may not be naturally adept at projecting themselves in a relatable way? Can't we separate the two?
I mean, not every great songwriter is also a great talker or social media star. It's disheartening to think that we might miss out on incredible artists just because they don't fit the mould of an Instagram influencer. It's a worrisome and somewhat scary thought to contemplate.
Keaton Henson (born 24 March 1988) is an English musician, composer, visual artist, and poet. He has released eight studio albums, a wordless graphic novel titled Gloaming, and poetry collections such as Idiot Verse and Accidental Dancing. As an artist, he is notably shy, rarely grants interviews, plays very few shows and steers resolutely clear of social media.
Written by Manisha Maity | Instagram | Facebook | X | Email
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