Ben Kidson screamed into the void until someone screamed back

Ben Kidson was once told that he could “either go out partying, hang out with girls or row”. Thank God he chose the former, because without it, his emotionally accurate tracks about undercover posh boys (‘Mortified’), vapid daters (‘Back on the Apps’) and boastful sesh heads (‘Shiver’) would cease to exist. The South London-born and raised artist — “NOT rapper”, the anti-title that’s become something of a tagline — has built a cult following on TikTok and Instagram, amassing over forty thousand followers, for sharing videos of himself talking to music on the tube. In them, Kidson chats about the internal and external details of his life, like the vulnerability, and inherent British awkwardness, of falling in love.

Though, before adopting this more honest sound, Kidson — a big Wolverhampton Wolves fan — was performing indie pop songs to crowds of thirty thousand at the club’s Molineux Stadium. It was a real “high”, he tells me, despite the team’s four–two loss. This musical era also saw the Londoner open for Robbie Williams at Hyde Park in 2024. It’s a far cry from where he started.

“It’s like screaming into a void. You have to hope that, at some point, someone screams back.”

As a teenager, Kidson would cold call The Bedford, his local watering hole (and also where he suggested we meet for our chat), to ask about drop- out performance spots. Now a seasoned professional with an as-yet-unnamed EP in the works and two upcoming tours, Kidson is still as visibly excitable. The trick to staying relevant, he jokingly tells me (in full Toy Story alien voice), is to remember that we must “all hail the algorithm”.

But the speed at which Kidson disarms himself indicates that his personality is just as much a factor in his success. The fact he’s working diligently to find his crowd can’t be ignored either. “You just have to keep doing it, and hold onto the fucking ball.” He shouts the last word, coffee shoved aside, hands grabbing the air. “At some point, it will happen, in whatever degree.” And it will — as soon as the artist, both brilliantly laser focused and laid back, commits to naming his new tracks.

Hattie Birchinall: How is the new EP going?

Ben Kidson: I’m fucking excited about it. At the beginning of the year, I was done with music. I opened for Robbie Williams at Hyde Park, which was this huge high, and then by November it was just flat. I thought about applying to fucking law school. But now I’ve suddenly got this body of work, this new sound, and I love it.

HB: As someone who uses social media heavily to market their music, how difficult is it not to let the numbers influence your creativity?

BK: It’s borderline impossible. There’s something about certain types of content creation that feel profoundly insincere. I was really at odds with myself because every time I posted a TikTok, I could just see Kurt Cobain looking at me with his arms folded, like, What are you fucking doing? But you just have to remember that if you’re making stuff you love, it’ll find its path. Though, if you don’t check yourself, it will ruin your life. It took me two years to have some success on TikTok. It’s like screaming into a void. You have to hope that, at some point, someone screams back.

HB: Your music has definitely found its path. People openly relate to a lot of what you say. How do you tap into these collective feelings so well?

BK: It took me a really long time. I went to a boys’ school, and you learn to detach yourself from your emotions. I had to do a lot of work to break through That. And then I read Bob Dylan’s advice to Tom Petty, which was something like ‘just fucking say it’. Then I was like, Oh, okay, I’ll just fucking say it then. I’m not trying to be relatable to everybody. I just write about what my experiences at house parties were like, and the fact that it has resonated with people is brilliant.

HB: Nevertheless, people find it hard to define what your music is. Why do you think that is?

BK: I don’t want to feel limited in what I can do. The best bands are about trying to find new sounds and new things. As soon as a song sounds too much like one thing, me and my producer, Cashybear, hate it. We’ll find something to hitch it up in a way that those indie rock purists wouldn’t do.

HB: Is it a way to carve out a specific niche for yourself, away from the excess of content on TikTok?

BK: I’ve actually found that the thing that benefits you online is to be compared to something else. The truth is that if you’re too different but not weird enough, the algorithm doesn’t know where to put you, and you can get lost. It’s one of the hardest things about being a musician at the moment. We don’t have a platform for things to be promoted without it going, ‘You liked this, why not try this?’

HB: Do you think the same thing can be said for dating apps?

BK: Dating apps make us vapid. So many people I know won’t match with someone if they don’t have the best pictures. That’s partly why I wrote ‘Back on the Apps’ after a break-up. Meeting people in person, if you have a connection, it doesn’t matter what they look like. Also, sometimes on the apps, you get into a phase where you’re only matching people who look like your ex. How fucking unhealthy is that?

HB: On the topic of technology, what do you think of AI artists like Xania Monet?

BK: I can’t see myself falling in love with an AI artist like I would [with someone] else. I don’t like music that toes the middle line, and that’s kinda what it’s set up to do. AI always gives you averages. I started talking over songs because I wanted to share how I felt. And the fact that people resonate with it is really special to me.

HB: If it’s not healing our collective trauma surrounding dating apps, what are you up to next?

BK: I’ve just released a remix of ‘Shiver’, then I’m off on tour with Will Linley, and then I’m back with my band, Good Health Good Wealth. I’m also releasing a song about your ex getting back with their ex. It’s extremely bitter and sarcastic. And petty. I can’t wait for it to come out.