Listening to George Benson last night transported me down memory lane, recalling my first encounters with his music in the early 1980s when I was still a schoolboy. After high school, I found a part-time job at the Sri Lanka Broadcasting Corporation, where I fondly remember Anthia Peris Flambert, married to a Jamaican, playing Benson's music on air. Albums like "Gressing Inflight," "Living Inside Your Love," and "Weekend in LA," and I immediately fell in love with his music. I have long admired Benson's ability to harmonize his vocals with his guitar. I cannot substitute a musician who has that kind of musical and vocal talent. My appreciation for his music even led to a friendship with a medical student from Zimbabwe in Ukraine, who shared my enthusiasm for Benson's work, and we often celebrated with music and dance during our weekend gatherings. We played Benson's "On Broadway" at our wild parties. While in the USA, I encountered many African Americans who expressed their admiration for Benson, though I sensed some insincerity in their appreciation, as if their admiration stemmed solely from his race rather than his musical ability. I found this admiration absurd and disrespectful to Benson's legacy. Conversely, I have met numerous white folks in the UK, Australia, and Canada who genuinely cherish his music, reinforcing the idea that George Benson transcends racial and cultural boundaries. His music is a universal treasure, belonging to everyone, and it deeply saddens me to think of the tragedies he has faced, particularly the loss of his children, as it seems cruelly unjust for someone of his talent and character. Benson is a legend, and his music is immortal.
Dr Ruwan M Jayatunge
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