Benfay plays and repeats—like seasons turning, sunrises returning, the next kick in a 4/4 bar. In his music, bass and beat are the bloodstream; melodies and samples circulate through it, sometimes obeying, sometimes slipping the grid. “Replay Life is reliving myself inside my own music,” he jokes in an interview with his cat, Jimmy (aka GinGin)—but the line fits: repetition reveals character. Rather than reinventing his world, Benfay distills it. Reverse organs and worn grooves spin like Schubert’s Leiermann, while doleful hues meet granular, distorted tone colors. Threads of abstract hip-hop, downtempo, and left-field electronica weave through guitars, violin, double bass, synths, samples, and deft mouse-click collage. The result is a personal sonic diary—intimate, looped, and quietly haunting—where hope flickers, falters, and sometimes blooms despite itself. Listen and let it replay.