There’s a strange hum in the bones of music lately. Not the kind you hum along with, but the kind that shakes your ribs. You don’t hear it so much as feel it, deep under the surface of your skin. It creeps in through the edges of pop playlists and viral soundbites.
It’s not nostalgia. It’s not a throwback.
It’s something older than trends, but younger than comfort.
It’s energy.
Not just any energy. Theatrical, full-bodied, no-holds-barred energy. The kind we hadn’t seen since a spandex-wearing, high-kicking madman named David Lee Roth made stages feel too small for his ego and too fragile for his voice. He didn’t just sing. He attacked songs with a grin that knew too much and a body that refused stillness. Roth was performance incarnate.
And now, in a world that feels colder, more curated, more careful, we have another one.
Benson Boone.
A kid from Monroe, Washington. No legacy name. No grooming machine behind him. Just a voice that sounds lived-in and a stage presence that feels impossible for someone born after Napster died.
But don’t mistake this for imitation.
Boone doesn’t dress like Roth. Doesn’t do the same splits. Doesn’t have to. Boone is not a copy. He is a mutation. An evolution. The Gen Z Roth, not because he mimics him, but because he moves through music like it owes him nothing and leaves like it gave him everything.
Is Benson Boone the Gen Z David Lee Roth?
Wrong question.
You don’t shrink a legend to fit a comparison. And you don’t stretch a rising star to match a mold. What you do, if your ears aren’t numb from mediocrity, is recognize the pattern when lightning hits twice.
Boone is not a version of Roth.
He is what happens when the universe lets the same wild frequency slip through again, dressed in a different voice, a different decade, a different kind of fire.
Roth tore through stages like a tiger in a mirror maze. Boone flies through fog like a kid with wings and something to prove. Roth wanted to be remembered. Boone wants to be understood. Both make you feel like the oxygen in the room just got electrified.
No, Boone is not the next Roth.
He is something rarer. Another human being crazy enough to believe that music is not just sound. It is motion. It is violence. It is vulnerability with teeth.
Two storms. Same wind.
Roth: The Ringmaster Nobody Asked Permission For
David Lee Roth was born on October 10, 1954, in Bloomington, Indiana. He was raised in Pasadena, California, in an educated and ambitious household. His father, Nathan, was a renowned ophthalmologist and art collector. His mother, Sibyl, was a teacher. Roth grew up surrounded by books and classical music. But where his family leaned toward medicine and academia, David leaned toward chaos, funk, showbiz, and spectacle.
He studied at the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute in New York, tossed method acting into his stage moves, and trained in martial arts for the sake of performance. He idolized James Brown, Mick Jagger, and Jim Dandy Mangrum. He wasn’t interested in being just a singer. He wanted to be a one-man explosion.
When Roth joined forces with Eddie and Alex Van Halen in the mid-70s, something dangerous and dazzling happened. The band was already loud. Roth made it unforgettable. Their 1978 debut album dropped like a spark on dry grass.
Breakout tracks:
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“Runnin’ with the Devil”
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“Eruption”
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“Ain’t Talkin’ ’Bout Love”
They followed it up with a run of wild, muscular records:
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Van Halen II
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Women and Children First
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Fair Warning
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Diver Down
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1984, which launched “Jump,” “Panama,” and “Hot for Teacher” into rock immortality
But friction brewed. Eddie wanted control in the studio. Roth wanted the circus. By 1985, Roth was gone.
He launched a solo career full of neon, swagger, and high-flying vocals. With Steve Vai on guitar and Billy Sheehan on bass, he dropped:
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“California Girls”
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“Yankee Rose”
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“Just Like Paradise”
Then he disappeared and reappeared in every direction. He trained as an EMT in New York, studied visual art, lived in Tokyo to learn tattooing, and published memoirs. Roth didn’t just make noise. He made a spectacle out of being alive.
Boone: The Kid Who Fell Into a Mic and Flew Out a Star
Benson Boone was born June 25, 2002, in Monroe, Washington. He was raised in a tight-knit Mormon family, one of five siblings. His upbringing was defined by faith, family, athletics, and stillness. He was an award-winning diver and competitive track athlete. A grounded, disciplined kid. Not a fame-chaser. Just someone with an edge in his chest that hadn't found its shape yet.
That shape arrived during a high school talent show. Someone handed him a mic. He opened his mouth. The room changed. That moment flipped a switch he didn’t know he had.
Soon after, Boone posted covers and original music to TikTok. The reaction was seismic. In 2021, he auditioned for American Idol. He got in, but walked away before the machine could mold him. Boone knew what he wanted: control, honesty, and ownership of his own voice.
Dan Reynolds of Imagine Dragons saw the spark and signed him to Night Street Records under Warner. Boone dropped songs that felt both intimate and anthemic.
Breakout singles:
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“Ghost Town”
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“In the Stars”
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“Room for 2”
In 2024, his debut album Fireworks & Rollerblades arrived. It debuted at number 6 on the Billboard 200. His lead single “Beautiful Things” went number 2 on the Hot 100 and number 1 in the UK.
Boone’s shows feature real aerial stunts, piano ballads, raw emotion, and total immersion. He flips through fog cannons like a soul in flight. He wears mayots not for glam, but for movement. His body is part of the performance.
Offstage, Boone is thoughtful and private. He speaks candidly about anxiety, faith, and pressure. He paints, directs, designs merch. He’s not just in the spotlight. He is building it, piece by piece.
When the Stage Becomes a Weapon
Roth used the stage like a battlefield. He jumped, kicked, screamed, and spun through pyrotechnics. Every move was rehearsed chaos. He studied martial arts to add intention to his spectacle. He didn’t just perform. He erupted.
Boone’s motion is different. He doesn’t charge the stage. He glides. Every flip has roots in his diving past. Every gesture is calculated but emotional. Where Roth lunged at the crowd, Boone rises through it like smoke with muscle.
They use the stage differently. But for both, the stage is not background. It is a living partner in the story.
The Voice: Two Temperatures of Fire
Roth’s voice was wild. Unpredictable. Sometimes off pitch, always on fire. A howl soaked in sweat and strut. He didn’t sing notes. He stabbed them, teased them, hurled them.
Boone’s voice is another thing entirely. A slow-burning detonation. Every word feels like it was carved out of his chest. He doesn’t scream. He soars. His falsetto feels holy and bruised at once.
Roth punches the air. Boone holds it still.
Two different flames. Same heat.
Legacy: Don't Follow Footsteps. Set the Floor on Fire.
Roth invented the blueprint for the modern frontman. Shirtless, fearless, funny, and explosive. His legacy is in every mic flip, every strut, every glam rock high note that dares to do too much.
Boone isn’t following that blueprint. He is writing a new one. Less fire, more flood. He brings danger back to music, not through rebellion, but through sincerity. His flips don’t say “look at me.” They say “feel this with me.”
Both artists turn the stage into more than a set piece. They make it a proving ground. A confessional. A war.
Roth wore mayots as if to taunt gravity. Boone wears them to move through grief and beauty without missing a beat.
They are both what happens when sound becomes physical. When songs need space to leap, cry, fly, and land.
So... Is Benson Boone the Gen Z David Lee Roth?
No.
He is not the next Roth. He is not a version. He is not a tribute.
He is another occurrence of that rare, wild frequency. The kind that does not ask for permission. The kind that turns music into movement and stages into storms.
Roth made concerts feel like a demolition derby. Boone makes them feel like a high-wire dreamscape. But both ignite the room and demand to be remembered.
Two decades apart. Two different kinds of fire. But the same instinct.
Don’t compare them.
Recognize them.
Celebrate that we get to witness both.
Because when the smoke clears, and music history flips back through its pages, David Lee Roth and Benson Boone will be written on the same one.
Different stars.
Same burn.
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