Ben Longberg
Gig Seeker Pro

Ben Longberg

Nashville, Tennessee, United States | SELF

Nashville, Tennessee, United States | SELF
Band Pop Rock


This band has not uploaded any videos
This band has not uploaded any videos



This band has no press


Red - Pre-Production Demo Release (11 Tracks)

Memories - 6 track EP recorded and produced at Middle Tennessee State Univeristy by Nathan Adam



It was 1980. It was 7:08pm on a Saturday night. I saw my first light bulbs. I knew right from the start I was going to be doomed to turn-on. . . turn-off. . . turn-on...

It wasn't long before I gave my heart away. I was five. Regan Clark. . . it was pre-school love. Coincidently, one of my longest relationships, because it was so pure. See, it involved... like... holding hands... seeing each other at pre-school... and garbage pail kids.

I had a speech impediment. My mother says you could always tell what song I was singing because the melody was right on, but you couldn't understand the words. That brings me to third grade, where I encountered a speech pathologist who taught me to speak with peanut butter in my mouth. I owe her big. (Dramatization: Girl 1: You remember Ben from 2nd grade? Girl 2: Yeah he's cute, but he talks funny! Girl 1: Not anymore! He learned how to talk right! Girls: He's Dreamy! ***insert girls fighting*** )

I fell in love when I was ten, and the first songs were really bad. I still have the original papers I wrote them on, so I know for sure. For that matter, I could sing them to you.. if you wanted to be annoyed. But if you really wanted a treat, there is a certain cassette tape with a ten year old playing piano and singing. Too bad Shannon never dumped her boyfriend (not bitter at all). But in retrospect... why didn't I date Thea... or Tina... or Lisa... oh... right... I was ten.

I was not the musical one. My sister was the musical one. She always sang in choirs and went to music festivals. She has a gorgeous voice.

Ben, meet Guitar. Guitar, meet Ben. I was nineteen. She was an Epiphone PR-200. I had wanted to play guitar my whole life, but I never had one. Thus ended my pursuit of being a computer engineer, and began my life of black-and-blue fingers. No they didn't ever "Summer of 69," but I played until my fingers were purple and swollen.

I found God, and I wrote.
I fell in love, and I wrote.
My heart broke, and I wrote.
I stubbed my toe, and I wrote.
(repeat many times)

Pittsburg, Kansas. I somehow landed in Pittsburg (no h). Here I would learn to play in front of people. I worship led for Family Life Assembly of God as well as Pittsburg State University's Chi Alpha chapter. For that matter, I played any place anyone would let me. I remember walking into a bar in Wichita, KS just to check on if they booked singers. I opened that night. There were no flyers, no MySpace announcements.

Pittsburg is where my heart broke. (Literally + Figuratively) There was a girl, and then she was just in my head.

My heart gets a face lift. So a story isn't a story without a twist. I was twenty-four when I found out I was born with a bi-cusped aortic valve, more commonly referred to Aortic Insufficiency (aka, I had a screwed up heart). The doctors gave me 5-15 years before I would require surgery. That was a little off, as 5 months later I received a phone call from my doctor, telling me... "We're looking for a good day." That day was a month later... for those not good with math, that is 6 months, not 5 years.

A good day was May 11th, 2005. I was wheeling on a hospital gurney with my family and pastor in a waiting room. I met God that day. I know that sounds super holy-roller. But it's the truth. I spent a half an hour in his arms while he taught me to breathe.

I learned to walk again. No I didn’t break my legs. But a side effect of invasive heart surgery is… your lungs collapse, and you have to recover from pneumonia-like effects. That effect meant that I couldn’t walk across the porch when I got out of the hospital. So I learned to walk again, slowly. I remember one valiant day I was feeling spry and thought I’d walk around my block. The only thing I failed to do… was the math. A block has 4 sides, which math majors know equals four blocks. I slept the rest of the day. After 5 months, I jumped.

I moved to Nashville, home to a billion bad songwriters, a billion good songwriters, and 24 people who have actually made money doing music. (You know who they are, they wear sweatpants.)

Currently, I wear a lot of hats. I’m a web developer, graphic designer, videographer, producer, rock-star, singer, guitar player, musician, contractor, tile guy. So basically if you want someone to create a website about remodeling your bathroom while writing songs about the bathroom, then produce, record, and distribute those items to web. That could be me. Or I could just be that ten year old, sitting on a swing, writing a song.