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Growing up in the swamps of south central Florida, Prestage began to mix Mississippi Country Blues with his own brand of Florida Swamp Blues. This muddy-water-meets-black-water stew has led him to perform from California to the Carolinas to the Florida Keys, in large festivals, every kind of bar, and sometimes on downtown sidewalks.

Ben is best known for his ability to play high-level blues on a handmade cigar box guitar while playing percussion with his feet.

At under 30 years… read more

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  • Avatar for TiaNaMarchenko
    ребят то что доктор прописал)))
  • Avatar for B10542699
    Just discovered Ben, absolutely brilliant the best one man band think i'll ever hear
  • Avatar for tedbassman
    This guy is absolutely amazing, the way he's creates music is noteworthy. Just look at his customized guitar !
  • Avatar for SledzWSS
    now he's what's called one-man-band!
  • Avatar for GlennGray
    Just saw Ben at The 59th Florida Folk Festival at White Springs, he was the best of many acts we saw. In fact he was incredible but was only on stage for 45 minutes. He has become one of my favorite artists on the strength of that performance. I can't wait to see him again, meantime I am BUYING all of his albums.
  • Avatar for joanzy89
    When your mind is inside out turn the bottle upside down!...
  • Avatar for xSteveIsLegendx
    why isnt ben signed?
  • Avatar for Musicman501
    A few years ago, I was living in Lake Worth, Florida. I had been to this run-down bar on US1 called The Office a few times looking for a place to play. Once a Chinese restaurant, The Office (as in: "Sorry honey I'll be home late again; I have to stay late at The Office") had been converted to a bar long ago. The Office had no refridgerators or freezers. Beers were kept cold in trough-like coolers lining the inside of the bar that were filled with ice carried in buckets from the ice machine outside. The Office had a very unique smell like the spirits of 30-year old egg rolls haunted the place. A cute bar maid named Angie worked there. Man could she hall some ice. I had been establishing a repoir and hoping to book a date for the band. (I won't lie, I was also pitching woo, or trying to anyway). The place was usually pretty empty . But, Angie said I had to come by on Thursdays. So I did. The midgets Angie was smuggling compelled me.
  • Avatar for Musicman501
    Thusday came, and I returned. Why on earth was the parking lot full? I had to park across the street. The place was packed elbow-to-elbow. Then, I heard the music emanating from beyond the bar: the reason was clear. A wicked bluesy sound filled my ears. The sort of perfect blues sound you only dream of. Had I been teleported to Beale Street at some point in my trek across the parking lot? After getting a beer from Angie, I worked my way along the wall close enough to see what was going on. A country-looking fellow with a long beard was playing a strange-looking guitar while keeping a driving back beat on a kick drum in front of him. With the left foot, he operated a foot peddle playing a snare drum which he had rigged with a milk crate next to him. He was simultaneously playing a high hat with the heel of his left foot. The sound was incredible, a bassy, blues slide guitar accompanied by an beat that was respectible for a drummer playing with both hands (opposed to none).
  • Avatar for Musicman501
    The strange guitar was fashioned from a cigar box. Attached to the box were thick broom handles flattened on the front which acted as the neck. Tuning machines were affixed to the broom handles, and along the top broom handle was a thick bass string. Smaller gauge bass strings ran along the bottom broom handle. Serving as the "nut" of the guitar was a thick Sharpie pen which was wedged between the strings and the neck. He played a driving rythym with skillful fingerpicking action. Then the man opened his mouth, and a gnarly blues voice made the old PA system at The Office sing. "Gonna tell you bout a dance . . . That's going round. . . Everybody's doing it. . . From the grown ups down . . . Don't move your arms. . . don't move you legs. . . don't move your lips . . . just shake your hips. . ." The girls dancing close to the corner where he had set obeyed his command. The musician's name is Ben Prestage. If you ever get the chance to see him perform live, do. A true genious.

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