An Americana singer-songwriter from Akron in the Ohio rust belt, Ben Gage’s music is steeped in blue-collar values; Two Singing Songs is his first full-length studio release following several EPs. The album opens with the simple fingerpicked, harmonica-brushed Company, a song about offering support to family and friends in times of trouble (“Dreams are softly fading, took the train to the next town/It’s hard to keep your chin up when those dreams they aren’t around/I’ll sit here with you sister, I’ll sit here if you need/We don’t have a lot to do and I could use the company”).
The pace picks up to a skipping tempo with Blue Bird which puts a wry spin on the “if you love something, set it free” idea, wherein all those pushed away connections (“Another permanent pin, in the cushion of regret”) join ranks to bad mouth him (“Had a blue bird, on a string/You can’t tie down a beautiful wild thing/She broke free one day, and flew off with that sun/Now there’s two singing songs/‘Bout the evil that I’ve done”). A similar notion underpins the slow-walking rhythm of the crooned country soul Tie Me Down where, adopting a better the devil you know approach, hooking back up with an old flame isn’t necessarily a good idea for either party (“No one’s as good as you/To take my feet back to muddy ground”).
Quite frankly, the world doesn’t have enough songs about chickens surviving a raccoon attack, so Gage duly fills that gap with the whistling, old time blues swing shuffle Dorothy, the last hen standing out of a flock of five, though I daresay you could dig out a metaphor too from the lines “She’s roosting at home, I’m working in town…There’s a knock on her door, and she wants to play/A word to the wise/That’s how her sisters got carried away”.
Another acoustic strum, Messenger Bird, is a simple song about wanting to get a letter to a lost lover (“If you go reading the words I wrote/You’ll see I’m begging her to come back home”), though the postal address might not be the easiest to find (“I know that you’ll be back here soon/I gave you a job that you just can’t do”) since “She’s the prettiest angel in the heavenly choir”, indeed, apparently “Even when she’s swearing it sounds like a song”.
Heartache continues in Broken Hearts, a breezy number about being told one thing while another is happening, though again it extends beyond some everyday dysfunctional relationship to address religious hypocrisy and salvation in “That fine wine they bottle/And send out in the name of Jesus/Pairs well with the ransom/They tucked behind their teeth”.
A failed relationship is the basis of Cold Finger Blues (“You and me, thought we was doing just fine/But you left me for a better time…In a little box, high on a shelf/Two rings, gonna keep to themselves”), a fingerpicked acoustic blues with harmonica and drum thump that was sparked by being unable to get a fire started while staying at a yurt in Asheville, an insight into how his creative imagination works.
A brush with mortality (in actuality just a bad case of man flu), spurred the soft sway of Otherside, about someone looking to strike a deal by forsaking wicked ways in return for regaining good health (“When I get on the other side, gonna watch my mouth/When I get on the other side, ain’t gonna scream and shout … When I get on the other side, gonna try to see/When I get on the other side, and they’re different than me/I won’t stand in the doorway, let them live their destiny”).
Gage likes to trade in metaphors and imagery, another case in point being Losing Steam, which takes the idea of a machine slowing down as representing leaking motivation as the years pile up (“Like a kettle on the counter, or a hole inside my heart/I’m losing steam/A sink of dirty dishes, I used up all my wishes…I ache for my friends, pretend I hear their voice/So used to quiet, I tremble at the noise”), again touching on religious convictions or lack of them (I’d get to praying, but don’t believe in that/I’ll lay down here, rust right where I’m at”).
It ends with the semi-spoken Prine-shaded Wish, a reflection on the less than glamourous life of an independent musician feeling out of touch and step (“I’ve been counting those likes, watching those streams/Still ain’t sure what that algorithm means…I’m still putting up lights, buying new clothes/Make a fool of myself on those videos/Spending hours and hours watching those trends/I don’t know what to do”), but while he may “Wish I had all the answers/Wish I had lots of cars/Wish I had a big house, and all of my neighbors were movie stars/They’d come round to see/Say they love my new songs”, coming to realize that it’s not what you want but what you have, your friends and your self-acceptance, that are important and bring you contentment as he offers “ See I’m just a guy, this is just a guitar/The licks that I have aren’t particularly hard/They blend in perfect with a noisy dive bar…I’m not playing big shows, or selling out stands/Perfectly happy with 3 or 4 fans/Appreciate that you give me a chance/Hope that you keep me around/If you keep believing that I have a clue/I’ll keep writing least a word or two/Together I think we can make it through/Even when we don’t know what to do”.
At the end of the day, it comes down to being comfortable in your skin, with who you are and what you do. Or as he says, “Just got one old van/I drive it around playing these songs whenever I can/I may sleep on your couches/Heck I’ll even sleep on your floor/That’s my story, I love it to death/I wouldn’t wish for anything more”. He says “For me, nothing captures a moment the way a song can…Songs are my anchors to the now”. This fabulous album holds you firmly in place.
Bandcamp: https://bengagemusic.bandcamp.com/album/two-singing-songs