B-Side Guys

Unearthed from an ancient hard drive like some digital fossil, this collaboration between Nashville’s Tristen Gaspadarek and Cortney Tidwell preserves the exact moment when informal jam sessions crystallized into something worth keeping. The track operates under Tidwell’s “two chords” philosophy—musical minimalism that forces emotional complexity to do all the heavy lifting.

What emerges isn’t polished art but documented intimacy. The lo-fi production quality becomes feature rather than flaw, maintaining what they describe as “raw energy of their origin.” These aren’t demos waiting for proper studio treatment—they’re complete statements in their rough-hewn form, like Polaroids that capture more truth than professional portraits ever could.

The song’s repetitive structure mirrors its lyrical obsession with returning to the moment of damage. Rather than moving through stages of grief or resolution, it circles back to the same wound repeatedly, examining it from slightly different angles. This approach treats heartbreak not as linear narrative but as loop that plays until something else interrupts it.

Tristen’s background touring with Jenny Lewis and Cortney’s collaborations with Kurt Wagner inform their understanding of how seasoned artists can still surprise themselves when they abandon expectations. Their “attic jams and friendship” approach prioritizes spontaneity over craft, yielding material that feels more like overheard conversation than performed song.

The track works precisely because it doesn’t try to work—it simply documents two friends exploring what happens when you strip away everything except vulnerability and two chords. Sometimes the most honest art emerges not from intention but from accident, preserved by chance rather than design.