B-Side Guys

The paradox hits immediately: how do you dance to your own spiritual collapse? Christian Carpenter’s Trivial Shields project answers by wrapping existential dread in such irresistible rhythmic packaging that surrender becomes celebration. “Lonely Age” pulses with the kind of contradictory energy that makes you move your body while questioning your soul.

Recorded at Oakland’s Tiny Telephone with audio engineer Robert Shelton—who cheekily dubbed this sound “nihilist funk”—the track builds its foundation on Carpenter’s bass work and OBX drum machine programming. But the real magic happens in the spaces between instruments. Anthony Ferraro’s Hammond B3 organ doesn’t just fill harmonic gaps; it provides commentary, sometimes supportive, sometimes mocking, always essential. When his ARP 2600 solo arrives, it feels less like a showcase than a necessary emotional release valve.

Carpenter’s lyrics reveal someone caught between self-awareness and self-destruction. Lines like “Graduate of voluntary mind-enslavement” suggest he recognizes his own complicity in spiritual numbness, yet the admission carries no catharsis. The Patrick Bateman reference feels particularly sharp—a nod to another character who performed normalcy while rotting internally. The repetition of “heaven knows I’d never make it” becomes both confession and resignation.

The production choices amplify this internal conflict brilliantly. Mark Clifford’s vibraphones shimmer with nostalgic beauty while Geneva Harrison’s drums maintain relentless forward momentum. Derek Barber’s slide guitar adds texture that feels simultaneously celebratory and mournful. Even the Eventide H910 effects processing on Carpenter’s vocals creates distance, as if he’s commenting on his own life from outside his body.

What emerges is genuinely innovative: music that acknowledges despair without wallowing, that finds rhythm in resignation. The “nihilist funk” tag may be tongue-in-cheek, but it captures something real about contemporary experience—the need to keep moving even when movement feels meaningless. Carpenter has created a soundtrack for dancing through depression, proving that sometimes the most honest response to emptiness is to fill it with irresistible beats.