B-Side Guys

Pat Smith has mapped the exact distance between recognition and action, and it turns out to be precisely twelve steps—close enough to see salvation, far enough to justify staying put. His latest confession operates in the brutal space between knowing what you need to do and finding the will to do it, where proximity to help becomes its own form of torment.

The production choices reflect an understanding that addiction stories require musical complexity to match their psychological intricacy. Smith weaves R&B, jazz, gospel, and funk into a sonic tapestry that mirrors the chaotic thought patterns of someone caught between self-awareness and self-destruction. The bass-driven arrangement creates a foundation that’s simultaneously solid and unstable, much like the narrator’s relationship with his own promises.

Smith’s vocal delivery carries the particular exhaustion of someone who’s become fluent in the language of almost. When he admits starting his day “with a shot and no chase,” there’s no shame or defiance—just the matter-of-fact tone of someone reporting weather conditions. His sultry voice transforms confession into something approaching beauty, proving that even destruction can sound seductive when filtered through enough talent.

The twelve steps reference functions as both literal program acknowledgment and metaphorical distance measurement. Smith understands that recovery exists as geography—a known destination with a clearly marked path that somehow remains unreachable. The repetition of “I just won’t take the first one” becomes a mantra of perpetual postponement, each iteration confirming what the narrator already knows about his own patterns.

What makes “12 Steps” devastating is its refusal to offer redemption or rock bottom drama. Instead, Smith documents the mundane horror of functional dysfunction, where stomach pumps become routine and blackouts blend into daily routine. The result feels less like a cautionary tale than an honest inventory of a life lived perpetually on the edge of change.