B-Side Guys

Stefan J. Selbert counts what’s left the way a rancher checks fences—methodically, without sentiment, noting what’s broken but still functional. “Good and Worn” operates as inventory and elegy simultaneously, cataloging objects and people with the same matter-of-fact tone: a dull knife that saved cattle, a saddle with splitting leather, news about Ryan and Tim, a sister who seems happier now. The Los Alamos cattle rancher delivers these observations in acoustic folk that understands rural life doesn’t always give you the luxury of dwelling.

The production stays stripped back, just voice and guitar doing the work. There’s no ornamentation to soften the edges or fill the silences, which suits material that’s fundamentally about things wearing down through use and time. Selbert’s vocal delivery carries the particular quality of someone who spends more time with animals and land than people—direct, unadorned, finding poetry in function rather than flourish. When he notes that the wood stays the same while horse names change, it’s both observation and philosophy: some things endure, others don’t, and the saddle doesn’t care either way.

The central metaphor holds throughout without being overworked. A saddle with leather splitting around the horn should probably be replaced, but it’s still good and worn—emphasis on both words. Good because it still works, worn because it’s been through enough to show the history. That dull knife between the notches carries similar weight: it saved a couple cows despite losing its edge, which matters more than sharpness in the context of actual use.

What gives the track its emotional undertow is how Selbert weaves personal loss through these practical assessments. The bridge acknowledges hurt and the lingering sensation of a knife that’s now dulled—whether that’s the literal blade or the metaphorical damage, he leaves deliberately ambiguous. The autumn imagery of sycamores turning and leaves spiraling down provides the only moment where the song steps outside its ranching frame, but even that connects back to cycles of change and falling.

For a cattle rancher making folk music in Los Alamos, California, Selbert has found his angle: writing about endurance without romanticizing it, documenting what remains after use rather than what gleams when new. “Good and Worn” trusts its audience to understand that sometimes the highest compliment you can pay something—or someone—is that they’re still functional despite everything they’ve been through.