B-Side Sunday.

Ooooh Lordy! Grander than Don King’s bling cabinet yet packing more wisdom than three brains in a blender, it’s B-Side Sunday! The weekly religious rtiual that’s here to save you from all the bad noise that assails your ears daily, from battery-farmed pop to pasty-faced dance meanderings to issue-riddled moancore that probably shouts out its own mum’s name in bed, B-Side Sunday ties shit music to a chair before beating it to death, burying it under the patio and flitting you heavenwards on the back of another brilliant B-Side plucked from the yawning chasm of muso obscurity.

Coming correct with more records than the KGB, B-Side Sunday remains as thrilling and visceral as diving crotch-first into a threshing machine. And almost four times as fun. It’s the difference between left and leaving, the difference between then and now yet simultaneously also the embodiment of everything inbetwixt. T.S Eliot said that between the idea and the reality falls the shadow: he was almost certainly talking about B-Side Sunday.

This week is the turn of those digital devils Gorillaz, the Albarn/Hewitt cartoon creation that charms you with its arresting sense of the surreal whilst also managing to look so good that it makes Jessica Rabbit resemble a burns victim wearing a Frankenstein mask. And even if they didn’t, ‘Rock It’ (flipside to ‘Rock The House’) remains a zeitgeist-rogering tyke that has the damn-nerve to replace most of the lyrics with “blahblahblah” and still come out the other end a stone-cold triumph of good sounding gurnery. In short, it makes you want to jump up and down like a defiant Ritalin-popping kid on their parents pristine and freshly-made Ikea bedspread until you have an aneurysm. Go back for seconds and stay for thirds, Amen.