B-Side Sunday.

Churchill’s last words were “I’m bored with it all”, but not even the man who laughed in the face of animal rights by walking around with a little black dog on his shoulder could have been perspicacious enough to predict the glorious triumphalism of B-Side Sunday – the weekly ceremony that bridges the mainstream and the marginalised under the edifying glow of pop’s forgotten pantheon with such portentous magnificence that even the merest sliver could have made the great man leap from his death bed, score an ounce of devil’s dandruff and groove up the West End in search of some top-drawer boilers and a bit of nonsense. It’s your gumshoe sleuth in the house of pop, lurking in the dregs of 2008 to pull the faithful down the rabbit hole of sonic salvation in much the same way air rescue plucks stranded passengers from sinking ships. Like an American GI lost deep in the jungles of Vietnam who hasn’t heard that the war is long over, B-Side Sunday waits, knee-deep in the beat and far from the madding crowd, in order to keep you underground, overground and a-wombling free with the finest cuts of ‘Side Two’ salvation.

Famously protective of the integrity of their albums (if not their reunion tours..), those cheeky hard-rock pioneers Led Zeppelin released a scant amount of music outside their official LPs. ‘Hey Hey What Can I Do’, the B-side of the ‘Immigrant Song’ single, was later tacked onto the post-breakup cashola comp ‘Coda’ when it was reissued on CD for the ‘Complete Studio Recordings’ box – but like a dog that was bought just for Christmas and is fated for the skip alongside with the Christmas tree, it deserved much more than the treatment it received – a fine example of exactly why our fave pervo, smack-rock herberts from planet indulgence could walk the tightrope between peerless brilliance and tragic wankerama with the type of hunkin’ carnal zest that could give your granny a hard on whilst making your grandad dance like a little girl and still have us clamouring for reunion tickets that have prices that look like telephone numbers. Sounding like it was recorded mid-orgasm, ‘Hey Hey What Can I Do’ is a track that flirts drunkedly with you before nicking off with your best mate and self-esteem. You’ll keep coming back of course, cos secretly you think you deserve it.

But as you prance pompously in front of the bedroom mirror singing along in a vain attempt to shift all that turkey and your mind slowly turns to gaze wistfully into the rearview mirror of 2008, remember that it wouldn’t be New Year’s without the regrets. There is a Scandinavian word ‘Vermod’, that means to be simultaneously happy and sad, and although Monday morning may be coming like a jail on wheels, the New Year is hot on its heels – carrying with it another chance to make a fresh start on old habits once the blizzard of white vows have melted away. Until 2009, amen.

Chinese Democracy: Godot Shows Up.

So after 17 years of ginger braids, tight white cycling shorts and firing anyone who comes within forty feet of the studio, Axl Rose is finally ready to stop stropping in the corner like a spurned sister and chuck out his mega-opus ‘Chinese Democracy’, G n R’s first studio album since the simultaneous release of ‘Use Your Illusion I’ and ‘Use Your Illusion II’ in 1991. Although it’s hardly news, being all over everywhere since the title-track single from comebacksupersmash ‘Chinese Democracy’ hit radio, the album that always almost wasn’t will be available from November 23 at Best Buy and BestBuy.com, in formats new and old respectively.

Awwww, shame isn’t it? Was anyone seriously anticipating this album? Like Brian Wilson’s ‘Smile’, wasn’t the charm in its forever delayed stasis? Wasn’t the fun of the wait the belief that it would never show up?

Perhaps, but it’s here now, so what of it? You’ ll have made your mind up within a minute. A Hammer Horror intro of suitably ethereal sound effects and wind-tunnel chattering creates either brooding atmosphere or an entirely pointless navel-gazing prefix, depending on your disposition. Within 90 seconds the patented Axl scream, guitar histronics and barrel-chested drums announce themselves and come together to toil into something that’s moderately memorable. Then there’s some soloing around the three-minute point that sounds like several stadium-rock fieldmice scurrying up and down a fretboard, and for a few seconds its all rather good. But the whole thing smells slightly of despair – not entirely camouflaged by the maximalist production and, naturally, it isn’t a patch on any of the good stuff. Like an Easter egg, it’s a tasty shell packaged around a hollow centre. Those who were always going to love it will and those who hate G n R can have all their prejudices conveniently reaffirmed. But after 17 long years of affluent LA living, what could anyone expect? Success breeds complacency and Axl’s got nothing left to prove. It’s the same as all the Great Big Comebacks; more of the same, just slightly less good. Suck cess – what a mess..

And now Dr Pepper have some losses to absorb.