B-Side Sunday.

It’s sunday. Again. So as Jesus suits up for gameday with the sinners and The Holy Ghost rewards the faithful with cloudy skys and a jolly old recession, it is with weary heads and troubled minds that we find ourselves once again at the altar of that holiest of churches, B-Side Sunday. It’s the weekly ritual that’s bigger than John Lennon and, quite literally, never going to get old before its time. As the collection plate is passed round and the old dear on the church piano nips up another furtive line of ketamin off her organ donor card, we can begin…

There’s a Samuel Beckett line that goes: “I can’t go on. I’ll go on”. And so we do. Never one to aim low in high places, this week Canned Applause rakes over the ancient bones of our indie forefathers to bring you those deified scouse-scamps The Beatles – with arguably the song that kicked off their psychedelic late period and all that mind-warping drone rock that your nan can’t stand: ‘Rain’. B-Side (naturally) to ‘Paperback Writer’, its one of the last times that the Fab Four were firing on all cylinders before Lennon’s flattery battery started to run low and he effed off to New York to down pints of skag-spiked carrot juice whilst him and Yoko hit record and began slinging more knocked-off junk than Del Boy. Nevertheless, ‘Rain’ is as comforting as slipping on an old sweater, sitting in your favourite easy chair by the fire and thinking about all your childhood family pets. So break out the bunting and your sunday best, cos the vicar got off those trumped-up nonsense charges about choir boys locked in the church cellar and is backbackback, ready to sate those clamouring at the gates with more sonic salvation and deliver us unto the loving arms of the Lord. In these days of drag, let this soundtrack another rainy summer sunday, as you stare down the barrel of another monolith week with nothing but the promise of another sunday of saviour in seven days time. Until then, Amen.