The lost art of B sides

If albums are the big statement and CD singles are the spotlight moment, B-sides were the secret handshake. B-sides weren’t just extras. They were a space for risk, play, and intimacy. They rewarded fans who showed up early, bought physical, or followed closely, the ones who cared enough to flip the record, check the tracklist, and stay curious.

A B-side could be a song that didn’t fit the album story, but still deserved a life. Sometimes it was rougher, weirder, softer, or funnier, which is exactly why fans treasured it. This is where you often heard an artist’s personality most clearly, because the pressure was different. The A-side had to represent the era. The B-side got to be the behind-the-scenes glimpse, the creative sidequest, the song that didn’t need to make sense to anyone except the artist and the fans willing to meet them there.

CD singles weren’t just a way to own one track. They were mini-era artefacts. You weren’t only buying the hit. You were buying the world around it. Sometimes that meant alternate artwork, liner notes, or a booklet that made the song feel like a whole world. Sometimes it meant a remix, a live version, an acoustic take, or that one extra track that became the real prize. In the same way people collect vinyl variants now, CD singles used to hold those tiny era details that made fandoms feel unique. 

B-sides made music feel intimate. You didn’t just consume a release. You explored it. There was a thrill in the hunt, the version you could only find on a specific pressing, the track that only existed on a single release in one country, the song you heard about because another fan swore it was better than the album track. It created that community language of “wait, have you heard the B-side?” and suddenly music became something you shared, traded, and uncovered together.

Even now, you can see the echoes of B-side culture in modern fan behaviour. Taylor Swift fans treat vault tracks like an event because they carry that same energy, songs that were hidden away, revived later, and suddenly made part of the canon. Sabrina Carpenter fans love the different versions and live moments that expand the era world beyond just the standard tracklist. And in pop-rock spaces, the appetite is just as strong. 5 Seconds of Summer fans live for alternate takes, tour versions, and deep cuts, the songs that feel like they were made for the people who stay after the credits. What is interesting is that 5SOS have kept that old-school B-side energy alive, even as the containers have changed. Instead of a hidden track on the back of a CD single, the bonus material shows up as exclusives, extra editions, and whole companion releases that reward the fans who pay attention.

That is where “Cool Dad” fits in. Not as a B-side, but as a digital exclusive bonus track for Everyone’s a Star, something fans had to seek out beyond the standard tracklist. It scratches the same itch as the classic B-side, the feeling that there is more waiting for you if you go looking. You see that same idea in how the band has released live projects too, like LiveSOS and LiveSOS B-Sides and Rarities, where the music is not just the main version you already know, but a deeper archive of moments, alternate performances, and fan-favourite extras.

They have even played with this on a collector level. For Everyone’s a Star, the band leaned into deluxe editions tied to each member, with each version featuring a different bonus track. That is the modern version of the CD single era mindset, where owning a specific edition changes what you get to hear. It turns listening into a choice, and it turns fandom into discovery again. It is basically the same logic as when an artist would release multiple CD single versions with different tracklists, so fans could collect the set and unlock different songs along the way.

Streaming didn’t kill bonus songs. It changed their meaning. When everything drops at once, the sense of discovery becomes harder to manufacture. Deluxe editions can be great, but they often feel like more content rather than that hidden corner you accidentally stumble into. Part of what made B-sides special was the way they were found. You had to earn them, in a small way, through attention and curiosity.

That’s why physical media still has a kind of magic. I still remember listening to Ed Sheeran’s + and only discovering a bonus track at the end when I owned it on vinyl, not streaming. It was like the album had an extra room I didn’t even know existed until I stayed long enough to find the door. That’s what B-sides and physical releases used to do. They rewarded patience, they created surprise, and they made the listening experience feel like a journey with hidden details.

The hunger that created B-sides never went away. It just moved formats. Collectors are chasing meaning. A CD single, a limited 7", a special pressing with an extra track, it all taps into the same desire, to feel closer to the music and the moment it came from. In a world where music is infinite, B-sides remind us that scarcity once made listening feel like an adventure, flipping, skipping, discovering, and owning a secret track you had to earn.