Jokes about washed-up NYC dance-punk band the Rapture and Blondie's 1981 new wave hit "Rapture" are already as stale as the notion of the rapture itself. So what's a music snob to do on the eve of the inevitable End Times, when true believers get higher than Phoenix staff writers and editors on the weekend? Why, grab a few bottles of white, light a few non-denominational candles, and let Boston's own SIDEWALK DRIVER sing our atheist asses to never-ending sleep, tucked gently within the fiery gates of hell. Or Allston or Cambridge, which is where we'll all likely wake up Sunday morning still hangover from the Age Rings album release party the night before at the Middle East. Drink up, buttercup, and live to tell.