Daft Punk sounds like this:
You're out late downtown on a hot summer night and everything is closed, and then it starts to rain. You run to shelter in the first place that you see with lights on, which looks like an old toothpaste factory. Inside, you find an abandoned 1970s video arcade, miraculously preserved. There are two radios on a table: one only plays music from the past, and the other only plays music from the future. Other people start showing up out of the rain, as if they were expected, and they smile and nod at you. The arcade explains, through video clips from funky TV shows and controlled flickers on the game screens, that a number of years ago it spontaneously attained self-awareness. Today is its birthday, and as always it has invited all its human friends over for the party. You wind up spending the whole night hanging out with the arcade and the people who are in on its secret, dancing and chatting and laughing until the rain passes and the skies clear and a cool breeze blows the mugginess away, and still the party goes on. When it comes time to give presents, you feel bad about not bringing anything, so you give it your car keys and walk home, past the morning delivery trucks. When you wake up, your car has been returned with a full tank of gas, and a note on the dashboard from a dot-matrix printer, thanking you for a wonderful time and inviting you to come next year.
