Here's my obligatory "my friend was on the guestlist for the hipster ironic techno outfits Peaches and Electrocute show last night and for various reasons we never got around to showing up" post. In my mind, it was totally like this:

9:30 We show up and are escorted past the hideous electroclash-leftover children outside. Oh my God, this Sunday's New York Times Magazine is right! The 70s really are back.

10:00 Berlin's Electrocute go on. I chew nicotine gum. They are like so hilarious.

10:45 Wow, they're all here in the crowd tonight: the greats, the not so greats. Cabaret ironist Justin Bond, Gizmodo's hipster editor (and Fischerspooner fan) Pete Rojas, the New York Underground Film Festival's director Ed Halter. They are all sharing a giant PCP-laced marijuana cigarette. Take that, Bloomberg!

11:15 Peaches herself goes on stage. She's so Canadian, and lewd! She makes innuendo after innuendo. How naughty! Her mullet is really frightening. Everyone dances with their hands in the air. Again, it's so 70s; Peaches is our Donna Summer, and "Fuck the Pain Away" is our MacArthur Park.

12:49 After the show, I am shanked in the parking lot by two enraged anti-fur activists, obviously unable to afford the airfare to the recent Milan shows but still desperate to share their justified anger with some random fashion-loving target. We go to the hospital and I bleed a lot for a really long time.

Funnest rock show ever. I love the 70s.