You really gotta feel for LCD Soundsystem — fresh off the “dance-punk” darlings’ conquest of Coachella, bopping untold thousands of the dehydrous ecstatic, there they were the next day, at Mezzanine, playing big to a relatively teensy roomful of adoring fans. Adoring fans, in SF’s case, meant a whole lotta surprisingly hoochie mamas grinding against their frattish dates’ pelvises (hot, but weird!) and the cream of our post-electroclash scene. Going in, I’d made a joke to my homeboy that the group’s hirsute leader, James Murphy, was probably the superstar aspiration pinnacle of every sensitive tweaker bear who fiddles mindlessly with ambient-electronic music in their room — and sure enough, there was a fair representation of them as well.