Long gone are the days when MySpace was a dirty a word. At this point, the site is so ubiquitous, everyone has just accepted Tom, Rupert and company like they were television. And it is. The convenience of posting and posturing and virally representing oneself and tracking down lost lovers isn’t a trend, it’s a representation of the way of the world. It’s getting dressed in the morning, only online. I don’t even go to bands’ websites anymore—fuck all that fancy flash and pop up windows—their MySpace backslash has everything that a music journalist could ever need. So it shouldn’t be surprising that the dudes throw the best shows, ever…and that’s not just the open bar (and subsequent bottle of Jack Daniels down the gullet) talking.

The first MySpace secret show I went to was …