It’s a wet winter night and fifty bodies fill the basement. We clump into small groups, nursing 40s, murmuring, leering, judging, and recharging for the next act. A man with shiny sweatpants and blonde hair bursting out of a headband weaves through the crowd and plugs his laptop into the monitors. Suddenly, with a theatrical yowl, he announces, “Cooper is my name, and music is my game!” GarageBand stock noises clank across the basement.