More than halfway through Rustie's set at MoMA PS1's Warm Up, the spirits of the packed crowd felt momentarily (and literally) soggy. Menacing clouds dumped rain on the souls who had braved the merciless lines for the Holy Concert Triumvirate (Burritos, Beers & Bathrooms), and though the Scottish DJ was doing his damndest to play enough booty-moving mashups (What's Your Fantasy? Yes please) to keep everyone happy, it appeared as if the novelty of dancing in the pouring rain had run its course. But lo, look up! It was the Ponytailed Priest himself, smiling down upon his flock and giving a sheepish wave! Was it a coincidence that the rain stopped, or a clinic in How To Make Precipitation Disappear Completely?

Thom Yorke, performing under the moniker of Atoms for Peace, wasted no time climbing down from his perch and taking the stage promptly at 7 p.m., at which point he shocked the crowd into a mournful trance. It's not that his voice wasn't soulful (it was) or the tunes weren't interesting (they were) or that his beard wasn't grizzled enough (Oh, but it was: a perfect French Trapper Living On Lichens, an exquisite mix of grey and red) but that well, we wanted to dance, not convulse in our bedrooms to Eraser b-sides.

Happily, Yorke was a perceptive DJ: after a few Atoms for Peace cuts the Radiohead frontman spun Shake Your Rump and Once In A Lifetime, and other songs you and your roommates listen to on Spotify before you paint the town. Thom Yorke was playing at our house, and it was wet, and crowded, and fun.