Mainstream pop culture seems to have spent the last two decades chasing the high of childhood, where everything seemed remarkable and the self-conscious divisions between Cool and Uncool complicated everything. But none of the nostalgia-industrial complex has even approached the feats of Daft Punk’s second album, where fuzzy pre-teen memories of good-vibes ’70s and ’80s pop are reconfigured into the stuff of disco-loving legend. Is that Barry Manilow’s voice? Supertramp’s Wurlitzer? George Duke’s frothiest keyboard riff? The maestros of French house euphoria answer: yes, and it turns out you love it.