In this task, you are given a text of many news articles seperated by special token "|||||". Your task is to summarize them.
Q: Yves Saint Laurent Daft Punk's music has always come with an educational component. After all, their 1997 debut was called Homework and featured a track called "Teachers" that namechecked a slew of musicians ("...Brian Wilson / George Clinton / Lil Louis...") the duo loved—and wanted fans to love as well. Their 2001 follow-up kept with the theme, right down to its title, Discovery. The guys behind gleeful dancefloor hits like "One More Time," "Da Funk," and "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" have even talked about their aspirations towards infotainment: "Homework, we did it, and it was a way to say to the rock kids, like, 'Electronic music is cool,'" Thomas Bangalter recently told GQ. "Discovery was the opposite, of saying to the electronic kids, 'Rock is cool, you know? You can like that.'" Related Story The Crazy, Totally Justified Hype for Kanye West's New Album The lesson of their latest, then, seems obvious. The insane hype surrounding the release of Random Access Memories, their fourth non-soundtrack album and their first in eight years, proves that they've grabbed the undivided attentions of the rock kids and the electronic kids. Now, they want to show those kids that the schmaltzy disco, intricate prog, and quivery soft rock of decades past is cool too. To do that, the duo largely ditched computers and samplers. They recruited the musicians that made some of the most influential records of the '70s and '80s, the likes of Chic's Nile Rodgers and Michael Jackson's Thriller and Off the Wall session players (plus newer stars like Julian Casablancas and Pharrell Williams to help out on vocals). And they recorded a lush, pristine, largely analog vision of the past. The result: beautiful songs. That's beautiful in the most literal sense, where sensory experience outranks songwriting or danceability. The jazzy, flute-laden "Motherboard," the Magnificent Seven-theme-aping violins of "Beyond," the spiraling-out rock charge of "Contact," the multi-suite choral pomp of "Touch": All convincingly explain why Daft Punk have spent their press tour for this album talking about the limits of computerized music. As Bangalter told The New York Times ("knocking over his drink in his excitement"), live instrumentation offers "an infinity of nuance, in the shuffles and the grooves... These things are impossible to create with machines." 
  
 One obvious machine element remains, though. Bangalter and/or Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo (they won't say who's on vocal duties on at any given time) keep the robots-with-a-heart routine going, singing through a vocoder about yearning to live and love. On the slower, gooier songs, like "The Game of Love" and "Within," that once-cute shtick comes off as nearly unlistenable parody. Elsewhere, though, as on the mid-album high points of "Lose Yourself to Dance" and "Get Lucky"—both featuring the Neptunes' Williams, both built on Rodgers's hypnotic funk-guitar riffs, both among the few tracks that will get people moving—the bots' voices add nice, fizzy hooks to the mix. But beyond the younger guest musicians' featured, that's the only recognizably of-the-moment ingredient here... though, come to think of it, bands have been making their vocals sound synthesized for decades. ||||| Diehard fans of French electronic duo Daft Punk lust after the pair's custom space-age helmets, which aren't for sale. What to do? Make your own. Atlanta prop-maker Harrison Krix documented his process. (Photo: Jennifer Barclay) 
  
 People are daft about Daft Punk, crazy enough to spend thousands of dollars on helmets resembling what the two pop stars are usually wearing. 
  
 When the French electronic music duo release their new CD, "Random Access Memories," on Tuesday it is likely to become one of the world's top-selling records of the year. The first single, "Get Lucky," has already topped the charts in 55 countries. 
  
 Despite the hype and the pair's massive popularity—they have been around since the 1990s—Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, 39, and Thomas Bangalter, 38, can still stroll through throngs of die-hard fans at their own shows, entirely unnoticed. Some concertgoers doubt the pair is really on stage at all. 
  
 Enlarge Image Close Dan Almasy Daft Punk fan Harrison Krix wears a helmet like band member Thomas Bangalter's. 
  
 That is because, for the past decade, Messrs. Bangalter and de Homem-Christo have rarely appeared on stage or at other public events without the Space Age, face-obscuring helmets, sometimes decorated with light-emitting diodes programmed to display text and images. 
  
 Now, as fans awaited the release of Daft Punk's first new album in eight years, demand has soared for facsimiles of their iconic headgear. Some cash-strapped fans are proposing long-term payment plans; others are fretting over whether they will be able to find models that fit their heads. 
  
 "Price is not an object," wrote 27-year-old Boston-area fan Trevor Bates in a recent posting on a popular Daft Punk fan site, saying he was prepared to spend at least $2,000 and warning he also had "a large head." 
  
 Mr. Bates, a stagehand, said it was fortunate the band's new album and impending tour were coinciding with his "finally having a job" so that he could afford the helmet of his dreams. "That being said I am not a millionaire and I can be picky," he added. 
  
 The market for knockoff Daft Punk helmets emerged just over a decade ago, after the electronic music pioneers commissioned a California special-effects company to create a pair of helmets with programmable LED displays for the release of their second album, "Discovery." 
  
 Photographs of the pair in their helmets appeared in French magazines a month before the "Discovery" album: Mr. de Homem-Christo's was gold and featured a rainbow-flanked smiley face in lights; Mr. Bangalter's was silver with a narrow red visor. He is the taller of the two. Thousands of tiny wires cascaded like thick hairs through the back of their helmets to control boards in their backpacks, which the two men lugged around to public appearances. 
  
 Kevin Furry, whose former company, LED Effects Inc., installed the electronics, said the initial sight of the contraptions "scared our receptionist." Fans called incessantly, he said, requesting duplicates, but he refused, putting a notice on the company's website to warn fans it wouldn't make replicas without Daft Punk's permission. 
  
 Related Daft Punk’s stealth marketing campaign has the music world buzzing in anticipation. Megan Buerger joins Lunch Break with an inside look at the album launch that is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Photo: David Black. 
  
 Fans got to work constructing their own, or enlisting independent craftsmen. 
  
 Harrison Krix, 30, was working at an ad agency in Atlanta when he decided to try his hand at re-creating a Daft Punk helmet for a prospective buyer in California four years ago. 
  
 After months of blueprinting, mold-making, sculpting and sanding, Mr. Krix shipped his helmet to an automotive shop that specialized in chrome plating, installed circuit boards and eventually delivered a shimmering gold specimen nearly identical to the first one worn by Mr. de Homem-Christo, complete with rainbow LEDs. 
  
 His time-lapse YouTube video documenting the 749-step process, according to one fan's count, "How to Make a Daft Punk Helmet in 17 Months" has clocked more than three million views. 
  
 "I was just kind of winging it," says Mr. Krix, who received so many offers after fans got wind of his work that he quit his ad-agency job and went into prop-making full time. 
  
 Jennifer Barclay Mr. Krix grabs a bite at an Atlanta diner in a helmet he made. 
  
 Now, though, he says he just sells do-it-yourself kits instead of finished helmets since he got a "terrifying" email from a Daft Punk representative who was concerned that he was making it sound in an eBay ad as if he were a member of the band. Daft Punk declined to comment for this article. 
  
 Hayes Johnson, 23, an assistant graphic designer at Johnson State College in Johnson, Vt., said his first attempt to make a replica out of a baseball helmet, red Christmas lights and soda cans while in high school was "really primitive." 
  
 Several years later, he fashioned a more respectable pair that fetched $1,000 on eBay. Now, Mr. Johnson is in the process of updating a chart he published in 2010 entitled "A Visual History of Daft Punk Helmets," which diagrams the subtle evolution of helmets worn by the band. 
  
 "To the naked eye, it looks like Daft Punk helmets haven't changed in recent years. I feel really dorky when I talk about this stuff, but they are actually very different," said Mr. Johnson, noting shifts over time in color and style. 
  
 Kevin Sanders, founder of the Daft Club, a London fan site, says he started seeing so much helmet-hawking in discussion forums that he created a special page where buyers and sellers could connect. 
  
 Mr. Sanders said his website has tracked a 365% jump in the number of members seeking helmets last month from the year earlier. Helmets without programmable light displays cost from $200 to $500; computerized designs run up to several thousand dollars. 
  
 "People are so desperate for these things that they are willing to wear everyday household buckets," says Mr. Sanders, adding that official Daft Punk merchandise is hard to find. 
  
 Helmet selection can be nerve-racking. Michael Wilson, a creative director at a tech company in Toronto, worries about having a "fairly big head" because he expects good-quality helmets run small, since serious fans are after a snug, sleek fit, not something "comically large." 
  
 Mr. Wilson, 32, thinks displaying the helmet in his home would be a "great icebreaker" to ignite discussion among guests. (He also plans to have his girlfriend take photos of him wearing the helmet while he performs everyday tasks.) 
  
 Helmet-makers aren't necessarily hip to the band's music. Thomas Spragge, a 54-year-old prototype toy-maker in Massachusetts, had never heard of Daft Punk until three years ago when his daughter asked him to make a helmet. 
  
 Her headgear got such "an incredible response" that he decided to make 10 more to sell. The first one he posted on eBay received more than 60 bids and 3,000 views before selling last month to a fan in Texas for $1,125—nearly three times what it cost him to produce. 
  
 As for the tunes, they are growing on him. "It's kind of like new disco," he says. 
  
 Write to Hannah Karp at hannah.karp@wsj.com 
  
 A version of this article appeared May 21, 2013, on page A1 in the U.S. edition of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: Fans Lose Their Heads In Pursuit of Daft Punk Helmets. |||||
A: 
Want to make a few bucks? Figure out how to duplicate the odd, face-covering, sometimes rainbow-lighted helmets worn by the two members of Daft Punk, suggests the Wall Street Journal. There's apparently quite a demand for replicas of the iconic headgear worn by Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter, particularly since the French electronic music duo released its first album in eight years today. Customers have been known to pay thousands for lookalike helmets sometimes featuring programmable light displays—then again, they're not exactly easy to put together. Harrison Krix decided to give it a go four years ago, and it took him 17 months to complete a 749-step process involving blueprints, molds, circuit boards, and an auto shop that did the chrome plating. The final result was apparently more than acceptable to fans, because he was able to quit his day job and go into prop-making (although now he sells only helmet-making kits, after an email from a "concerned" Daft Punk rep). Other helmet makers also have scored thousands for their homemade contraptions, and a fan site founder has set up a special forum for would-be buyers and sellers. "People are so desperate for these things that they are willing to wear everyday household buckets," he says.