Two years ago, Daniel Lopatin was the last person onstage at the Pitchfork Music Festival. Someone at the festival had booked Lopatin's Oneohtrix Point Never as counter-programming to FKA twigs, the festival's final-night headliner. This move probably enraged at least a few fans of glitchy avant-synth music who were forced to choose one or the other. For me, though, it was perfect. For whatever reason, Lopatin kept playing for a lot longer than twigs did. Tired after a long festival weekend, I left and walked back to my hotel, alone. The lights of the festival were behind me, and the lights of downtown Chicago, a crystalline miracle of architecture, were in front of me. When you're that exhausted and you're still processing everything you've seen and done over the weekend, you feel like you're in some liminal space. Daniel Lopatin makes weirdly ideal liminal-space music. All around me, thrumming, filling the air, was Lopatin's depressed electro-squiggle churn. It made me feel like I was walking through a blank, endless void. I'll never forget it.