
After missing my train back to Connecticut the other night, I found myself stranded in the bowels of Grand Central Terminal with little distraction but the minutes filing away in the late evening crossover. Listening to The Floodlight Collective then did not challenge the inactivity around me. Instead, it was a backdrop to the things passing through my line of vision. It was late: the blear in commuter's eyes reflected the meandering stroll the record plotted through my ears. As the train began to move through blackened northeastern towns, the density of Lockett Pundt's creation maneuvered right by [...]