When people say something is “Lynchian,” they usually mean that it’s uncanny or almost imperceptibly off. Or they mean something pure and lovely and innocent, presented in a frame that makes you sense the unseen insects crawling over one another, just below the surface. As you have no doubt noticed, a lot of art and a discomfiting percentage of current events meet this description. It’s a useful term, which is why it’s overused. Yet it rarely evokes the odd sentimentality at the heart of David Lynch’s films. Think of how the sinister drones of “Laura Palmer’s Theme,” from Twin Peaks, are suddenly overwhelmed by a brightly sad piano sequence meant to reflect the real pain hidden within surreal events. Should you need a reminder, Chicago post-punk…

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