Concert Review: A Place To Bury Strangers At Brooklyn Bazaar

I have to say something! I am a chill person. I meditate with scented candles, put on some Jhene Aiko to destress, and, often, nap any anger I have away. Thus, seeing A Place To Bury Strangers, basically, jack-hammer their instruments and flash lights in a room, as if hell was having a rave, was something else. I am, consistently, fascinated by punk because it is a culture shock for me, and at Brooklyn Bazaar, A Place To Bury Strangers made it clear why. 

Discontent is a strange bed-fellow, and, in some ways, it sleeps with music. Whether you are a pop-song singing to heartbreak or a jazz opus putting into keys the plight of the disenfranchised, music is love’s response to rejection. In an odd way, A Place To Bury Strangers exemplified this truth. To enter their show is like becoming a letter, and putting yourself to be enveloped by their discorded verses and sounds. Every single person in that room surrounded the band, as they maneuver strobes and notes upon us, because they had already internalized them. A Place To Bury Strangers was not another music group; they were using a bombardment of your senses create mindfulness. 

In meditation, silence is key. You are taught to go deeper into your conscious and go from “zoning out” to “zoning in.” Yet, songs such as, “Deadbeat,” “Drill It Up,” and “Fill The Void” wouldn’t know quiet if it sat with them next to the bus, but they, oddly, showed peace is in chaos. Sonically, A Place To Bury Strangers place keys and chords like they are cells constantly crashing, tearing, and clashing apart to create a maddening life, which is something everyone feels about this earth, at least once. From “Harp Song” to “Never Coming Back,” they created a symphony from discontent that was pensive, pulsing, and inviting. 

Led by Oliver Ackermann, A Place To Bury Strangers proves that releasing inner turmoil does not have to be about acquiring silence. Music can be as cathartic, as well, of which the moshing and mashing of surrounding fans to their tracks made the surge of emotional energy as potent to healing as those who believe it should be quieted instead. At Brooklyn Bazaar, Ackerman’s voice  become one of the sacredness of pain; raking in notes like they were brittle leaves of piled sentiments. Such an image is beautiful when you think of their songs as the pleas of those eager to fill life’s bouts of emptiness. For More Information On A Place To Bury Strangers Click Here.