Supersweet

A Place to Bury Strangers

Barfly, London: 15 December 2009

Reminiscent of SUPERSWEET favourites BRMC at their most scathing and with a similarly long name, A Place To Bury Strangers (APTBS) are, as the story goes, the loudest band in New York City. More importantly, they’re also the perfect soundtrack for anyone feeling unseasonably gloomy. Often described as ‘shoe-gaze’ (the term might well be more useful in this case if it encompassed the full horror of the shoes being gazed at) they create wall of sound that, rather than seeking to merely impress with grandiose statement, is more akin to the refuse compacting unit which almost crushes Luke Skywalker on the Death Star. 

As we hover unwittingly in an area of the Barfly that will shortly become a full-on sweat infused mosh pit, there’s an unexpected burst of deafening noise from the stage as an FX unit is randomly tested. Eyebrows are raised and a punter next to SUPERSWEET says knowingly, “It’s going to be a lot louder than that”. We try to look suitably impressed but he’s right; APTBS, when they finally come on stage, are indeed incredibly loud, especially considering there’s only three of them. Ear plugs at the ready people!

The sound is not brilliant however, and the drum kit suffers from a rather weak snare, the whole thing getting buried somewhat beneath the roar of the guitars. The energy and pure bloody mindedness of the band however, is unquestionable. Bass player Jono is sporting a rather nasty looking black eye (we dread to think) and bearded singer Oliver Ackermann’s guitar looks like he left it in his pocket when his jeans last went through their last wash (probably some time ago). Later, he’ll throw it on the floor several times, which is probably a better explanation for the state it’s in.

To be honest, it’s pretty impossible to pick out exactly what is played, as both the vocals and the boundaries of each individual track are lost in a wash of feedback and distortion. Matters are also hindered by the fact that not far into the set, Sian of The Sian Alice Group (who played a great support slot earlier in the evening) and her entourage plough riotously into the front few rows of the audience brandishing a large bottle of liqueur which they set about pouring into random people’s mouths. Moments later, SUPERSWEET, and everyone around us, is a sticky but surprisingly fragrant mess. 

The rest of the night is lost in a blur of spinning bodies and Sian’s long black hair, which has a habit of sticking to SUPERSWEET’S face as we join the mosh-pit madness that ensues. By the end of APTBS’s set, Ackerman is roaming around the stage under the strobe lights like a mad scientist, moving amps around and rewiring everything with long red cables until the very building shakes with endless feedback. It really doesn’t get much madder than this.

Words: Isaac Howlett
Photography: Elinor Jones