by Esin Nisan Yildirim (@esinnisann)
If you've ever seen A Place to Bury Strangers live, you probably know what I'm about to talk about. If you haven't, here's my attempt to convince you to go see them, even before you listen to this album. Some live experiences are more than just concerts — they're bodily and spiritual experiences. Watching A Place to Bury Strangers live can be compared to watching a Gaspar Noé film for the first time. The reaction is the same: "What am I even watching?" (if you know, you know). There's a sense of being completely immersed in something that doesn't ask for permission — it just hits. It's mesmerizing, terrifying, and exciting all at once — like watching a body horror film, the kind that makes you feel like your own skin is suddenly a little too close. Don't mind the body horror comparison — it's the good kind. It's an experience in and of itself.
It's for the same reason some bands and musicians need to be seen twice: the first time hits you all at once, and the second time you can actually focus, take it in, and add to that first experience. That makes A Place to Bury Strangers a must-see for anyone looking to step outside their everyday life or walk away with something they won't forget. With that in mind, they've released Rare And Deadly, an album that translates that same energy onto record, collecting demos and B-sides from 2015–2025. Released by Oliver Ackermann's own Dedstrange label, the record is restless and chaotic — many of the songs feel like they could go on and on, creating their own realities that pull you in.
APTBS have been around for quite some time, only getting better with age, their sound swinging from feedback-drenched noise rock to shoegaze haze to something closer to pure sonic overload — and somehow they bewitch you through all of it. It goes beyond liking or loving the band; it's just something that happens to you. It's loud, it's alive, and it makes you feel alive, like you wanna get out of your own skin and reach for some other possibility of being.
"Song for the Girl from Macedonia" is an unsettled track that, as Ackermann has said, ‘’expresses the fragility of life’’. It's the ultimate love and yearning song — the kind of love and yearning all of us will feel at some point, the kind of fragility you have no chance of dodging. It's a strong start to this collection. "On the Wire" keeps the band's noisy, experimental, and chaotic sound going. "Crash," on the other hand, is the closest experience to seeing them live. It just hits you, it governs you, with Ackermann's voice lingering and echoing through the sound as if he's trying to reach out from a different dimension. The drums are so strong that they almost feel like they're pushing the whole thing forward.
"Dead Inside" is a cosmic journey, but a stranger one — less overwhelming, more curious, like the noise is studying you as much as surrounding you. "Out of Place" feels like a lament, its lyrics circling around exhaustion and disappearance until they land somewhere closer to a scream: ‘’For the weary and the lost / It’s the journey, not the cost/ You can find me’’. That sense of being found gives way to something more isolated: ‘’I am a wanderer of dreams / And the spaces in between / I’m alone / Out of place’’. There's rage mixed with helplessness. "Energy" is where dreamy guitar sounds spiral into chaos, giving way to "Heartless," a razor-sharp post-punk cut.
"Losing Time" feels like the bass is an altar casting spells. The restlessness keeps building, like it's about to blow up just as the song seems ready to end, drawing out the anticipation like a long, long wait. “Resurrected” on the other hand, works to pull you into a restless dream, making sure you never wake up. It’s eerie and underwater, like being suspended somewhere between “please, just wake me up” and “I don’t wanna leave here — wherever this is.’’ "Where Are We Now?" sits with the moments that won't come back. In an interview with Joyzine, Ackermann shared, ‘’some of those times [were] so great and fun and there’s a ton of people I will never see again and I must have been feeling really lost at that moment but I still do often wonder. There’s never enough time to see and reconnect with all the people I want to’’.
A Place To Bury Strangers’ songs always feel as if they're trying to push past the boundaries of the form, stretching it and seeing where it can go. Layers of guitar, each one echoing the last, turn into ghosts whispering the sound of a sound, like the reflection of a reflection, always turning into something else. There's an unfinishedness to it all, but maybe that's what makes it feel so much like life. You don't have to make a moment better, fix it, or bring it to some kind of resolution. Sometimes it just is that moment, and maybe that's why the music feels so actualized here — no longer just something to listen to, but an entity that exists with you.