The Last Hours of Death By Audio

Late into the night last Saturday, Brian Chippendale took a few minutes to catch his breath and readjust his drum hardware. For a moment, the crowd ceased thrashing and people who'd been surfing above strangers' shoulders were eased back to the ground. During this pause, a sea of sweaty, smiling faces stared back at him, buffeted by occasional howls from the back of the room.

It was the last night of existence for Death By Audio, the beloved Williamsburg venue being forced to close after seven years to make way for a new VICE office complex. And at these last few moments, Chippendale’s band Lightning Bolt was on stage. Standing behind his drum kit, he stared back at the crowd and pondered out loud: “How do you play the last show ever? How do you…? What…? Where’s it gonna go?”

Lightning Bolt was the last band to play the final concert at Death By Audio. That night the place felt like it was bursting at the seams. It’s hard to feel sad amid the intense energy of a Lightning Bolt set, but with the past seven years seeming to culminate in this one reflective moment, it was impossible to keep emotions at bay.

Chippendale articulated a sense of disbelief shared by anyone who’s lived, worked, played, or attended shows at Death By Audio, the independent, semi-legal music venue and art space founded in 2007 and managed by Oliver Ackermann , Matt Conboy, and Edan Wilber.

For the past seven years, the industrial space housed a music venue, living quarters, practice space, and workspace for Ackermann’s Death By Audio effect pedals company. More than that, this was one of the few non-commercial places in New York City – now dwindling in number – that support a vibrant music community. And it showed: over the course of its final few weeks, music fans packed the small venue each night to pay last respects. By the final few days of Death By Audio, just about every wall was covered in artwork, the results of a “Death By Art” show organized by one of DBA’s residents, Mark Kleeb.

It’s a given that people and places come and go in New York. Change is ingrained in the DNA of the city. But for many of those lucky enough to spend extended amounts of time at Death By Audio, it was a lasting kind of antidote to the sense of alienation, loneliness, and anxiety one often encounters living in New York. One of the few places in Williamsburg that felt genuinely inclusive, nestled in a fast-gentrifying neighborhood, was finally closing. Ironically, this was happening at the hands of a company that owed much of its rise to the kind of cultural capital generated by places like Death By Audio.

Bands felt like Death By Audio was a second home – indie phenoms Future Islands and wild Canadian rockers METZ both played their first ever New York shows at Death By Audio. It was the kind of place where a small fledgling band had a good chance of playing on the same bill as a much bigger, touring band. And one day, that fledgling band might just become a headliner.

You tended to get just as much as you were willing to put in: if you attended or played shows there regularly, there was a good chance you’d get to know the staff there, as well as other regulars. Those were the people who made up the bulk of the crowd last Saturday night – some of them who since moved to other cities even flew across the country to be there. It’s also why there were a lot of tears, hugs, and positive energy going around in the final hours.

Death By Audio became a mainstay for New York's ‘DIY’ music scene. Edan Wilber has booked almost every bill at the venue since its inception, and he manned the sound board for just about every single show – no small feat, considering the venue hosted concerts almost every night of the week. The people running the door and the bar started working there and continued over the years because they were friends with the founders or had been hanging around long enough to become one of the staff. Towards the last few years, there was even a Death By Audio intramural basketball team comprised of staff, residents, and friends.

All this meant that on Saturday night, it felt like every minute counted. Every song mattered. Every moment you could look into the crowd and see your friends – all these familiar faces you got to know over the course of the past seven years – it counted. Who knew when all these people would be in the same place at the same time again? That was the special part about Death By Audio – it brought a community together, supported it, and sustained it.  Every show’s lineup during Death By Audio’s final week was purposely kept secret – not even regular staff members or bands performing on the bills knew who the final acts would be in advance.  Despite that, lines to get in the last couple weeks snaked around the block – a testament to Death By Audio’s impact.

In that light, it’s unsurprising that everybody was upset. By the end of the night, someone had distributed copies of VICE magazine so the crowd could make confetti.

And Chippendale’s answer to his own question, “Where’s it going to go?” made perfect sense.

Before he sat back down to bash away at the drums again and send off Death By Audio in a fury of noise, he replied: “It’s going to go inside my heart.”