Hop off the elevated JMZ train at Myrtle Ave. in Brooklyn, and it all looks like a wasteland of industry—the tracks flanked by a Popeyes, KFC, Dunkin Donuts, and what seems like hundreds of bodegas and delis, their neon color palettes lighting the street, each indistinguishable from the next. You walk further down Bushwick Avenue until you hear the din, a cluster of voices and chords and feedback emanating from what is not, in fact, an abandoned gas station, but Brooklyn cultural hub and renowned music venue, The Silent Barn. You know that any band you see there could be everywhere by next year. You know that you will fit in here, maybe by virtue of the fact that you usually don’t. You know that The Silent Barn will be a safe space for you and yours. You know that, whatever happens, it’ll be a good night.