The last time I saw Agriculture, it played the middle slot on a five-band bill for a not-quite crowd of about one hundred passive souls. This time RecordBar was sold out, with the kids pressed against the stage and the olds hugging the railing up in the mezzanine. I moved between the two tribes, snapping photos from the hectic floor for a song or two, and then retreating to the obstructed views and comparative quietude of the balcony. Neither was ideal, but sold out shows are like that.

The show started at 8pm with Missouri Executive Order 44. The Kansas City locals typically play on the floor of chaotic DIYs. Could that energy translate to a bigger stage? Yes. God yes. Although, truthfully, vocalist "Jarom Johnson" spent very little time on the stage. He quickly jumped into the crowd, landing both feet into the chest of a concertgoer and temporarily clearing the pit. When the pit regrouped it was filled with swinging fists, hands raised in praise (more about that in a minute), and a lot of kids screaming along to the act's unruly hardcore. Much of that sound was born from the guitar of "Elos Olsen." Fans of the band have uncovered the true identity of the guitarist (everyone in the group wears pantyhose over their faces to remain anonymous), and the line from his previous beloved noise rock outfit to this one is a small step. Such a racket. So many divebombs. Bassist "Esau Fullmer" rode the crunching downbeats, while drummer "Malachi Hatch" moved from rolling nuance to savage pummeling in an instant. He too has a history in high-profile noise rock bands. The foursome's songs were mercifully short, as each is punishment. Between songs Brother Johnson preached the importance of hugs and celebrating the scene, then added "And if that's not enough, buy a firearm and learn how to use it. You can join our militia. We're already on watchlists." This wasn't a joke. Later he clarified the group's religious affiliation.

See, the quartet dresses in the black pants and white button-up shirts of Mormon missionaries. They wear cheeky bike helmets. Between songs, sampled readings from The Book of Mormon filled the gaps. The band's name refers to a 1938 Missouri law that was essentially a Mormon extermination order. Are the musicians part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? Not at all. It's part performance art, part history lesson, part imagined response to a very ugly time in Missouri's history. The ugly music of MEO 44 might be the only appropriate response.

In a half hour I went from wondering if the local opener could move the crowd, to feeling bad for the touring act that had to follow that performance. Again, the answer came quickly. At 8:45 the five members of Knoll walked onto a dark stage. Several vintage lamps dotted the stage. Tall ones with fringed shades. They turned on and off without any recognizable pattern. It was ghostly. The band is black metal. Not the (gloriously) cartoonish Norwegian variety, but rather the US take built on dark atmospheres, blinding aggression, and psychological terror. This is the A24 of black metal. Tremolo guitars from Cameron Giarraputo and Ryan Cook sawed throughout the fifty-minute set. Bassist Lukas Quartermaine kicked off the bombastic breaks. Blast beats poured out of Zack Rodrigues, only relenting once to offer haunting war drums during a late set track. Vocalist Jamie Eubanks was terrifying — all shrieks, shredded vocals, and a third delivery gargled like Gollum. I didn't understand a word, but I knew that he meant harm. Saying the band was dimly lit is an understatement. I snapped only a few hopeful photos. When developed, I discovered a bald ghostly figure somewhere between the 1922 Nosferatu and Voldemort, clutching a microphone with long inhuman fingers dripping in rings. He offered no banter between songs, and instead triggered electronics that carried the spooky atmosphere further. Knoll scared me.

Between acts I soothed my shocked psyche with hot and satisfyingly salty tater tots from Slimm's recordBurger. So I stress eat, sue me. Once fortified by deep-fried potato products, I was ready for whatever the headliner had in store for me.

Agriculture is modern black metal from Los Angeles. Further forays into taxonomy would be fruitless. The quartet lined up with Leah Levinson on bass and vocals, Dan Meyer on guitar and vocals, Richard Chowenhill on guitar, and Kern Haug on drums. I think. Together the foursome delivered black metal with lightness and air. Compositions had movement and left room for the audience to catch its breath. There were of course blast beats and tremolo picking – when the act wants to get dirty, they certainly can – but there were also drum fills and melodic leads. And there were moments of silence that roared in smart juxtaposition. There were prog elements too: Meyer’s clean vocals. The song with a drum solo. The one with a guitar solo. All were impressive, unexpected, and jarring. Meyer’s vocals weren’t always clean – he could be absolutely filthy at times, complementing the screeched vocals of Levinson. There was very little banter between numbers, forcing the audience to fill the void by shouting up "Free Palestine!" and "F*ck Trump!" Yes and yes.

Once Agriculture's set stretched past the hour mark, spots against the balcony railing began to open up, offering me a better view of the stage. I watched as Meyer spent several songs standing over the crowd with his guitar, almost taunting the audience. Levinson held her bass aloft through these songs, performing for the masses. During the finale – which ended with an extended trashcan flourish that lasted nearly five minutes – endurance was tested. Haug rolled away at his snare at an impossible rate while the tremolo picking of Chowenhill never slowed. The audience watched in amazement, albeit in folded-arm amazement more lifeless than during the earlier, more corporeal acts. By the end it wasn't clear who was more exhausted – band or audience. The best shows are always like that.