There's a bit of a disconnect between the live music and the podcast divisions at Too Much Rock headquarters. The podcasters play seven twee indie pop acts for every one doom band. Meanwhile, the live music staff is the opposite, hitting up hardcore and metal shows ten times more often than indie pop gigs. One might attribute that to the writers' different taste profiles if I weren't the only person in those departments. So, what's the reason for my internal schism? Let me think about that while I recap another metal gig.

Just after eight o'clock, Momovudu took the stage, drawing the curious audience forward. The band is realized by the workaday trio of Matt Watkins (vocals/guitar), Nate Keirsey (bass/vocals), and Brent Richards (drums). We'd all quickly learn that the group's blue-collar aesthetic carried over to its back-to-basics stoner rock. Watkins' vocals were shouted just above spoken and full of rasp. His guitar dripped with wah-wah and psychedelic touches. There were two or more solos in each of the act's long songs – most of which were Iommi-esque, steeped in bluesy bends and effective hammer-ons. Keirsey provided more traditional metal vocals, but his big contribution was finger strength. The man pulled at his strings producing a thunderous tone. Richards' playing shifted as needed – sometimes delivering simple patterns with a bit of a swing, sometimes careening across his kit. When the band was tight, it was intense. However, when it devolved into meandering experimentation, I found it harder to connect. The final song attempted to touch the sky, allowing bass solos to happen under guitar solos while complex drum patterns rich with floor tom work all exploded simultaneously. It didn't always land, but like the whole of Momovudu's set, the result was an inexplicable yet intoxicating mix of heady and virile, and that's always something to see.

Next up was New Orleans' Fauns. The foursome consists of Jason Meyers (vocals/guitar), Joey Cronvich (guitar), Josh Gates (bass), and Ian Paine-Jesam (drums). The quartet began building its long opening number without a word to the audience. All sorts of signifiers apply to the band's modern take on sludge, but with a genre that small, who needs to quibble with modifiers like "post" or "blackened?" The act's short two-song, twenty-three-minute set was immersive and heavy, big and cinematic. The sound in the room was good, allowing Meyers' sick-throat growls to pierce the din created by two guitars playing crushing riffs through Orange amplifiers. In sparser moments, his shockingly dulcet leads floated over sonic beds created by Cronvich's tremolo picking or humming EBow. The rhythm section maintained a steady dirge, but moved tactfully from crashing to transparent as the moment required. Upon completing the second song, Meyers uttered, "Thank you" and then turned to pack up his gear. The expectant audience was stunned, but I'm a big fan of always leaving them wanting more. If you want more, Fauns has two two-song cassettes available on its Bandcamp and some really nice long-sleeves at its merch booth if you can catch the act live. Just don't show up late.

Kansas City's Aprilmist headlined the night. For those deep in the genre, this was a diverse bill – a stoner rock band, a doomy sludge one, and a post-black metal one. For those outside of the genre, it was a night of three metal bands. Fine tune as you feel the need. Jon Houst and Dustin Albright both provided vocals and guitars for the foursome. Each took some lead vocals. Each took some of the guitar leads. Some nights there's a palpable tension between them. This was one of those nights. Drummer Jeff Wymer was unfazed. I've never seen someone in metal smile so much. Bassist Kyle Calloway (also of Tombseeker) was solely focused on his instrument as he made his debut with the group.

The act's forty-five-minute set started with a clean guitar line that, in due time, was replaced by a more sinister, distorted one. That pattern continued throughout the set, with moments of cacophonous intensity offset by serene atmospheric moments. Smaller passages of crunching death or progressive complexity were there for those really listening. Of course, that sort of scrutiny required quality earplugs, as the quartet was exceptionally loud. Luckily, Houst's shrieked vocals and Albright's leads were able to best the intensity. Albright's vocals, however, did not, proving once again that volume is double-edged sword. The night's no-banter trend wasn't broken until Albright placed a capo on the neck of his guitar and quipped "we're officially a fake black metal band now." So, I suppose Aprilmist is now a fake atmospheric ambient post-black metal blackgaze band, if you're keeping score.

So, back to the question at hand, why is there such a genre imbalance at Too Much Rock? I haven't got it quite figured out yet, but I suspect it has to do with the differences between how I appreciate live and recorded music. I listen to recorded music like I read books – I smile when I read a witty passage, and I delight when the author manipulates language in an innovative way. Certainly I can be touched by the beauty of it, but it's often a more cerebral experience. Live music is different. Live shows are all about the energy and emotion that a band and its music can convey. Aprilmist and the current crop of local metal acts expertly balance brutality and beauty, creating moments of euphoria and catharsis. Experiencing those emotions in a small room full of like-minded fanatics is a vastly more powerful emprise than listening to it on an album. This connection will keep me coming back to metal shows, and the editorial staff at Too Much Rock will just have to deal with my quiddities.