Kansas City's music scene used to punch above its weight. Don't get me wrong, it's still a fine city, but more and more tours seem to skip KC each year. I'm told we're missing some vital infrastructure and lack the franchise sort of rock clubs that make live music tours viable (if they ever are at all) in this age of monopolies and vertical integration. Thankfully there's still support at the bottom of the pyramid – punks will forever go side-to-side in Kansas City basements – and, of course, the top seems to be doing as well as it ever has, but the middle has been scooped out. Maybe that applies to everything in late-stage capitalism. So, it's a rare occasion when I get to be excited about a tour coming through town. This bill had me over the moon.

Persekutor was up first. I love a good show. I love fandom. I love commitment to a bit. I love metal and punk. And I love Persekutor. The project is fronted by Vlad the Inhaler. Based on his fake accent he may be Russian or maybe Romanian. I'm not sure. I suspect he's not even sure. I do know that he's exceptionally thin, exceptionally tall, and wears a balaclava and gloves to conceal his identity. I wouldn't dare out him.

Vlad danced onto the stage at 7:30 while Three 6 Mafia's "Ass & Titties" pounded through the PA. Guitarists Blake Meahl and Chris Velez, bassist Adam Murray, and drummer Tyler Meahl were already primed and ready to rock. The band's eight-song set was built on metal punk – a blackened version of heavy metal created with all the attitude of punk. Venom pioneered the genre in the early '80s and then set about shocking parents, pastors, and politicians. Good times. Vlad introduced the opening song, "Brain Freeze," explaining that it was about "freezing to death." Later he noted another number was also about freezing to death. And then another. The audience laughed louder each time. Later in the set, Vlad asked the audience to guess what the next tune was about. One soul shouted out the obvious answer – freezing to death – but Vlad corrected him: "No, it's about cocaine." That was the second song about cocaine in the too-short set. And Vlad wasn't the only ham on the stage. The rest of the performers worked the audience as well, hoisting legs up onto monitors and playing guitars held aloft. The band's evil exterior was frequently pierced by Blake Meahl's smile as he played tasty hard rock riffs reminiscent of Ratt's Robbin Crosby. He also offered some leads, but Velez offered more. They didn't twin up nearly enough for this Maiden fan, but their interplay and swapped solos were satisfying. A half hour later the foursome closed with "Black Death Punk Skins," allowing Vlad to growl out the mantra "Heavy metal, here to stay / Heavy metal all the way." Oh, hell yeah.

Between sets I surveyed the room, finding very few familiar faces in the crowd. Maybe it's because there were barely enough people to be a crowd. Despite a small presale, the venue had removed all the tables, hoping for a big walk-up crowd – but it never materialized. This isn't a good look for Kansas City.

Deathchant followed. There's no gimmick in this LA fourpiece, but there is a commitment to the lifestyle. Every member of the band was either shirtless or wearing leather against his bare skin. Long hair. '70s mustaches. Probably acid freaks time warped in from that era when psychedelic jams and fuzzy guitars exploded from Ten Years After and Hawkwind. The gang is fronted by T.J. Lemieux who's credited with lead vocals, though Doug Stuckey carried just as much of the load. Both offered plenty of guitar leads alongside their riff responsibilities and wah-wah pedal duties. Just try to tell them apart. Bassist George Camacho lacked a mustache but made up for it by moving about the stage like a madman. Joe Herzog provided drums, balancing a stick in his left hand with traditional grip. He was fast – the whole band was – but even in the sludgy moments, Herzog played at full tilt. Maybe they're all speed freaks. Maybe they just worship Motorhead and the NWOBHM greats that followed. After opener "Holy Roller," the quartet overplayed a giant trashcan ending. Between songs, their instruments droned on. After fifty minutes the group played the impossibly down-tuned "Tomb," tacking on a trainwreck finale that stretched on for minutes. It was fire. The musicians poured chaos and soul and sweat and energy into the entire set, all for the benefit of fifty fans and the members of the other acts – all of whom stood in the crowd thrashing along. Deathchant sound good in headphones, but seeing them live is a must. Don't cheat yourself Kansas City.

During the break, I visited the Persekutor merch booth. There were plenty of appealing items designed to shock the establishment. It's nice to see that metal punks are still up to no good. I felt guilty not buying a shirt, but I'm impossibly poor these days. If Persekutor never returns to Kansas City, it's probably my fault. Live Nation isn't the cheapskate that passed on that sexy executioner tee.

Headliners Bewitcher took the stage at 9:45. Although well short of the witching hour, no one with a morning alarm clock was complaining. The Portland trio is led by Matteo Von Bewitcher. He's Matt Litton to Uncle Sam. Once the whole band had even more unwieldy metal monikers. For example, Litton was once "Unholy Weaver of Shadows & Incantations," so Von Bewitcher seems like a nice middle ground. He formed the project in 2013 with bassist Andreas Magus, while drummer Aris Wales came along more recently. Bullet belts, small leather gauntlets, and just a smudge of greasepaint under each performer's eyes hinted at the act's blackened take on speed metal. Von Bewitcher played a Flying V – as did every band on the bill. There's something about that shape that says heavy metal. With his guitar Von Bewitcher churned out lots of bright leads, often highlighted by squealed harmonics. Classic heavy metal riffs were rare, with more chaotic styles employed during most of the set. "Sin is in Her Blood" was particularly anarchic. While I expected croaked vocals, his vocals were instead gruff shouts, frequently bolstered by the backing growls of Magus. Magus' bass served a similar supporting role, often holding ground while Von Bewitcher played melodic solos. Magus got the melody once or twice in repayment. Wales was a traditional drummer. No triggers. No click tracks. No blast beats. And if there was double bass, it never overpowered the songs. During "Spell Shock," Wales locked into an unexpected groove that had the room moving.

The threesome took few breaks between songs. Its motor was humming and there was no reason to stop – especially when Von Bewitcher's occasional "How the f*ck are you doing out there?!" banter was a bit over the top for an audience that had continued to shrink. But you can't fault an act that is determined to deliver its show, and its fans were certainly on board. Some banged their heads the entire forty-five-minute set, most shouted lyrics back at the performers, and everyone threw devil horns with vigor. If Bewitcher doesn't come back to Kansas City, these fanatics won't be to blame.

So there it is, a great show with something to offer every metalhead, but played in a town where hard rock muscles continue to atrophy. I don't know what it takes to get our mojo back. I've heard Black Sabbath sold its soul for rock 'n' roll, so I'm willing to do the same if it will help – especially if it comes with a commemorative tour T-shirt.