A few days before the show, Midwest Doom Coalition announced that pre-sale tickets were sold out, and that only a limited number of tickets had been held back for walk-ups on the day of the show. When I arrived at The Ship at 7:15, even those tickets were gone. Were there that many fans of the fantasy doom metal headliners? Maybe. But also, the lead-up to this event was exquisite. Everyone knew this was going to be a happening. Everyone knew that this night would transcend any niche genre or tribal allegiance.

Hooded Grave took the stage at 7:30. Repeated posts earlier in the week begged fans to show up early. Those pleas were either stunningly successful or completely unnecessary – the venue was packed and ready to rock. The band, however, was not. Technical difficulties with a bass or a bass rig delayed the proceedings by fifteen agonizing minutes. "It worked at soundcheck," one member promised. After unknown fixes were made, the quintet began a twenty-five-minute set of stoner rock, a dank and doomy metal subgenre of a subgenre. All five members are known to those in the scene and have commanded beloved bands of similar genres for years. In Hooded Grave they go by new pseudonyms. A.E. Archbishop provided low and stilted vocals that approached goth detachment. There were no soaring highs or thunderous roaring lows. His guitar guided the act. N. Krieg played lead guitar, judiciously dropping in winding weedy guitar lines with plenty of bent notes steeped in vibrato. J. Hayte also played guitar, to ensure that every song was 99% plodding riffs. Troubled bassist Seasnake was joined by brother-in-rhythm drummer Saint Thraknar. Thraknar's trashy drums were draped with heavy chains and he looked like a member of Electric Mayhem – curiously it wasn't Animal, but Floyd – just with even more fur. Despite the early setback, the packed room was in love, and rightly so. Solid songs, deep headbanging grooves, strong personalities, and a sound that is a direct hit for genre purists. The group seldom plays to sold out crowds in big rooms, but maybe this is the start of The Age of Hooded Grave.

Between bands I watched a friend get hit on by a relentless short king. He shot his shot over and over, and soon my friend slipped to another part of the room to avoid him. These dudes complaining about no women at metal shows might need to look in the mirror to see why.

Denver's Cobranoid started at 8:30. This was one professional crew. Kyle Gaso handled vocals and guitar. He was in Drop D throughout as far as I could tell. His solos were full of hammers and hazy wah-wah pedal. Logan O'Connor's bass pushed songs forward, and his backing vocals smoothed out the vocal grunts of Gaso. Kevi Wylie dropped in rock drums that thundered during the band's driving metal and slowed to deliver the groove during doomier moments. Gaso offered banter throughout the set: deriding the current political regime, affirming unequivocally the act's alliance with various marginalized groups, and discussing the Kansas City BBQ situation. When he wasn't talking, the spaces between the six tracks that made up the trio's half-hour set were often filled with liminal samples. The set was tight, the band was tight, and Denver did itself proud.

They Watch Us from the Moon is high concept sci-fi doom. Rumor is that over the past year the intergalactic heroes you knew from previous incarnations of the act were lost in a deep-space tragedy with only one guitarist surviving. With help from members of a moon-based secret cult, a new rebel team has been assembled to battle the evil alien that "watches us from the moon." At least that's the rumor. For those not interested in lore, the band was a quintet featuring an unnamed vocalist, two guitarists, a bassist and a drummer who played Sabbath-worshipping doom. There was some giddy-up to the band's stoner rock – think "Fairies Wear Boots" rather than the sludgier moments from the genre-defining Brummies' repertoire. The group performed in costume, with the majority masked. The new vocalist, however, was not. She was clad in black leather adorned with cryptic scientific diagrams and chains. She's young enough that her hands were marked with Xs. Her vocals were full of elongated notes delivered with an confident waver. Occasionally they were doubled by the surviving guitarist. There wasn't much banter, but what there was, came entirely from him. The thirty-five-minute set was full of secrecy, drama, and tasty riffs – just what the audience had come for, even if they had no idea who They Watch Us from the Moon was when they bought their ticket.

The club was hot, made hotter as all of Kansas City pushed forward to see the headlining spectacle that sold out The Ship. I refilled my paper water cup and craned my neck to be sure my view from the side of the stage wasn't blocked. I determined getting back to the front would be impossible.

Castle Rat is a doom act from Brooklyn. Castle Rat is also a troupe of LARPers. They put on a concert. They also perform in choreographed scenes set in the band's medieval world known as "The Realm." If someone had passed around corn dogs, then we'd have had dinner theatre. But maybe that's being too greedy.

The quartet is fronted by The Rat Queen (Riley Pinkerton). She was scantily clad, wore enough makeup to be seen from the back of the club, and sported the biggest hair you've seen since Beavis and Butt-head discovered Vixen. She's good with a guitar. And equally as skilled with a sword. Early in the set, a sexy rat in fishnets (The Rat Reaperess played by Alexandra Blair) made her debut. The two would battle throughout the set (occasionally with swords, daggers, and scythes) for the future of the realm. And Pinkerton sings. Mostly the stretched lines that the genre requires, just surprisingly clean. Occasionally she pushed close to what might be a scream. Bassist The Plague Doctor (Charley Ruddell) delivered the grooves. He was afforded a solo as was lead guitarist The Count (Franco Vittore). Occasionally the three would link up at the front of the stage, forming that "guitar army" choreography that peaked in the hair-metal era. Drummer The All-Seeing Druid (Joshua Strmic) wore a fur vest, leather gauntlets, and a crown of antlers. His patterns were complex, sometimes leaning more toward progressive rock than doom metal. Castle Rat cannot be contained.

As the set reached its climax, Pinkerton addressed the audience as a royal might deliver an address from a high balcony: "You are the realm. I see you. And I thank you." Then there was a fight scene. There was blood. There was death. And finally, resuscitation facilitated by a magic potion, the power of metal, and the encouragement of the audience. After seventy-five minutes, the realm was saved, living up to the pre-show hype that sold out The Ship.