The calendar says it's Christmas and I've yet to post about this Halloween show. Something has gone wrong. So very wrong. That can only mean it's time for another speed run.

Buzzard Fight was country doom. There was some southern boogie in there too. The six-string bass was active. Remember when Primus covered Sabbath's "N.I.B.?" Yeah, that. There were riffs. Drums were simple to set the stage. Vocals were low and guttural. Theatrics were few. The blended genres provided all the necessary intrigue. Well, I was intrigued anyway.

I've often voiced my pleasure when ska acts have the word "ska" in their name: Mephiskapheles, Flux Skapacitor, Ska Skank Redemption, etc. Perfect. No notes. Stoney-Doom falls in that category if you replace dancefloor-ready rhythms with plodding doom, and guitar upstrokes with resin-soaked stoner rock leads. The quartet wore heavy rubber masks that were ripped off after a song or two. The drummer's furry one didn't even last that long. Once the masks were off the three vocalists sounded better. There were even clean harmonies placing the foursome more in line with Uriah Heep than their often-emulated cousins in Sabbath. The band pointed stage lights at the audience. They shouldn't have done that.

The slow, heavy, and gloriously atmospheric Drifter couldn't fit on the Farewell stage – not with its ample drum kit, a rolling case loaded with effects, samplers, triggers, drum pads and more used by the bassist, and an auxiliary percussion station of rack toms played by the guitarist. It's best we not talk about the gargantuan pedal arrays that fanned out from each player. The band didn't say a word until the very end. Probably because there was no "between songs" to invite banter. Instead, atmospheric noise – both from samples and delivered live – bridged long multi-part compositions. Yet, the threesome's doom was somehow more buoyant than oppressive. That has to break a rule or two.

Finally Hollowed – the headliner and the organizer of this event which it christened "Hollowedween." The trio eschewed the doom of earlier acts, offering a crunching metal instead. Flowing leads and hazy riffs were replaced with pounding aggression, replete with shouted vocals and busy drums preoccupied with rolls and cymbals. The bassist made several trips into the pit, thrashing about in his French maid costume. He later tossed a piñata to the room where it was quickly boot-stomped, spilling its candy guts across the pit. Most of the room ignored the booty, but Sarah leapt from her bar stool to rescue handfuls of Skittles and Lifesavers, devouring most of them before the show ended at 11:35.

And that wraps up Halloween. Now, go hang up your Christmas stockings.