No such thing as tomorrow, only one, two, three, go!

Aprilmist kicked things off with an expansive forty-minute set of what, for brevity's sake, we'll call blackgaze. The quartet played a handful of songs that stretched to the heavens and sunk into the grave. A brutal passage started the set, but most of the performance was more artful than bludgeoning – heavy and intense to be sure, but graceful. Every head in the audience nodded with the mid-tempo tunes, and a few headbanged when the tempo escalated. The shrieked vocals of Jon Houst were unhinged – rougher and raspier than usual, adding psychotic danger to the compositions. New closer "Saudade" was particularly transcendent with multiple inventive solos from Dustin Albright. Much more should be said, but I've got another letter to write.

Nashville's Saidan followed. The duo touring as a live quartet is, and I say this with nothing but admiration and appreciation, cosplay. The corpse paint, the spiked gauntlets, the constructed costumes, the ghastly pseudonyms and the theatricality are all staples of a black metal era past. But the youngsters in Saidan have embraced it and updated it with elements of Japanese horror. I'm here for it. While the look was familiar, the group's amalgamation of sounds was unique. The act's screeched black metal foundation was augmented with classic NWOBHM melodies, solos straight from the Floyd Rose playbook, and drums that added crusty D-beat flavor. "Splatterpvnk's" banter was corny, the knife over the top, but, surely, the band is in on the joke. Worship Satan, have fun, but I've gotta move on as I've got the time tick-tick-tickin' in my head.

Tómarúm means void in Icelandic. I just thought I'd share that. The group is from Atlanta. Five guys – all virtuosos, all on specialized instruments, all playing like their GPAs depended on it. The resulting racket was unique, blending progressive metal, technical death, and black metal to create something that, well, something that didn't speak to me. The three guitarists occasionally joined forces, but more often each went their own way. The enormous drumkit (including two kicks) was overplayed to perfection. The bassist didn't have anyone to groove with. Shared vocals drifted between blackened screeches, deathly growls, and clean vocals that were curiously pitchy. The audience didn't nod their heads as they had done for much of the night, instead they watched with looks of impressed stupefaction. There were moments I enjoyed – one song carried a strong Viking metal-esque melody, another early one was elevated by pre-recorded keys – but most of the set bypassed me, choosing the brutal over the sublime and complexity over connection. Some research might put the band into a context I could connect with, but no time, trying to get a watch repaired.