A packaged tour of four commercially viable bands that I'd never heard of, playing Kansas City on a Friday night, doesn't sound like something that would get me out of the apartment. But for reasons I still do not understand, I walked into the RecordBar at 6:30. Maybe I can figure it out if I write 1500 words about the show. Maybe you'll learn something too.

At 7pm Unreqvited took the stage as a four-piece. The act is the solo project of 鬼 but that kanji symbol for "ghost" causes Unicode issues — and I’ve got enough problems already. Helpfully, he's also known as William Melsness. Melsness plays everything in his project's extensive catalog. Live, however, he focused on guitar and vocals with Benjamin Cooligan (guitar), Robin Parsons (bass/backing vox), and Alec Curren (drums) completing the live lineup. I'd like to think I'm not pedantic, but then I find myself thinking that Unreqvited is more blackened post-rock than the blackgaze signifier most often ascribed to the project. Yes, I do hate myself. Melsness didn't speak a word to the audience. Now, he did shriek – deep and full – and he did sing – clean and pretty – but banter didn't interest him. Maybe ghosts can't communicate with the living like that. Each of his compositions developed slowly and intentionally, with multiple post-rock movements that flowed together well. Heads in the crowd were bobbing. Bodies were swaying. For a project that is undeniably part of the black metal scene, Unreqvited featured more arpeggios than tremolo-picked explosions, and tempos seldom reached hectic blast beat levels. Curious where all the power and atmosphere came from, I studied Curren. His playing was unique and engaging, and his double kick work precise. Both guitarists supplied leads and solos, though Melsness carried most of the load, including one solo that drew from jazz fusion. The tones were impeccable – especially in the closer. A laptop added some synth strings and even a chorus of voices. The high and sweet contrasting vocals came from Parsons. The group's short thirty-minute set was apropos for the four-band bill, but if one of you has a Ouija board, will you ask Melsness to bring Unreqvited back to Kansas City? I'd want more.

When Final Gasp began its short twenty-five minute set, it was not yet eight o'clock and the room was still filling in. I was intrigued by this Boston band. The quintet featured Jacob Murphy (vocals), Peter Micanovic (guitar/backing vocals), Zak Kessler (guitar), Derek Schepici (bass), and Kevin Ordway (drums). Assigning a genre to the quintet is difficult. Maybe it's deathrock. Maybe it's post-punk. Maybe it's heavy metal. Or maybe it's just hard rock. It's certainly an intersection of them all, meaning that the band's scene is probably more illuminating than anything that might be gleaned from BPM, chord choices, or soloing styles. Murphy had a good scream and an even better Danzig-esque baritone croon. He worked the crowd tirelessly, dragging the microphone stand around the stage for impact. Micanovic offered some backing vocals, most of the leads, and often played with his guitar held aloft. Is there a name for that? There should be. Not to be outshone, Schepici kept one leg propped up on a monitor for most of the set. Ordway didn't care for the flash and instead pounded out straightforward rock. These theatrics were especially mystifying considering that the group's last area gig was at the only-vocals-get-mic'd, set-up-on-the-floor, all-ages venue Howdy. Thankfully, exceptionally heavy closer "Suicide" spelled it out for me – despite the histrionics, Final Gasp punched hard, liked it dark, and lived in a world where classic metal powers its punk aggression. I like that world.

Tribulation was up next, but first the mood had to be set. At 8:25 music began playing as tall folding screens that resembled paned gothic windows were brought out on stage. Images of skulls and bats were inlaid below their pointed arches, creating ghoulish shadows as the stage lights shone through them. Incense was lit and soon the dank smell filled the air. Five minutes later the four members of the band appeared. Vocalist/bassist Johannes Andersson was dapper with his collar buttoned high and bolo tie pulled taut. Incongruently he wore corpse paint that made his face resemble a sunken-eyed skull. Guitarist Adam Zaars was even more refined – he wore a fitted blazer and the same skull paint. Either one could’ve stepped out of an Anne Rice novel. Guitarist Joseph Tholl was wilder, with his shaggy hair, ripped leather jacket, and even more ripped jeans. Drummer Oscar Leander was hidden behind an enormous kit. The trio of players at the front of the stage moved around, roaming from side to side, standing on the boxes at the edge of the stage, always illuminated by dramatic lighting. Tholl fell to his knees several times during the set, bending backwards to punctuate his solos. Both guitarists played mesmerizing lines full of nuance – occasionally twinned, always loud. Andersson generally sang with a tight croak – very metal but still intelligible. When called for, his clean, gothic vocals added a sweeping romanticism to the hard rock shell. By the end of the band's hour-long set, the quartet had covered everything from the progressive death of 2013's "Suspiria de Profundis" to the goth of last year's "Hungry Waters." It was exhausting and satisfying.

As techs prepared the stage for the headliners, I walked the room. Merch tables spilled over from the normal corner to claim the entire back of the club. Every band was traveling with a marketplace of T-shirts. A sound tech claimed more of the floor space. I suspect he was in charge of the in-ear mixes of the performers – especially the final two eschewed stage amps and connected directly to the house PA. The mezzanine remained closed, as the 200 fans in attendance stayed close to the edge of the stage. Many had already been to the merch tables and now wore T-shirts proclaiming their fandom. This wasn't my crowd. Apart from the staff, I didn’t recognize a single face – but I understood its devotion.

Headliners Unto Others are from Portland. Like the band that preceded them, this quartet is nominally gothic rock, but each act has landed on the descriptor via a different path. Gabriel Franco fronts the quartet, providing rhythm guitar and vocals that shift from a goth croon to a choppy grunt. He is a big guy, with big hair, and sunglasses. Find a photo of Handsome Dick Manitoba from the '70s and keep that in mind. He thought he was in Kansas all night. Sebastian Silva plays lead guitar. He had an awesome mane, wore bangles, and a blousy shirt that hinted at the melodic (nearly) hair metal leads he played. For most of the set, his tones were tight and glossy – reminiscent of Alex Lifeson's mid '80s processing. Bassist Brandon Hill was full of energy, jumping from the riser box placed at the stage's edge. Fans pumped their fists like they were at a power metal show. Drummer Colin Vranizan was all over the place in the best possible way. Some songs were straightforward, some featured a disco beat, and others favored D-beat patterns that might have inspired a mosh pit at another gig. Backing tapes played some role. Maybe it was just the thunder sound effects, maybe it was more. I was too busy enjoying the energy and movement of the band to say for sure. The group's sixteen-song set covered its entire career – including the early years when it was known as "Idle Hands" – and then tossed in a cover of "Pet Semetary" for good measure. When the audience held out for an encore, it was rewarded with "Give Me the Night," capping off an hour-long set.

Fifteen hundred words later and I still haven't figured out what brought me to the show. I do know why I was hesitant though – by default I'm leery of any band with a following, and especially one with a following that I don't have context for. I find it hard to enjoy an artist unless I know what they're about. How can you trust a performer with your evening if you're unsure if they're on your side, or if they've been to the same venues, listened to the same records, and laughed at the same bullshit? I know those details for the locals (usually) and I do that research for most touring acts, but in this case I didn't. If I had I'd have known that Unreqvited expands black metal in all my favorite directions, that Final Gasp recorded a masterful cover of "The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill," that Tribulation's "Hamartia" evokes Geordie Walker’s distinctive, chorus-heavy, metallic shimmer, or that Unto Others might bust out a Ramones song. But I didn't know that, so I nearly didn't go. But something brought me out anyway, and now I know who I can trust and who I can't. Maybe you do too.