Ancestors set up slowly, lulling the audience into complacent, buzzing conversation in Ultraviolet’s casino halflight. Instead of the gentle pings and percussive cascades of slot machines and electronic poker, Ancestors unleashed sonic megaliths as impenetrable and dense as the walls of Babylon. Hymnal organ riffs melted into grinding guitar and pulsating, molasses-thick drumming—sucking the audience down into the riptide, chest first, prolonging those almost soothing milliseconds in which one is at the mercy of a wave’s eternal physics before being slammed into abrasive sea-floor sludge.

In their last U.S. show before decamping to Europe to open for Mastodon, Totimoshi dragged us benevolently out of the water and punched us in the face. Mostly avoiding their slow jams, the San Francisco three-piece made as much noise as bands twice their size—with bassist Meg Castellanos playing a guitar about as big as she was tiny—proving that you only really need one or two friends to make some rock.

Tattoo-bedecked and graced with hair enough to make scores of bald men weep, the beer-swilling Saviours brought the metal like Satan’s answer to our benedictions. Lightning fast double bass drumming and harmonic scales with a bass line to match, played at warp-speed on menacingly pointy guitars by Austin Barber and Sonny Reinhardt, harked back to the golden age of metal; the era belonging to the evening’s main attraction—L.A. doom metal legends St. Vitus.

Long-time Vitus singer Scott “Wino” Weinrich and founding members Dave Chandler (guitar) and Mark Adams (bass), out-haired and out-grizzled the rest of the whippersnappers on the bill, including their new drummer, Henry Vasquez, and his shock of youthful black hair. The band steamrolled over us, like some kind of unstoppable collection of slow-moving gears and belts chomping flesh and bone into mush in its gruesome machinery. The years have not diminished their skill or their energy. Chandler, still sporting his bandana-punctuated, waist-length ‘fro, mumbled sometimes unintelligible, sometimes hilarious banter and wailed on guitar with both fingers and teeth with utter disregard for his dental health. Wino’s voice was as hypnotic as ever, and Adams and Vasquez left nothing to be desired in extended instrumental pandemonium. Original vocalist Scott Reagers even came on for a surprise encore that showcased his phenomenal voice—the guy could pull off Freddie Mercury vocal acrobatics if he wanted. St Vitus has been making music on and off for thirty years, and unlike other reunited bands, still enjoy playing together. Watching them feels like something special. These humble metal legends are well worth dispensing with the usual lame reasons you miss shows.

—Ayse Arf