The best part of a metal song? It’s not just a part anymore; it’s the entire song, the whole set, and at Midnite Communion V, it felt like the whole night. Forget drops; this was a slow, deliberate build-up, a sonic pressure cooker until the crowd’s very skulls vibrated. Then, the downstroke – a plunge into a solo that felt less like music and more like a physical force.

When I described this show to someone, they suggested fancy earplugs, as if I were complaining. Far from it. It’s been ages since I felt genuinely concerned for my well-being at a concert, the exhilarating fear that you might actually die from the sheer volume and intensity. For that, I owe a massive thank you to Bongs Ripper and Zilla, and of course, the mastermind behind it all, Midnite Communion.

Opening the night was Cloven, repping Long Beach with a distortion that wouldn’t quit. Imagine a hidden house in the city where a slender, Rasputin-esque figure conjures sound waves that refuse to dissipate. Cloven didn’t just open; they detonated, setting a brutally heavy tone regardless of the crowd size. Five people or five hundred, the impact was undeniable.

Next up, Cult of Occult, masters of musical suspense. Their performance was a slow burn, a ritualistic climb into darkness. While a part of me, the easily distracted youth perhaps, briefly fantasized about executioner masks to amplify their mystique, the music itself was the true spectacle. They crafted tension with a surgeon’s precision, each note a carefully placed incision into the sonic landscape.

Dark Castle then took the stage, delivering the best aspects of Tool without any of the extended instrumental meandering. Pure, unadulterated doomy groove, fronted by vocals that shifted seamlessly between harmonious chants and guttural growls. I met a fan downstairs who was there solely for Dark Castle, his enthusiasm infectious as he raved about their sound. That passion was mirrored across the crowd, a beautiful contrast of black-clad figures and ear-to-ear grins, united by the sonic catharsis.

Then came Bongripper and Bongzilla. This wasn’t just music; it was a physical phenomenon. A truly sadomasochistic experience shared between band and audience. It sparked a bizarre yet compelling thought: a spa designed specifically for metalheads. Imagine a “Zilla Spa,” where the treatment isn’t aromatherapy and gentle music, but a doomy sound bath experience using Bongripper and Bongzilla as the soundtrack. Painful? Absolutely. Relaxing in the conventional sense? Not in the slightest. But utterly cathartic and transformative? Undeniably.

Perhaps it sounds negative to describe it as painful, and maybe admitting this is unprofessional, but let’s be honest: attending a doom metal mini-fest headlined by bands with “bong” in their name practically necessitates a certain level of… inebriation.

But pain in this context is a strange kind of pleasure. I genuinely loved the sensation of my eyes feeling like they might pop out of my head. The chest-rattling vibrations were addictive. And when I tried to look up song titles, only to discover Bongripper’s track names are simply letters spelling out “SLOW DEATH,” it all clicked. That’s precisely what it felt like: two hours of slow, agonizing sonic death, followed by an unexpected resurrection courtesy of reggaeton. Because that’s Los Globos in a nutshell – one moment you’re immersed in hardcore metal intensity, the next you’re swept up in a whirlwind of polyester and dance rhythms. The “zilla spa” experience extends beyond the music; it’s the entire night, the jarring yet exhilarating contrast, the full sensory overload.

Words by: Jonathan Reyes
Photos by: Dillon Vaughn