New Orleans sludge and doom act Haarp draws heavily from the murk and misery of their city's storied extreme metal tradition. Since regrouping in 2014, they've built a reputation on crushing low-end riffs and an oppressive, swamp-soaked heaviness.

Portland, Oregon's Hadean works in the slow, oppressive territory between doom and heavy metal, their sound as grey and overcast as the Pacific Northwest sky above their city. Formed in 2014, they lean into the weight.

Knoxville, Tennessee's Hag Bastard throws sludge, stoner, and doom into a single foul-mouthed brew that feels native to the American South's heat and humidity. Since 2022, they've been one of the more colorfully named acts in the region's underground.

From the small town of Milford, Indiana, Hailshot traffic in the slow and heavy — stoner grooves layered over thick doom foundations. Their sound is the musical equivalent of a bar fight in slow motion.

San Diego's Hair of the Bear conjure the sun-baked, fuzz-soaked side of stoner doom — riffs that sprawl as wide as the Pacific and drag just as deep. Formed in 2018, they've built a hazy, heavy catalog that owes as much to desert rock as it does to doom.

Denver's Haitzuloan — their name drawn from the Basque word for "cave" — write sludge and doom metal that genuinely sounds like something dredged from underground. Formed in 2019, they're one of the heavier entries in Denver's already formidable heavy underground.

Pasadena's Half Moon Codex operate at the intersection of sludge, drone, and doom — long-form compositions that move with the patience of tectonic plates and the weight to match. Formed in 2018, they're a fixture in the Southern California heavy underground.

Baltimore's Half Orc emerged in 2025 playing death/doom metal that leans into the genre's most crushing, suffocating qualities. Still fresh, but early output points toward something genuinely menacing from the Maryland scene.

Ocean Springs, Mississippi's Hallelujah Gangbang match their provocative name with sludge and doom metal dredged straight from the Gulf Coast swamp — slow, mean, and spiritually filthy since 2016.

One of Maine's most idiosyncratic metal acts, Hallowed Butchery have spent over fifteen years refusing to settle — beginning as a black/grind project and gradually morphing into something incorporating doom, folk, and experimental elements. Based in Kennebec County, their music sounds like it grew out of the woods rather than any rehearsal space.

Phoenix's Halls of Mandos take their name from Tolkien's realm of the dead and build their sound accordingly — doom-laden, post-metal architecture with industrial undercurrents that give the music a cold, machine-like dread. An intriguing young project born in 2023.

New York's Hallux carve out a sludge/doom sound built on weight and repetition — riffs that settle in and refuse to leave, tempos that drag the listener through the muck. Formed in 2018, location unspecified, but the music speaks clearly enough.

Cleveland's Hammr channel the blackened speed metal of the early 1980s with a punk-soaked fury that fits perfectly in a city with a long history of no-bullshit heavy music. Active since 2018 and showing no signs of slowing.

New Jersey's Hand of Weed keep the doom and stoner metal flame lit with fuzzed-out riffs and a smoky, slow-motion heaviness that earns every minute of its runtime. Active since 2015.

Portland's Hands of Thieves cast a wide net across black, death, and doom metal, conjuring something genuinely dark and multifaceted since forming in 2016 in the Pacific Northwest underground.