Charlotte's P.O.W. drag down riffs from the murk of sludge and doom, rolling out slow-burn heaviness rooted in weed-soaked Southern misery. Formed in 2014, they trade in the kind of suffocating low-end that makes the floor feel like it's sinking.

Santa Ana's Pagan Revenge blends the crushing weight of doom with hard rock swagger, conjuring a sound that feels like a pagan ritual held in a desert biker bar. Formed in 2018, the band channels Southern California's underground heavy rock energy into something genuinely menacing.

Springfield, Massachusetts's Palace in Thunderland have been building towering psychedelic stoner-doom architectures since 2007, where fuzzed-out riffs slowly collapse into themselves like ancient stone ruins. Every song feels like an altered-state ritual stretched across geological time.

Oakland's Palace of Worms began as raw black metal and evolved over the years into something far more grotesque — a churning death-doom force that sounds like the Bay Area underground rotting from within. Since 2007, the band has been one of the West Coast's most singular and unsettling metal acts.

Pennsylvania's Pale Divine have spent nearly three decades perfecting a strain of heavy doom that draws equally from Sabbath's funeral processions and the occult solemnity of early electric folk. Since 1997, the Glen Mills band has been one of the East Coast's most dependable doom institutions.

Columbus, Ohio's Pale Grey Lore steep their psychedelic doom in haze and hypnosis, letting riffs unspool slowly enough that you lose track of where they started. Formed in 2016, they occupy the blurry zone where heavy rock and doom metal blur into something genuinely cosmic.

Saginaw, Michigan's Pancreas wade through the slow-motion collision of doom and sludge, creating something physically oppressive enough to match the post-industrial weight of their struggling rust-belt city. Active since 2012, they build riffs like they're pouring concrete.

California's Peacepipe deals in the slow and heavy currency of stoner doom — hazy, fuzz-drenched riffs that drag like tar through desert heat.

Taking their name from Victorian horror literature, Penny Dreadful fuses black metal's frozen menace with the suffocating weight of doom, conjuring an atmosphere as grim as it is hypnotic.

Newport, Rhode Island's Pilgrim wanders the bleak coastline of traditional doom — monolithic riffs and mournful vocals that carry the salt-spray desolation of the North Atlantic.

Cleveland's Pillärс (stylized with an umlaut and a grimace) combines crust punk's political bite with doom and sludge's crushing tempo, forging music as heavy as the city's industrial legacy demands.

Fort Worth experimental doom duo. Synths and drums creating oppressive, haunting heaviness.

Dunedin, Florida's Pipe Dreamer stretches doom metal into post-metal's expansive, introspective spaces — slow-building compositions that drift between suffocating heaviness and unexpected light.

Knoxville's Place of Skulls carries forward a classic doom metal tradition with gospel-tinged gravitas, building slow, heavy monuments to mortality and redemption in equal measure.

Syracuse's Plague Mask has been cultivating a blackened doom sludge pestilence since 2012 — slow, harrowing, and suffused with the kind of upstate New York despair that only January in that city can produce.