Seattle's Girth approach progressive metal with the structural patience and technical curiosity that the Pacific Northwest scene is known for, building compositions that grow and mutate over their runtimes. Formed in 2005, they share a name but not a sound with their Sacramento counterparts.

Atlanta's Girthquake rumble through stoner and doom metal with all the seismic authority their name promises, leaning into fuzz-saturated riffs and tempos slow enough to feel tectonic. They've been shaking Georgia loose since 2017.

Lowell's Girthquake hit harder and faster than their name's stoner connotations might suggest, blending death metal's brutality with hardcore's blunt-force immediacy. Their Massachusetts origin gives the music a cold, industrial edge.

Queensbury, New York's Girthquake channel death and thrash metal into a sound that's simultaneously old-school in its riff vocabulary and aggressive in its forward momentum. One of three unrelated bands sharing this name, they hold their own on the strength of pure speed and spite.

Borrowing their name from a race of astral-plane warriors, Seattle's Githyanki conjure sludge and stoner metal that feels genuinely otherworldly — dense, psychedelic, and displaced from any comfortable reality. Active since 2015, they're a cult act in the Pacific Northwest heavy underground.

Salinas, California's Give Her the Gun bring a melodically aware but uncompromising metalcore sound that's been sharpened through years of work since 2012. They're built for stages and pit floors in equal measure.

Boston's Give Zombies the Vote merge melodic death metal's harmonic sophistication with metalcore's rhythmic aggression and a name that's equal parts political provocation and horror camp. Active since 2012, they make technically ambitious music that never forgets to be fun.

Iowa City's Giving Up have been delivering crossover thrash with genuine punk conviction since 2007, blending the speed and riff-craft of thrash with the urgent, stripped-down energy of hardcore. The name sounds defeatist; the music sounds anything but.

Seattle's Giza build their atmospheric sludge metal with a monolithic patience — slow, layered, and vast in the way their name's ancient stone monuments are vast. Since 2012 they've been constructing music that takes its time to bury you.