Masked metallers PRESIDENT stage their first rally in the capital and punishingly inform the electorate that they’re just getting started…
Well, this is strange.
Black bunting hangs from the ceiling, bearing PRESIDENT’s cross sigil. If stood in the right place, you might glimpse a man in a black balaclava revealing only his eyes, his outfit featuring that same logo, being paraded around by what looks like a security guard. “Are you looking forward to the rally?” he asks.
Those who ate their dinner early and arrived for doors are clutching small black flags. Call it world-building, call it a stellar example of committing to the bit – PRESIDENT are deeply immersed in their image, or rather, their cause. Tonight, the space we’re in is not The Garage in north London, but a window into their world. Welcome to the inauguration.
The room has started to resemble a sauna, with little room to breathe, let alone move, by the time openers Zetra arrive. Shrouded in a not-dissimilar cloak of mystery to PRESIDENT, the corpse-painted Kettering duo sway along to their sensuous synth-metal, stood either side of a majestic prop that makes it look like they nicked the Evil Queen’s magic mirror from her castle. It should unfurl into something beautiful, but it doesn’t quite happen, beleaguered by a mix that’s too quiet and a crowd that won’t stop chattering.
Along the way, there are moments of levity, from graceful new single The Spider to a gear-switching cover of Kittie’s Charlotte, featuring the spiky screams of Employed To Serve’s Justine Jones. Yet it's not the hospitable reception they had opening for, say, Ville Valo or Zeal & Ardor last year. It seems like something has been lost in translation.
After all, there’s only one act these fans are hungering for. The yells of “PRESIDENT! PRESIDENT!” might just be the loudest a room of this size has heard – a room they are already outgrowing, given they’ll play the O2 Forum Kentish Town next year (a venue with almost four-times the capacity). Kicking off with a truly colossal rendition of Fearless, the anonymous collective create an electricity that studio recordings cannot capture, their drums and guitars possessing a truly febrile sense of menace.
Clearly, this must be what’s provoking tonight’s air of reverence, to the point where there’s respectful silence even during the taped interludes, including a recital of Dylan Thomas’ Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night. Musically, it colours within the lines previously drawn by Bring Me The Horizon and Sleep Token, but at its core, the emotional devastation of our masked protagonist is what resonates strongest.
Whatever PRESIDENT are doing, it’s working – there’s even an undercurrent of sing-alongs for unreleased tracks Dionysus and Destroy Me, proving that either those who saw them at Download have elephant-like memories, or they’ve been trawling YouTube for footage. A stunning cover of Deftones’ Change (In The House Of Flies) is a genius curveball that slots into their set beautifully, but it's closer In The Name Of The Father that’s the real apex. A crushing moment of rage and grief, for both band and fans alike.
As the crowd chant for PRESIDENT once more, their vocalist gracefully, slowly, bows. Nobody can truly know, thanks to the mask, what he is thinking or feeling in this moment, but as he raises his arms towards the crowd, it seems like he is telling himself to soak it all in. Those watching are likely doing the same. For those here to share in it, this is a moment that will soar in value as time passes, as this most special of bands inevitably ascend at record speed. Fans take their leave with flags and badges in hand, and a humblebrag nobody can ever take from them. I was there.
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