No Encore, No Mercy PRESIDENT Hit Critical Mass in Kentish Town
- Alan Bryce
- 3 days ago
- 3 min read
O2 Forum Kentish Town – 21st April 2026
IMAGES COURTESY OF GOOD AS GOLD PR / WORDS ALAN BRYCE
By the time I reached the top of Highgate Road and clocked the sold out sign blazing over the O2 Forum, it was already clear this wasn’t just another mid size London indie metal night. There was a hum outside—anticipation thick enough to chew, a crowd dense with purpose. PRESIDENT aren’t just attracting people; they’re pulling them. I felt it immediately, that sense you only get when a band has tipped past novelty and into momentum. I was there, carrying my own archive of noise and disappointment, but something about this night felt less like a gig and more like a gathering.
Inside, the Forum was packed wall to wall—heat rising, floors sticky with expectation. The support slot belonged to The Boy Shadow, and they leaned into the strangeness rather than trying to soften it. Masked figures, atmospheric dread, electronic textures colliding with heaviness in ways that refused tidy genre labels. It felt like being dropped into someone else’s fever dream halfway through the plot, disorienting in the best way. They didn’t hype; they immersed. A daring opener, and the crowd respected it, even when they didn’t quite understand it. That’s trust, right there.
Then PRESIDENT arrived, and everything snapped into focus.
It’s worth stating upfront: their set was short. Not in the apologetic way of a band padding time with banter they haven’t earned, but in the exacting way of a group that understands scarcity as power. There aren’t many songs. Yet each one landed with enough force to suggest this thing is still coiling, still gaining velocity.
They opened with “Fearless” (no hesitation, straight into impact), establishing the rules: masks on, sense of spectacle dialled in, brutality balanced with melody. It set the temperature immediately—circle pits igniting before anyone had time to second guess their joints or footwear. “RAGE” followed, and if the name suggests subtlety, you’ve misunderstood the assignment. This was the song where the band’s leader held the mic to the crowd like an accusation and let Kentish Town scream itself hoarse back at him.
Each song felt bigger than the room. That’s not hyperbole—that’s scale. PRESIDENT don’t sound like a young band testing material; they sound like a movement compacted into forty odd minutes. Every track advanced the thesis a notch: fury, discipline, release. There was no wasted space, no indulgent breathing room. You get the sense that this short set isn’t a limitation—it’s strategy.
Watching them, it became obvious why their fan base is growing the way it is. You could see it in the faces around me—people who’d travelled, people who knew every beat change, people who didn’t care about the masks anymore because the songs were doing the talking. Momentum like this doesn’t come from marketing polish alone; it comes from the live exchange, the trust loop between band and audience that says yes, this matters right now.
In the 30-minute wait between acts, somewhere near the middle of the room wedged between bodies and bass bins, I got talking to a couple from Middlesbrough. They’d come down purely for this show—no holiday, no London sightseeing, just music. She stood out amid the chaos, calm and striking, her presence felt without needing to push for it. He and I bonded quickly over drumming and the strange, addictive pull of live performance. Between us, we talked bands, scenes, miles travelled for noise in the dark. It felt oddly grounding. Lovely people and proof that this wasn’t just a London thing, that PRESIDENT’s gravity is pulling people from elsewhere, people who recognise something forming and want to say they were there early.
And that’s exactly what this night was about: early arrival at something that’s still shaping itself. PRESIDENT closed abruptly, no encore theatrics, no drawn out farewell. Lights up, done. The room stood stunned for a moment, like a courtroom after a verdict’s been delivered.
Walking back out into the cool north London night, ears still ringing, I felt that rare combination of exhaustion and alertness. PRESIDENT are still a band with more questions than answers, but that’s precisely the point. The fan base is forming in real time. The momentum is undeniable. This wasn’t a celebration of arrival—it was a preview of acceleration. And being there, watching it click into place, felt like catching a new current just as it started to pull.
SETLIST
Fearless
Dionysus
RAGE
Angel Wings
Change (In the House of Flies) – Deftones cover
Conclave
Mercy
Destroy Me
In the Name of the Father
FOLLOW PRESIDENT
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