Shock, Awe And Sudden Silence: Avatar’s London Night Of Glory And Chaos
Exhibition White City [14th February 2026]
First times can be magical. They can also short-circuit in spectacular fashion.
Our maiden voyage to the Exhibition White City came wrapped in anticipation and curiosity. And honestly? What a venue. Clean lines, smooth organisation, friendly staff, and a buzzing atmosphere that felt primed for ritualistic noise. It’s the kind of place that makes you think: yeah, tonight’s going to be special.
And for a while, it absolutely was.
Witch Club Satan: Black Metal And Bare Teeth
Opening the ceremony were Norway’s occult provocateurs Witch Club Satan, a band we’ve had circled in red for a long time. Expectations were high. They exceeded them.
The room plunged into darkness thick enough to choke on. Theatrics? Off the scale. Deep, droning atmospherics coiled around razor-wire riffs while the trio stalked the stage like woodland spirits summoned for vengeance. Their aesthetic – feral, primal, defiantly connected to nature – added a layer of visual intensity you simply couldn’t ignore.
Despite a criminally short set, they locked into the audience instantly. And when the frontwoman declared, “No mercy for Benjamin Netanyahu,” the crowd erupted — applause, screams, fists in the air. It was a flashpoint moment that underlined the band’s refusal to separate art from conviction.
Witch Club Satan don’t just perform; they conjure. Get them on a headline tour immediately!
Alien Weaponry: Bass That Shook The Bones
Next came New Zealand’s groove-metal force Alien Weaponry, and if the first band summoned spirits, these lads summoned earthquakes.
Singing predominantly in te reo Māori, Alien Weaponry once again proved that metal has no linguistic borders. Watching a London crowd belt out lyrics in Māori with absolute confidence? Spine-tingling. Unity through distortion.
The bass rumbled like tectonic plates shifting beneath White City, physically shaking the floor, while the guitarist launched around the stage with limitless energy, fuelling a moshpit that grew more chaotic by the second. From first note to final crash, it was airtight. Precision, passion, power.
By this point, the night was flawless.
Then came the kings.
Avatar: Masters Of Spectacle
We’ll admit it: we are unapologetic devotees of Avatar. Every live encounter with the Swedish theatrical metal maestros has left us grinning, breathless, occasionally emotionally compromised. And as part of their European In The Airwaves Tour, they stormed London ready to do it again.
The set pulled from their latest opus, Don’t Go In The Forest, seamlessly colliding with fan-favourite anthems. “Bloody Angel.” “The Dirt I’m Buried.” “The Eagle Has Landed.” “Colossus.” Each one detonated with surgical precision. Johannes Eckerström was magnetic as ever — part ringmaster, part mad prophet, commanding every inch of the stage. We absolutely loved the live versions of “Death and Glitz”, “In The Airwaves” and “Captain Goat”.
The whole show felt unstoppable.
Until it wasn’t.
Straight after “Legend Of The King,” the band abruptly halted. A pause. Fifteen uneasy minutes. Murmurs rippled through the almost sold-out crowd. Then came the intercom announcement: due to technical issues, the show was over.
The air drained from the room. Confusion.
Frustration. Gutted faces lit by phone screens. Hours later, via an official video statement on Instagram, Johannes revealed the truth: two crew members had suffered electrocution backstage. The stage was no longer secure. The band made the only decision they could — they refused to continue.
Suddenly, disappointment turned to perspective.
Of course we wanted the encore. Of course we wanted every last note. But safety isn’t negotiable. Not for spectacle. Not for applause. Not for anything.
It was a brutal ending to what had been shaping up as a flawless night. But if anything, it reinforced something crucial: Avatar are a band who care about their people — onstage, backstage, and in the crowd.
London was left hanging.
But something tells us when Avatar return — and they will — it’ll be bigger, louder, and in a venue that can truly contain the ever-growing army gathering beneath their banner.
First time seeing Witch Club Satan and Alien Weaponry? A triumph.
First time seeing a show end in emergency silence? Let’s hope it’s the last.
Photos and Review by Luca Viola