Valentine’s night opened with red light, ritual, and storm‑soaked theatrics. But by the time Avatar reached the climax of Legend Of The King, the spectacle had turned into something far more serious, cutting the Exhibition White City show short when a technical failure forced the band offstage.
Avatar – Alien Weaponry – Witch Club Satan
Exhibition White City, London – 14 February 2026
Words: Rhys Tagg
Photography: Manuela Langotsch
The confusion began as Avatar exited suddenly, leaving the room buzzing with uncertainty. Was this an interlude? A theatrical stunt? The murmurs of “safety issue” spreading through the crowd suggested otherwise.
Moments later, an announcement confirmed a technical problem and promised a swift restart. After probably minutes but what felt like an age, the tone shifted. The show was cancelled, the venue was closing, and everyone was instructed to leave immediately.
Later that evening, frontman Johannes Eckerström released a video statement explaining the severity of the situation. Two crew members had been electrocuted during the show. Thankfully, later updates confirmed they were recovering well.
Parts of the stage had become electrified, and several pieces of the band’s equipment were destroyed in the process. Eckerström stressed how lucky both the band and crew were to avoid more serious injury and that ending the show was the only responsible choice.
Avatar promised to return to London as soon as a safer venue could be secured, determined to deliver the full experience fans had come for.
Rolling back to the beginning, before the abrupt ending, the night had opened with two support acts who brought their own theatrical flair to Exhibition’s Grade II‑listed, newly revamped space.
Witch Club Satan
Witch Club Satan performed almost entirely in darkness, lit only by a deep red glow, a fittingly macabre palette for Valentine’s Day. Midway through their short set, the trio stepped offstage, shed their white costumes, and returned without them, a symbolic stripping‑back that matched the rawness of their sound.
They thanked the London crowd for arriving early and leaning into the atmosphere with them.
Alien Weaponry
Alien Weaponry followed with a powerful entrance, as drummer, bassist, and then guitarist each took the stage one by one and launched into a Māori haka, setting the tone for their segment.
The band proudly announced their New Zealand roots and offered praise to opening act Witch Club Satan before tearing into their own high‑energy performance.
They then told the crowd it was time for a song rooted in an ancient Māori custom. Hyping the pit into motion, they commanded the room to “Split that shit down the middle,” before crashing headlong into Kai Tangata, sending a surge of adrenaline through the venue.
Avatar
By the time Avatar emerged, the room was primed for spectacle. The Swedish Metallers arrived with full theatrics for their In The Airwaves tour.
Set against the sound of a storm rolling in, rain, thunder, and cold blue light, a hooded figure crept forward, clutching a lantern while shadowy silhouettes gathered behind him. The scene dissolved into the razor‑sharp opener, Captain Goat.
The crowd barely had time to catch their breath before Avatar delivered the third track and fan‑favourite The Eagle Has Landed. Arms waved in unison, following Johannes Eckerström’s lead as the audience roared the lyrics back at him.
For Bloody Angel, he emerged in the band’s famed ringmaster attire, leaning fully into the theatricality that has become their signature.
Eckerström conducted the room with a grin that bordered on villainous charm. “Do we have any Metalheads here?” he teased, tapping the mic when the response did not meet his standards, coaxing a louder roar from the crowd.
The band blasted through Death And Glitz, The Dirt I’m Buried In, and Colossus with precision.
For a relatively small stage, Avatar packed in a surprising amount of spectacle. Two drum kits were utilised throughout the set, props appeared and disappeared, and even the crew joined the theatrics, one stepping onstage in a full fetish hood with a tiny cymbal strapped to the top of their head, much to the crowd’s amusement.
A piano was wheeled to the front for a shift in pace. Eckerström, now in refreshed attire, proudly showed off what he called his “new, expensive piano jacket” before the band eased into Howling At Waves. It was a rare moment of calm in an otherwise relentless performance.
The group then took a brief break as the recorded swell of Glory To Our King filled the room. A golden throne was placed centre‑stage, ready for the grand arrival of Legend Of The King.
Unfortunately, as the song wrapped up, the evening came to an abrupt end, with Avatar managing only twelve songs before the night was cut short.
What began as a night of theatrical brilliance ended in confusion and concern, but also relief that the situation was not far worse. Avatar’s promise to return offers a spark of anticipation.
This story is not over, it is simply paused, waiting for the night when the band can reclaim the stage and deliver the full spectacle London was denied.
In the end, the biggest relief was that everyone walked away. The show can wait; safety could not. When Avatar finally reclaim the stage, it will be with a renewed sense of gratitude and a crowd ready to roar twice as loud.
