Blood Empire Review: PRESIDENT Wants Metal Vibes, Hates Commitment

Blood Empire shows PRESIDENT chasing modern metal’s glow-up while dodging the parts that actually bite—sometimes it clicks, often it just poses.

Let’s be honest: the drama is louder than the music

PRESIDENT are one of those bands where the conversation arrives before the songs do. I hit play on Blood Of Your Empire with all that noise in my head—masked-members chatter, the lazy comparisons to other UK alt-metal acts, and the usual internet courtroom yelling “industry plant” like it’s a genre.

And here’s the part that’s almost funny: once the tracks start rolling, the least interesting thing about PRESIDENT is the actual material. I kept waiting for a moment that would force the discourse to shut up and listen. It didn’t really happen.

The album’s real problem: it gestures at metal, then backs away

This is the central move on Blood Empire: the songs keep pointing toward metal like it’s a dangerous neighborhood, then crossing the street right before anything gets messy. It’s not about whether the band is “metal enough.” That argument is boring. The issue is commitment.

A lot of these tracks feel built from two different plans:

• one plan wants digitally treated pop-ish vocals over trap beats and glossy synths
• the other plan wants screaming over djent chugs that hit like a door slamming in another room

In theory, that hybrid can work. In practice here, it keeps landing in a weird in-between where it’s not catchy enough to be pop and not heavy enough to be thrilling. You get the shape of intensity without the satisfaction.

And yeah, some listeners love that middle zone. I’m not pretending it’s illegal. I’m saying PRESIDENT make that zone feel like a compromise instead of a choice.

“dark heaven” (video): a mission statement, for better or worse

This one lays out the blueprint cleanly—big modern rock posture, shiny electronics, and that push-pull between “radio clean” and “metal adjacent.”

There’s a line in “Dark Heaven” that made me physically pause:

“Gather round children, sing hallelujah”
— PRESIDENT, “Dark Heaven”

It’s not automatically a terrible lyric on paper… but the delivery drips with theater-kid melodrama. The song seems to want that “sermon at the club” vibe, but it doesn’t earn it. Instead of sounding possessed, it sounds like it’s trying to convince you it’s possessed.

I’ll admit some uncertainty here: maybe that exaggerated tone is the point—maybe they’re leaning into a stylized, almost plastic religiosity. But if that’s the intent, the rest of the track doesn’t sharpen the knife. It just kind of… waves it around.

From the jump: it’s less processed than the EP, but raw doesn’t equal good

The first thing I noticed compared to King Of Terrors is that the vocals aren’t drowning in quite as much obvious manipulation. That’s an improvement, technically. On second listen, though, I realized why I still felt restless: stripping back the polish doesn’t reveal some hidden greatness—it reveals a vocalist who’s inconsistent.

When he locks into a melody, it can be genuinely pleasant. Every so often he reaches for a higher note and it lands. But too often the verses wobble with a warbly, Post Malone-ish phrasing that feels borrowed, and then the choruses lunge into a strained snarl like the song suddenly remembered it’s supposed to be “heavy.”

It’s a very Octane-coded move—verse as vibes, chorus as clenched teeth. The problem is PRESIDENT don’t have the vocal dominance to sell the pivot. What surprised me is how often the choruses sound like they were designed first, then the verses were built as scaffolding.

“Angel Wings” sets the template: sterile modern metal with one real payoff

“Angel Wings” is basically the album’s thesis: clean, modern, frictionless metal production where everything is “big” but nothing feels dangerous. The snare sound is so plug-in perfect it might as well come with a receipt.

That said, I’ll give it this: there’s a melodic riff that shows up during the breakdown and it actually works as a closing move. It’s one of the only moments on Blood Of Your Empire where the guitars stop living on staccato chugs alone and remember that riffs can be, you know, fun.

My first impression was that this track might be the turning point—the one that justifies the band’s buzz. But the longer the record goes, the more “Angel Wings” feels like the exception that proves the rule.

“Pink Noise”: the album’s worst collision

“Pink Noise” flirts with drum-and-bass energy—light on its feet, jittery, almost promising movement—then it faceplants into what is easily the roughest-sounding chorus on the album.

This is where PRESIDENT’s approach backfires hardest: the transition into the chorus doesn’t feel like a drop, it feels like a reroute. Like the song panicked and grabbed the nearest “big chorus” preset.

I’m not even mad at the ambition. I’m annoyed at how predictable the payoff is. It’s the kind of chorus that’s trying to be massive while refusing to be memorable. That’s a tough trick, and not in a good way.

The mid-album slump: when “modern” starts meaning “airless”

By the time you’re a few tracks deep, the production choices start to feel less like taste and more like default settings. The electronics often behave like window dressing—there to signal “future” without actually changing what the songwriting is doing.

This is where I’ll be blunt: the album sometimes confuses texture for personality. A synth line can’t be the entire identity of a section. A trap beat under a verse doesn’t automatically make it modern. If the vocal line isn’t strong, all you’ve done is decorate a weak idea.

And that’s the frustrating part: PRESIDENT clearly want the same audience that flocks to pop-leaning heavy bands. But wanting the crowd and commanding the crowd are different jobs.

Second half: still shaky, but at least they start taking risks

Here’s the weird compliment: the back half doesn’t magically get “good,” but it does get less monotonous. I could feel the band trying to stretch the formula instead of repeating it.

That matters, because the first half can feel like a loop: glossy verse → heavy-ish chorus → djent breakdown that doesn’t quite hit → repeat.

“Sleepwalker”: the one chorus that actually lifts off

“Sleepwalker” has the best chorus on the record. Not the heaviest, not the most dramatic—the best. It’s a genuinely pleasant melody that finally rises above the album’s constant need to posture.

This is the track that proves PRESIDENT could write something that sticks if they stopped trying to sound like a genre collage and just committed to a strong topline. If you only hear one song and wonder why people are paying attention, it’s probably this one.

Arguably, it’s also the most revealing: when the chorus works, you realize how many other choruses on the album are coasting on tone instead of hooks.

“This Will Divide Us”: patience-testing vocals, but the electronics finally matter

“This Will Divide Us” still leans on those vocals that can wear you down—there’s a thin line between emotional strain and plain strain, and this track steps on it.

But the second half gets more interesting: the synths start building like pressure in a room, and the guitars flicker instead of just chugging in place. For once, the electronics feel structural, not cosmetic.

Is it a great song? No. But it hints at a more compelling version of this project—one where the band uses electronic movement to reshape the track rather than just coat it.

I kept thinking: if the vocals were stronger, this could be a standout. That’s not nothing. It’s just not what we got.

“Hate Figure”: the nu-metal swerve that doesn’t land

“Hate Figure” takes a stumble into nu-metal territory, and it goes about as smoothly as you’d expect from a band already juggling too many identities. Instead of sounding like a confident throwback, it feels like a costume change done behind a flimsy curtain.

Some listeners will enjoy the pivot purely because it’s a pivot. I mostly heard it as the album admitting it needs another flavor, then choosing one that doesn’t solve the core problem: the writing still isn’t sharp enough to justify the attitude.

“White Devil”: a fun piano loop trapped in an awkward marriage

Closer “White Devil” is built around a piano loop that’s honestly a blast—simple, replayable, the kind of motif that can anchor a whole ending.

But the song wraps that loop in a garish mash-up of dance-pop shine and metal gestures, and I’m left wanting two separate tracks instead of one stitched-together compromise. The loop deserved a better environment. Or the metal parts did. Right now they share the space like roommates who don’t speak.

So what is Blood Empire actually doing?

To me, Blood Empire sounds like a band engineered by its era. Contemporary hard rock is obsessed with hybridization—pop choruses, digital gloss, heavy signifiers, playlist-friendly dynamics. PRESIDENT fit that ecosystem perfectly.

Depending on the day, that’s not even a bad thing. Sometimes you want the sugary chorus and the pretend-breakdown. Sometimes you want the shiny product.

The trouble is PRESIDENT aren’t especially good at this style yet. The album repeatedly reaches for moments of impact—choruses, breakdowns, dramatic lines—without consistently earning them. It’s like watching someone shadowbox in expensive gloves.

And yeah, I can’t pretend the final impression wasn’t harsh: by the end, the record felt like it was asking for credibility it hadn’t built.

A “4/10” kind of listen makes sense to me—not as a moral judgment, just as the vibe: there are flashes, but not enough follow-through.

Also, for the record: Blood Of Your Empire is out now via Atlantic Records.

FAQ

• Is Blood Empire actually metal, or just pretending?
  It plays the part—djent chugs, screamed sections, breakdown architecture—but it often feels like metal imagery applied to pop-forward songwriting.
• What’s the biggest improvement over King Of Terrors?
  The vocals sound less buried in obvious tuning and effects, which makes the performances clearer—even when that clarity exposes weaknesses.
• Which track has the best chorus?
  “Sleepwalker,” easily. It’s the one moment where the melody feels like it’s leading instead of following a template.
• What’s the most frustrating song moment?
  The chorus in “Pink Noise” is a hard crash after the drum-and-bass flutter; it’s the album’s most awkward payoff.
• Is there a genuinely fun idea anywhere near the end?
  “White Devil” has a piano loop that’s legitimately enjoyable—it just gets stuck inside a track that can’t decide what it wants to be.

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