Like fellow multi-platinum metalheads Creed, San Diego's POD lace their strident rap-rock with a vein of Christianity. It's unobtrusive enough not to deter teenage fans but sufficiently pronounced to get them on to the shelves of conservative chains such as Wal-Mart. But in Britain, where they're almost unknown, it seems not to have entered the equation at all. They are perceived as just another quartet of tattooed misfits; one rock magazine even assumed their full name, Payable on Death, was evidence of sinister intent (in fact, it's a reference to Judgment Day).

Accordingly, their debut British headlining date was teeming with people who thought their stompingly catchy single, Alive, simply presented a fine moshing opportunity, and might have been surprised by its devotional message. The subject was never directly broached during this short, sharp show - if Guamanian-Italian singer Sonny Sandoval, a sort of dreadlocked Keanu Reeves, was tempted to save a few of his furiously flailing congregation, he kept it to himself. The only signposts of his faith were comments along the lines of: "It's our blessing to be here, and we have a sincere, genuine love for you guys."

His warm inclusiveness is typical of nu-metal, where the audience is as much a part of things as the band. POD played it and the crowd acted it out, hurling into each other with extra velocity each time Marcos Curiel savaged his guitar. But their louder-than-thou aesthetic had its failings, most notably in the obscuring of the melody that runs through their current album, Satellite. POD write a slicker chorus than most of their compatriots, but onstage tunefulness was sacrificed and Curiel's punkish jabbing dominated, along with Sandoval's staccato rap-singing.

Not that anyone minded. From the opening barrage of Set It Off, stage-divers were clambering up next to Sandoval. During the punch-drunk Youth of the Nation, which was inspired by a shooting at a California high school, he repaid the compliment by jumping headfirst into the front row. Satellite saw the rhythm section, Wuv Bernardo and Traa Daniels, heaving the song to a booming finale that resounded from every corner of the room, but the party piece was, predictably, Alive. As it juddered to a cacophonous close, Sandoval drawled, "God bless you all," and sounded as if he meant it. This steely, head-clearing show proved that the devil doesn't have all the best nu-metal.