Ghost
– Prequelle
Prequelle is Ghost at their most theatrical and their most cunning. If Meliora was the masked mass, Prequelle is the glitter-drenched funeral procession where death smiles, winks, and plays a keytar solo. Tobias Forge, donning yet another persona—Cardinal Copia—ushers in the plague era with a carnival barker’s charm and a glam-metal preacher’s swagger. It’s a concept album about the Black Death, yes, but Forge is too smart to let history get in the way of a good hook.
Best of…
There’s something almost obscene about how catchy this record is. It leans heavily on ’70s arena rock—think Saturday Night Fever caught in a cathedral—with nods to ABBA, Blue Öyster Cult, and even the ghost of Boz Scaggs. Forge weaponizes melody like a man who knows his choruses could survive the apocalypse. The production is big and clean, but not soulless. Even the instrumentals feel like they’re grinning under the veil.
What gives Prequelle its real bite is the tension between subject and style. The lyrics talk of death, decay, and damnation, but the songs sparkle. It’s the poppiest album about pestilence you’ll hear, and that’s the point. Forge doesn’t mourn the end—he dances with it. And somewhere in that contrast lies the album’s strange power: Prequelle doesn’t just make peace with mortality, it throws a parade for it.
Choice Tracks
Rats
This thing kicks the doors open. It’s Ghost doing their best Ozzy-meets-Dio-meets-Broadway opener. The riffs gallop, the vocals soar, and the message is clear: death is coming, and you’re gonna dance anyway.
Faith
One of the heavier cuts, with crunchy guitars and a darker tone. It’s a flex—a reminder that beneath all the pop sheen, Ghost can still hit like a doom-metal sermon in a thunderstorm.
See the Light
Forge turns the idea of salvation inside out. A slow-burn ballad dripping with irony, it questions blind faith with melodies so sweet you almost miss the nihilism. Almost.
Dance Macabre
Easily the most infectious song on the record. Pure disco-metal. It’s about loving someone at the end of the world, and it sounds like it should be playing as the credits roll on a vampire prom.
Witch Image
Pop-rock perfection with a sneer. It rides a shimmering groove straight into the grave. There’s melancholy here, but it wears mascara and doesn’t cry.
Life Eternal
The closer. Grand, soaring, tragic. It’s the part of the musical where the lead finally faces the abyss and smiles back. Forge asks if you’d want to live forever—and makes sure it’s not a rhetorical question.