Released: March 11, 2022
Impera doesn’t unfold as a return to darkness or a departure into spectacle. It behaves like a record built around visibility—songs designed to carry weight in open air, to project rather than conceal. Ghost move through this album with confidence and scale, favoring structure, melody, and momentum over mystery. The shadows are still present, but they’re arranged deliberately, not left to loom.
The album establishes that posture immediately. “Imperium” functions less as an introduction than as a framing device, opening space and setting tone before “Kaisarion” surges forward. The transition is abrupt and intentional. The music snaps into motion, bright and assertive, driven by rhythm and clarity rather than atmosphere. Impera announces itself as outward-facing from the start.
That outward focus carries into “Spillways,” where melody becomes the album’s primary engine. The song moves with a buoyant pulse, its hook unmistakable but controlled. Nothing here feels indulgent. The chorus arrives cleanly, supported by arrangements that keep everything aligned and moving. The album doesn’t hide its accessibility—it organizes it.
“Call Me Little Sunshine” and “Hunter’s Moon” deepen the album’s sense of balance. The former leans into groove and restraint, the latter into propulsion, but both remain firmly inside the record’s established frame. Even when the tone darkens, the structure stays intact. The songs don’t drift or expand unchecked. They perform their function and advance.
As Impera moves through “Watcher in the Sky” and “Twenties,” its relationship with power becomes clearer. These tracks don’t seek subtlety. They emphasize scale, repetition, and presence. The music sounds built to fill space, to move crowds rather than whisper ideas. The album doesn’t escalate emotionally—it sustains momentum through confidence.
The brief instrumental “Dominion” acts as a reset rather than a pivot, clearing room for the album’s final stretch. “Darkness at the Heart of My Love” introduces a softer surface without abandoning structure. The melody is prominent, but it’s held firmly in place. Even vulnerability here is arranged, not spontaneous.
“Griftwood” and “Bite of Passage” bring the album back to motion, reinforcing its preference for forward drive and clean resolution. These tracks don’t complicate the album’s narrative. They maintain it. The songs feel designed to reinforce continuity rather than create surprise.
The closing pair, “Respite on the Spitalfields,” allows the album to stretch without unraveling. The song expands in length and texture, but it never loses composure. It doesn’t summarize the album or resolve its themes. It sustains them, letting the record step away gradually rather than collapse.
Production across Impera is crisp and expansive. Guitars are bright and defined, drums are punchy without overwhelming, and vocals sit prominently without dominating. The mix favors separation and scale, reinforcing the album’s sense of openness and intent. Nothing feels obscured. Everything is meant to be seen.
What gives Impera its staying power is how confidently it commits to this visibility. The album doesn’t hedge between eras or identities. It chooses clarity, melody, and structure, then builds outward from that decision. Each listen reinforces the same sense of control and scale.
When it ends, it doesn’t retreat into ambiguity. It eases off. That measured exit feels appropriate. Impera matters because it shows Ghost operating comfortably at full exposure—an album built not on secrecy or shock, but on structure, confidence, and reach.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia.
Artist information and music courtesy of the band.
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