Released: March 11, 2022
Ghost made Impera about empires: how they rise, rot, and fall. So why does the album make power sound like such a good time?
“Imperium” opens with a clean, harmonized guitar melody played at a stately pace. It sounds ceremonial, almost welcoming. When those notes return during the final minute of “Respite on the Spitalfields,” they have absorbed everything between promises, obedience, violence, and decay. The album’s argument is built around that loop, but first it has to make the spectacle attractive.
“Kaisarion” does exactly that. A high scream cuts into a bright, running guitar figure as Hux Nettermalm drives the song with a brisk, straight beat. Tobias Forge keeps moving through hooks—a verse that lifts, another melodic turn, then the main chorus. The song sounds like a victory parade, even as its lyrics revisit Hypatia’s murder and the destruction committed in the name of progress. Violence gets sold as renewal.
“Spillways” uses a sharp piano figure and clipped vocal phrases before the guitars widen the chorus. The bass moves beneath the piano without cluttering it, pushing the verse into each new section. “Call Me Little Sunshine” slows everything down. Guitar and bass trace the descending central riff while Forge leaves long gaps between phrases. The invitation works because he sings it calmly. Temptation rarely needs to shout.
Klas Åhlund’s production and Andy Wallace’s mix give every part room, but the record never sounds empty. Nettermalm’s kick follows the guitar accents while his toms add size to the transitions. Fredrik Åkesson’s leads are brief and melodic, written to extend the vocal hooks. On “Watcher in the Sky,” the guitars hammer one blunt pattern beneath the repeated searchlight refrain. The song fades with the band still searching, its machinery running long after the point has been made.
“Twenties” breaks that control open. A brass fanfare introduces a crooked guitar chug and hard double-kick groove, while the choir turns political greed into a grotesque singalong. Forge plays the leader as someone enjoying his own vulgarity. The performance is funny for a moment, then ugly. Every lurching accent remains exact, giving his promised chaos the organization of a campaign rally.
“Darkness at the Heart of My Love” uses finger snaps, acoustic textures, and a slow choral build to make devotion sound warm. Listen closer and the language becomes possessive. “Griftwood” puts the con in brighter clothing. Its opening riff stops and starts over a locked kick-and-bass pattern, while the answering “yes” vocals turn agreement into part of the beat. The “Holy Mother” section opens into wide harmonies. Even the grifter gets his gospel choir.
After the 31-second “Bite of Passage,” “Respite on the Spitalfields” begins with palm-muted tension and opens into broad vocal lines and harmonized guitars. Its fear of an uncaught killer belongs within the larger theme: the authority figure may be gone, but the damage has settled into daily life. Åkesson’s final solo climbs above the arrangement before the “Imperium” melody returns.
So why make power sound irresistible? Because seduction is the subject. The bright melodies offer order, belonging, and certainty. “Twenties” shows the same sales pitch after the mask slips, while “Respite” lives with the aftermath. By the time the opening melody comes back, the spectacle is ready to start again. Of course the pageantry sounds inviting. Nobody builds an empire by advertising the ruins.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia.
Artist information and music courtesy of the band.
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