Say what you will about theatrics, masks, and the undead waltzing across pop charts—but GHOST, the Swedish cult led by the ever-transforming Papa Emeritus (a.k.a. Tobias Forge), has turned sacrilege into stadium rock. They’re the house band at a black mass sponsored by Blue Öyster Cult, Queen, and the ghost of ABBA. With every album, they slither further from their doom-metal dungeon toward hook-laden heresy—and somehow, it works.

Here’s a dive into their unholy trinity of records—the top three that make GHOST not just a band, but a velvet-gloved revolution.

3. Opus Eponymous (2010)

Before the disco balls, before the Grammys, before Papa Emeritus became a one-man Vatican freak show, there was Opus Eponymous—a debut that sounds like Mercyful Fate made out with The Doors in a foggy graveyard. It’s raw, ritualistic, and smells like incense and freshly scorched vestments.

“Ritual” and “Elizabeth” are minor-key incantations for the modern Satanic seeker, and every track is dipped in that sweet, vintage organ tone like it’s being exorcised backward. This is where it all began—the cloaked choirboys summoning rock’s dead past to do their bidding.

2. Meliora (2015)

Now we’re fully inside the cathedral. Meliora is the soundtrack to a fallen empire’s last parade—pompous, infectious, and absolutely loaded with riffs that flirt with prog, pop, and power metal without ever committing to monogamy. “Cirice” is the crossover anthem that made the world realize: this isn’t just Halloween music—it’s arena-filling doctrine. “He Is” is the greatest 1980s soft-rock cult hymn never released until the 2010s.

Forge here is less phantom, more prophet. This is the album where Ghost polished their holy armor and declared war on mediocrity.

1. Impera (2022)

Impera is Ghost’s imperial phase. And it’s fucking glorious! It’s like if Def Leppard wrote a concept album about the fall of civilizations and let Satan produce it. “Call Me Little Sunshine” is the devil as your therapist. “Twenties” is a cocaine-fueled musical number from a dystopian Broadway. And “Spillways” is pure pop priesthood—it’s Toto meets the antichrist.

This is where Ghost doesn’t just flirt with the mainstream; they wine, dine, and seduce it into a blasphemous honeymoon. Forge doesn’t whisper incantations anymore—he commands, and we obey.

Ghost isn’t just a band—they’re a masquerade ball thrown by rock ‘n’ roll’s ghosts, with Tobias Forge as the MC flipping the bird to tradition while serenading your mom with Satanic lullabies. These three albums chart the journey from occult curiosity to full-blown phenomenon. They remind us that rock can still be weird, theatrical, and dangerous—but also Goddamn catchy. So light a candle, don a mask, and listen loud—because the spirit of rock isn’t dead. It just changed vestments and joined the clergy of GHOST.