Ghost
Skeletá

It's hard to be a fake.

Always on the brink of an identity crisis, there is a constant risk of getting confused and lost among other personalities.
However, if the creator is skilled, they know the trick is to make them as different as possible: independent, orthogonal. Like day and night, Yin and Yang, hair-metal and rock-whining.
Of course, this applies if the incarnations are only two, but often they are multiple, and in that case, the creator must think in N-dimensional spaces to make the illusion work.
But this isn't a fake's problem, they live peacefully in their dimension, unaware of the complexity that surrounds them until one day... something happens.

A few weeks ago, it was a Saturday morning, and I was doing a bit of aerobic activity intending to gain a calorie credit to squander that evening on alcohol. When suddenly, I hear a different kind of music through the headphones: no acoustic guitars, no folk, it almost sounds like ecclesiastical singing. While I'm surprised to find myself religious (I thought my character was an atheist), the track changes, an electric guitar starts, a little choir, and... What the hell am I doing in the '80s?!

As I'm still wondering what on earth is happening, I realize I'm listening to the latest album by Ghost (a heavy-metal band from Linköping, Sweden, known for their theatrical disguises and not very convincing flirtations with blasphemy), Skeletá, and I actually like it.

Maybe it's because it reminds me of so much else; I hear:

• a certain underlying melodrama typical of early House Of Lords;
• rustic guitars that, at times, remind one of certain Mercyful Fate (also heavily indebted to their imagery) and at other times, the more melodic guitar heroes that were all the rage in that era;
• flashes of Journey and Europe (since the latter are Swedish too, the connection makes sense);
• an immediacy in the vocal lines and compelling melodies reminiscent of Dokken and Stryper. But also the more American Ozzy Osbourne;
• finally, a very obvious imprint of the British Def Leppard, let's say the Pyromania/Hysteria period.

Meanwhile, I'm swept into a romantic-sentimental whirlwind: I remember when I was young, carefree, handsome, and beautiful.

Wait a moment, wait a moment.
Handsome and beautifUL? Me?! But wasn't I a woman?
CarefreE? But at that time, I was the most thoughtful girl in Naples and the surrounding province!
And besides, let's face it, I was still in the "cartoon theme songs" phase (#perhaps) and had no idea who these people were (truthfully, they're not exactly my intimates even now).
Oh no, I get it: I'm Sfascia again!

I feel a bit uneasy, I prefer myself in the Metal-of-death version; at least there, it's real fun. However, I must admit, this album is great for working out, although, being Sfascia, all this effort tonight will earn me, at most, a pint of Aqva Velva. Definitely not worth it.

I didn't think I was so '80s. This album, even though it's from 2025, is so indebted and in absolute continuity with what that decade offered that I can already feel shoulder pads sprouting under my shirt, my hair puffing up in instant permanent fashion, and a tuft making its way on my head.
However... this smooth and reassuring pop-metal, totally inoffensive, might it be too easy listening for the Illustrious?

Oh dear...
What if I were Withor?!
That would mean that, one day, my playlist could have 883... and I might like them!
Now I'm truly scared.

I correct myself: it's not hard to be a fake. It's terrifying.

P.S.: Album recommended for '80s nostalgics and anyone desiring super voluminous hair.