It’s time to let go. After clinging to the sepulchral brilliance of Opus Eponymous like a mourner at a graveside, I’ve accepted that Ghost are no longer that band. Skeletá, their sixth album, is a glossy, arena-sized beast that demands to be judged on its own terms—a technicolour love letter to the eighties, drenched in stadium rock pomp and polished to a mirror sheen. I’ve come to the conclusion that I have to say goodbye, finally, to all my hopes and dreams harboured by Ghost’s monumental debut album, and try just to enjoy what the band has become for what it is, not what I want it to be. Here goes…

Tobias Forge, the ever-wily Papa V Perpetua, has crafted a record that’s as ambitious as it is divisive, and while it’s not the Ghost I fell in love with, there’s plenty here to admire for those willing to embrace the ride. Kicking off with Peacefield, Ghost hurl you into a world soundtracked by Boston’s heartland  pyrotechnics, Alice Cooper’s theatrical snarl, and Asia’s prog-tinged grandeur. It’s a monolithic anthem, built for sold-out arenas (as evidenced by the deafening applause at the Skeletour’s Manchester opener). The track sets the tone: big, bold, and unapologetically retro. Lachryma follows suit, channeling Ozzy’s solo-era swagger, Vixen’s hairspray-soaked hooks, and Desmond Child’s knack for radio-ready melodrama. It’s catchy, vicious, and tinged with rampant eighties feelz, though it feels like a slight retread of the opener’s formula.

Satanized  is possibly where things get a bit more interesting; Imagine Savatage’s operatic heft colliding with (and I’m not making this up) Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Broadway flair, all held together by the mischievous glint in Forge’s eye. It’s a strange brew, but it works, soaring on the strength of its theatrical conviction. Less successful is Guiding Lights, a cookie-cutter power ballad that leans hard into Kix, Def Leppard, and—probably—ABBA. It’s a low point, too polished and predictable to leave a mark.

For the Sentinel Daily faithful, De Profundis Borealis is the one to crank. Iron Maiden’s gallop and Judas Priest’s steel-clad suss make it a headbanger’s delight, though the glossy production saps some of the filth it desperately needs. Cenotaph is an oddity, blending Priest’s bite with the prog-pop sheen of It Bites and eighties outliers like Cutting Crew. The guitar solo—shades of Go West’s Alan Murphy—lifts it above the fray, but it’s Missilia Amori that really steals the show. Scorpions’ melodic crunch meets Cooper/Child’s stadium-rock alchemy, delivering the album’s purest distillation of Forge’s eighties obsession. It’s a banger, plain and simple.

Marks of the Evil One feels like the only real, tangible nod to Ghost’s darker past, a spectral rumble that doesn’t scream anyone else’s influence. It’s the most “Ghostlike” moment here, haunting and singular. Umbra, meanwhile, dives headfirst into 1986 with icy synths and a cowbell that made me think of Top Gun for some reason… The song itself—a bizarre Kenny Loggins-meets-Rob Halford fever dream—doesn’t quite land, but the closing instrumental interplay, evoking Rainbow’s prime, is a stunner, and easily one of the highlights of the album. Closing track Excelsis aims for ELO’s opulent prog grandeur but lands in sparse, downbeat territory. It’s lush yet oddly hollow, a microcosm of the album’s overarching flaw: top-notch performances and slick production can’t always mask a lack of raw spirit.

Skeletá is a bold swing, backed by a fanbase that’s propelled tracks like Satanized and Lachryma to streaming chart dominance (ten million Spotify listeners don’t lie). It’s undeniably a very well put=together record.  Yet, for all its ambition, Skeletá feels slightly like a record caught between the stools of Forge’s retro fetish and his creation’s darker roots. It’s not the Ghost I wanted, but it’s the Ghost we’ve got—and when it hits, it hits hard.

Skeletá is out now.