It’s difficult not to pull for Ghost B.C.: During the last few years, the mysterious Swedish metal outfit formerly known as Ghost have cultivated a sterling, alluring persona of subversion and symbolism. Their leader is a papal parody named Papa Emeritus II, who comes cloaked in inverted crosses and a sinister skeletal mask. He's flanked by five Nameless Ghouls dressed in matching black uniforms that suggest Darth Vader using the force to infiltrate and overrun the Catholic Church.
Despite mounds of speculation and the exposure risk the band’s touring schedules involves, the identities of the musicians remain unknown (or, at least unconfirmed), furthering the allure of their at-large intrigue. Ghost have risen to popularity in relatively antiquated order, too, parlaying the buzz behind a single issued via social media (a move now more democratic than issuing a 7”) into a record deal and a licensing contract for the exciting Opus Eponymous, a debut that upended many 2010 and 2011 year-end lists. The old-fashioned label bidding war that followed led to a contract rumored to be as high as $750,000 with new Universal Records imprint, Loma Vista. To recap: A major label funds a band that poses as the Anti-Christ and his henchmen and plays old-school heavy metal with hooks as addictive as sin while also covering the Beatles and ABBA: Why wouldn’t you pull for Ghost B.C.?
One compelling reason to forego the Ghost B.C. fanfare is Infestissumam, the band’s mostly laughable second album. The ballyhoo for Ghost’s follow-up has been so strong that it landed them on the 100th cover of Decibel two months before it was issued. A name change, an album cover so controversial some manufacturers allegedly refused to print it, and the fortuitous timing of the actual Pope’s early departure have only ratcheted anticipation. And though these 10 songs seem to be a logical progression from Opus Eponymous, Infestissumam all but abandons the twin senses of danger and discovery upon which Ghost once depended. This is a pop-rock record underwritten with childlike Anti-Christian sentiment; the tension between those underdeveloped directions-- surface-level darkness and near-translucent accessibility-- creates little but an insufferable stiffness.
Sure, Infestissumam delivers a handful of hooks you won’t escape and a few zingers that’ll make you smile, but that’s about it. “Ghuleh/Zombie Queen”, for instance, is the record’s eight-minute centerpiece. Above forlorn piano and Coldplay-earnest guitar, Papa uses his best Ben Gibbard croon to mix Latin and empty Satanic jingoism. The song eventually sidesteps into surf-rock, black metal, and a “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” sing-along; it is one of the most awkward things you will ever hear. At its best, Opus Eponymous capably laced Ghost’s pop ambition with heavy metal’s sense of danger, as with the bracing crunch of “Ritual” or the hangman guitar tone of the simultaneously clever and goofy “Satan Prayer”. At its best, however, Infestissumam is only a reminder of that earlier record’s now-apocryphal promise.
With their label’s largesse secured, Ghost B.C. surprisingly headed to Nashville, Tenn., to record with Nick Raskulinecz, a regular Foo Fighters producer who’s also worked with the Deftones, Alice in Chains, and Velvet Revolver. If Ghost B.C. were going to be a major-label metal act, they needed to sound like a major-label metal act, right? To that end, Infestissumam is at least a crisp and full production, from the grand theatrical choir that invokes the black mass at the start to the pitch-shifting synthesizer that goads along album closer “Monstrance Clock”. But Raskulinecz brightens the band until the mystery and suspense disappear, turning these evil thoughts into baubles that sound safe enough for big money and rock radio.
The record’s back half, for instance, is a half-marathon of bad stylistic decisions that put Ghost B.C. in settings that they just can’t make convincing. “Body and Blood” is about necrotic cannibalism, but it sounds like something Sloan might have left on the floor of the editing room. Its affable jangle and eventual surge wilt under Raskulinecz’s spotlight. If They Might Be Giants decided to cut a funny little metal record (and why haven’t they?), “Idolatrine” and its jaunting organ might form the fourth single. And “Depth of Satan’s Eyes” offers neutered quips about flatulence and feces above a vaguely doom metal clip; it’s the sort of flimsy, silly, and safe pap that suggests Ghost B.C. might be a side-project for another band in costume, the motherfucking Doodlebops. Infestissumam is a great critique of how self-serious yet puerile heavy metal can get, but that’s probably not the point of a lucrative record deal.
In the heavy metal community, Ghost B.C.’s defenders often talk about the band as a gateway for young metal fans, a new chance to expand the musty dark legions. In his smart 2011 piece for Invisible Oranges titled “Why Ghost Matters,” Justin M. Norton argued that metal needs new converts, and that Ghost was the band to do just that. “I could play [Opus Eponymous] for my mother, a Carly Simon devotee, and she’d find something to like. … I see The Undead Pope becoming an effective recruiter, much like Eddie or Anton LaVey. He is metal’s own Uncle Sam.”
But, in 2013, to what exactly is Ghost B.C. a gateway? Back to old notions of rock’n’roll, where Jim Morrison is still a poet waxing above organs and major-label polish is a requisite of important music? To an excuse for a lack of substance in the presence of great style and pristine surface? To a worldview in which darkness and anger and frustration serve only to become a punchline and where the Anti-Christ “comes into the daughters of men” and creates silly portmanteaus like “Idolatrine”? Is that even a gateway anyone wants to offer anymore?
