The Halloween season began in early September for me, when I, along with a few thousand other people at Trenton’s NJ Cure Insurance Arena, greeted Ghost—a well-known, supposedly Satan-influenced rock band—with cheers, applause, and, appropriately enough, the “devil’s horns” hand gesture.
That gesture is similar to “I love you” in American Sign Language, and Hawaii’s “hang loose” sign, and it’s virtually identical to the Karana Mudra, a Buddhist hand gesture that’s supposed to ward off evil, not welcome it. All of these were displayed in the audience during the concert—even if some were the unintentional byproduct of clumsy fingers—and if the messages contained within them seemed contrary or confusing, perhaps that, too, was appropriate.
A musical act called Ghost, with lyrics like “Our father, who art in Hell/ Unhallowed, be thy name” and references to an “Anti-Nicene Creed” might seem the epitome of evil, if not necessarily the epitome of wit. The lead singer has adopted church-inspired personas, like “Cardinal Copia” and “Papa Emeritus,” a sort of evil anti-pope. The group’s stance seems clear, and with two thousand years of prayers and religious tradition to deny, reverse, or otherwise subvert, there’s no shortage of potential future material.
But in recent years, the band has turned from doom-laden heavy metal to more anthemic, crowd-pleasing, radio-friendly sounds, including cover versions of songs by ABBA, Eurythmics, and Pet Shop Boys. The result is the strange juxtaposition of very young and very old fans at concerts, with multiple generations of family members singing along to songs like “Danse Macabre” and “Mummy Dust.” These are interspersed with strange, Swedish-accented demonic utterances and incantations from Papa Emeritus, such as “Hello, Trenton!” and “It’s great to be back in New Jersey!”
Longtime Ghost fans might wonder if the band’s movements toward mainstream success are a betrayal of their Satanic-styled roots, a mere craven business decision meant to widen the group’s reach and increase its revenue stream. But isn’t Satan all about money, temptation, and craven business decisions? Artistically, this is probably a “less is more” situation, as the demonic name-dropping gets a little old after a while. But is it also, paradoxically, more Satanic to be less Satanic?
I say all this tongue-in-cheek, as it’s pretty obvious that all the pageantry and devilry is for fun, a way to grab attention. As one of the band’s members (all but the lead singer are known as “Nameless Ghouls”) once put it: “We have no militant agenda. We are an entertainment group. Our mission is to put on a show.” Still, I can’t help but imagine Dana Carvey’s late 1980s Saturday Night Live character, The Church Lady, conducting that interview and addressing the source of Ghost’s worldly success: “Could it be… SATAN?“
It was amazing to me, having attended Catholic schools during the 1980s and early 1990s—perhaps the peak of Satanic panic in the media and everywhere else—that outside the NJ Cure Arena, there were no protesters, no righteous condemnations from angry or worried onlookers. It seems that America has mostly moved on with its conspiracy theories, from widespread fears of dark Satanic rituals to widespread belief of election tampering. (To be fair, QAnon and Pizzagate recycled elements of Satanic panic, and fears of election tampering aren’t altogether unfounded—though it’s Donald Trump himself, the loudest accuser of others, who attempted most of the tampering.)
Ghost isn’t the only musical act that’s learned to get attention by invoking the unholy realm; Lil Nas X outraged viewers with his 2021 video for “Montero,” proof that it’s still an effective way to push people’s buttons. Even in the 21st century, cheeky visions of Satan and Hell still shock, offend, and get people talking in ways not much else can.
But if the guy behind Papa Emeritus and Ghost is evil, it’s the pedestrian, “screw-you-over-in-court” kind of evil that’s inherent in every kind of business, including the music industry. His identity, kept secret for ten years, was finally revealed when several former members of Ghost sued him, claiming he owed them royalties. Papa Emeritus—who’s really a Swedish guy named Tobias Forge—won the lawsuit, and in interviews since his unmasking, he ‘s been asked many times about Satanism in Ghost, admitting that he loves Christmas and that Jesus was a kind of “chill dude.” Emeritus even threw out the first pitch at a Major League Baseball game—wearing facepaint and a baseball uniform.
Despite moments of dark theatrics, Papa Emeritus spent much of the Trenton concert in white facepaint and a tight black skinsuit with ruffled cuffs, prancing and twirling around the stage. It brought to mind not the devil, but a male figure skater, or a clown—and not even the scary kind.
The band’s attempts at humor, both in concert and in short videos online (sample title: “Tomb It May Concern”), leaven what might otherwise become a ponderous and tiresome horror-movie shtick. One amusing instance saw the corpse of Papa Emeritus Nihil, the original singer in the band’s elaborate fake history, wheeled out during the concert, Hannibal Lecter style, and shocked back to life with defibrillator pads. He then began to mock-throttle the crewman who revived him, but was distracted when another crew member handed him a saxophone. Papa Nihil proceeded to rock out with the solo for the song “Miasma,” to the audience’s great delight.
A few days after the concert, perhaps looking for a little spiritual equipoise, I found myself listening to “Supper’s Ready” by Genesis, a fifty year old, twenty-three minute song inspired by the Biblical Apocalypse and ending with God’s ultimate victory. Peter Gabriel did facepaint and elaborate costumes back then, and Phil Collins and company made more interesting music than anything Ghost has produced thus far. But like Genesis, Ghost combines well-known stories and traditions together with their own creative impulses and abilities to forge unique, memorable songs.
If my daughter came home with a guy who claimed to be a Satanist, I’d certainly have a lot of questions for him. But for one night, Ghost introduced a somewhat jaded music fan to a world of fun, energetic entertainment. Subtracting the sarcasm, The Church Lady’s other catchphrase says it all: “Well, isn’t that special?”
Peter Dabbene’s website is peterdabbene.com. His latest work, “Suburban Complaint #1988: Skunked” can be read at themetaworker.com. His book Complex Simplicity collects the first 101 editions of this column, along with essays and material published elsewhere. It is now available at Amazon or Lulu.com for $25 (print) or $4.99 (ebook).
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