A beginner’s guide to symphonic metal in 5 albums
Few genres do grandiose like symphonic metal. As the name suggests, it marries the scope and ambition of classical music to the power of metal. The result is orchestral, opulent and sometimes OTT, but it’s a hard heart that is completely resistant to it.
The seeds of the sound were sown in the 80s, when diverse trailblazers such as Celtic Frost and Savatage began incorporating orchestral instruments into their music. But it began to accelerate in the late 1990s, with bands such as Therion, Nightwish, Within Temptation and cult favourites Haggard began to properly fuse the two genres.
Today, symphonic metal has become an unlikely commercial force. Nightwish and Within Temptation are festival headliners, while a constant stream of newer bands have emerged in their wake. For anyone who is new to this grandest of genres, these are the five albums to start with.
Therion – Secret Of The Runes (2001)
Therion remain the original and – the purists would have you believe – the best of all the symphonic metal acts. Named in honour of Celtic Frost’s second album To Mega Therion, the Swedes have been led by multi-instrumentalist Christofer Johnsson since 1987. While others have prospered by ‘sexing-up’ the genre’s principles, the Therion experience remains a pure one – sackcloth and ashes, almost. Take our word, it’s a beautiful thing.
After Forever – Decipher (2001)
The second album from this pioneering and much-missed Dutch outfit, who ran from 1995 to 2009, Decipher employed live classical instruments and a full choir to complement the stirring soprano delivery of Floor Jansen (now, of course, with Nightwish). Soon afterwards Mark Jansen quit, taking his growled co-vocals along to the guitarist’s next band of note, Epica. The album’s grandiose arrangements still sound masterful today.
Within Temptation – The Silent Force (2004)
Although you’re likely to be distracted by the captivating strength of Sharon den Adel’s upfront vocal dynamism, Within Temptation’s symphonic aspirations reached their most querulously romantic apex on this goosebump-inducing masterwork of the form. Although the guitars were louder and crunchier than on 2000’s Mother Earth, and the open- hearted pop savvy was at full widescreen pelt, this 2004 follow-up confirmed the band’s special affinity for wizardly orchestral bombast, here performed by the Ego Works Session Orchestra, under the noted Russian conductor Felix Korobov.
Epica – The Quantum Enigma (2014)
Formed by former After Forever guitarist Mark Jansen, Epica played a crucial part in the development of symphonic metal via a string of consistently impressive releases, but with The Quantum Enigma – their sixth studio record – the Dutch band raised the bar to a whole different level, hiring a live chamber choir and a string orchestra to enhance a collection of tunes that is uniformly strong. Throw in the soaring vocals of flame-haired mezzo-soprano Simone Simons and the results are seismic.
Nightwish – Endless Forms Most Beautiful (2015)
You could pick anything from 2000’s Wishmaster onwards, but the Finns’ first album with Floor Jansen represents Peak Nightwish in terms of a grandiosity. A high-concept exploration of evolutionary science, featuring narration from scientist Richard Dawkins, it’s an absolute triumph. From the full-pelt throttle of Shudder Before The Beautiful and cinematic bombast of Weak Fantasy to the life affirming anthemia of Alpenglow, it’s a constant stream of brilliance. Then there’s The Greatest Show On Earth, a 25-minute show-stopper most bands could only dream of writing. It’s no surprise this was the record that turned Nightwish into festival and arena headliners.
130 notes
·
View notes
You have told us how to court your average gallifreyan but how would one go about courting a Gallifreyan member of the Faction Paradox? Like are they in to freaky shadow stuff because I can not move my shadow like that? Like what major differences are their in courting a member of Faction Paradox compared to your average run of the mill Gallifreyan or Renegade?
And is it technically possible to court a Celestis or is that to messed up?
Courting a Faction Paradox member is very much NOT recommended by the Institute, however, here are some pointers you may find helpful:
🧠 Continue to be intellectually stimulating: Faction Paradox members are no different to normal Gallifreyans, at least when it comes to you remaining intriguing enough for them. Discussing the intricacies of time loops over dinner might score you points, and so might proposing a toast to the entropy of the universe.
🍽️ Pick the right meal: Forget the spaghetti bolognese; think of dishes that defy physics or even just culinary decency. Maybe go for a meal that exists in a state of quantum uncertainty or a dessert that tastes like regret, if you can find such a thing.
✔️ Embrace mind games: Members of the Faction Paradox love a bit of an enigma. A potential partner who can maintain an aura of mystery is likely to be very intriguing to them. A sudden, nonsensical act or something like an outburst of Woody Woodpecker laughter signals that you're not just another predictable human.
🗣️ Give what you get: They'll probably test you with some snappy comments and insults, cos they love a bit of bants. Give back what you get like some kind of interstellar rap battle.
🫨 Embrace the rituals ... and the chaos: The Faction love a good ritual. You might not be able to move your shadow in eldritch ways, but participation in or even just an appreciation of these can go a long way in impressing them.
👏 Laud their achievements (but not too much): Faction members like to hear how good they are. But not too much, because there's a fine line between providing compliments and just being a sycophant.
🔥 Show hatred for Gallifreyan traditions and customs: They really don't like them, so you shouldn't either. Down with Rassilon!
😍 Physical and telepathic boldness: Unlike typical Gallifreyans, Faction members might be more open to physical and telepathic intimacy, though this could vary, as some may just find it all primitive.
🌟 Courting a Celesti
The Celesti inhabit a realm of existence that transcends conventional physical and temporal boundaries, making the concept of "courting" as we understand it a challenging idea. It'd be a bit like trying to date a cloud.
If you do manage to get into a relationship with a Celesti, don't think in any way you'd be able to control or influence it. Sorry, but you're not driving that ride.
🏫 So ...
Once again, despite all of this, remember that every person is unique, with their personality traits, interests, and views. Tailor your approach based on the individual you're courting.
Hope that helped! 😃
-------------------------------------------------------
》📫Got a question / submission?
》😆Jokes |🫀Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts
》📚Complete list of Q+A
》📜Masterpost
If you like what GIL does, please consider buying a coffee or tipping below to help make future projects, including complete biology and language guides.
25 notes
·
View notes
Hannigram – Post-Fall (4)
Hannibal hesitated for a moment, contemplating the forkful of eggs and vegetables before finally taking a bite. There was a hint of reluctance, a reservation born from uncertainty. Yet, to his surprise, it did not taste dreadful. He emitted a thoughtful hum, and Chiyoh, attuned to his skepticism, detected the faint trace of disbelief that he had not succumbed to her cooking. It brought a subtle, almost imperceptible, cheeky smile to her face.
If he possessed even a shred of strength, he would have taken charge of the cooking, but he barely had the energy to administer the crucial IV fluids to both Will and himself. His appetite craved sustenance, yet he understood that, given the precarious state of their bodies, indulging in a hearty meal could overwhelm their fragile systems. Instead of expediting recovery, it might provoke a detrimental response, or, in the direst circumstances, even terminate it altogether.
His devoted handmaiden had executed his every instruction with impeccable precision, leaving no room for complaint. The aftermath had been meticulously tidied, the meat preserved and ready for his culinary prowess, and to top it all off, Jack remained entirely ignorant of their whereabouts. Will was with him, secure, at least for the moment, as he schemed their next moves.
Graham appeared physically stable, yet Lecter couldn't ascertain with absolute certainty whether his mind still inhabited that fragile shell. Will wasn't in a state of brain death; his pupils had reacted, but he remained unresponsive. The enigma of what had transpired within Will's psyche eluded Lecter without a more intimate examination.
To acquire the necessary tools, he knew he needed access to a larger facility—a hospital. Yet, this endeavor demanded strength, and he hesitated to send Chiyoh alone with Will. While she had proven herself reliable, he couldn't shake the gnawing fear of that one unforeseen moment of lapse, or the myriad calamities that could potentially separate them from him if he wasn't there to shield them.
He could march resolutely toward death, cloaked in his bulletproof self-assurance, when it came to his own fate. He didn't falter as others might. However, the prospect of entrusting Will's care to another, even someone as capable and devoted as Chiyoh, filled him with a profound sense of dread.
Will was that singular, maddening variable, defying the confines of universal rules, forever lingering in an exasperating quantum state that eluded his complete prediction. If he allowed Will to slip out of his watchful gaze, it would inevitably assume a state beyond his control.
He couldn't allow that to occur. His eyes wandered, sinking into the comforting embrace of coffee as it swirled around his senses, finally caressing his lips.
Will drew in a deep breath, once again aware of the persistent chill in the air. The blanket he had hauled along from the living room had served its purpose, keeping him warm enough to sustain life. However, he yearned for the comforting embrace of a proper bed, rather than the unyielding coldness of the wall against which he rested. There was a silver lining, though: his head throbbed less intensely. It still bore the sensation of a screw tightening into his temple, but it had become more bearable than the agony he had experienced earlier. His breathing had steadied, and his vision cleared, allowing him to perceive the world with greater clarity. Slowly but surely, his body was diligently rebuilding itself.
The notion of hoisting himself onto his feet and standing upright was no longer an elusive dream. Though his balance remained somewhat precarious, it was now stable enough to allow him to navigate into the next room. There, he discovered a bed, accompanied by a wardrobe stocked with fresh attire. Without hesitation, he swapped out his current clothing before draping the blanket over himself once more. Carefully, he descended the stairs in search of a flashlight.
The house carried an eerie sense of familiarity, though the reason remained elusive. As Will traversed its sparse rooms, a feeling of security quickly settled over him. Equipped with a flashlight, he reentered the kitchen, gathering a few essentials into a bag in preparation for his potential encounter with Hannibal.
Then, something peculiar caught his eye: a coffee machine. A strange warmth bloomed within his chest at the sight. Perhaps, if he brewed coffee now, by the time he returned with Hannibal, they could enjoy it together. It was a curious notion, and he could almost conjure the image of the two of them sitting side by side, gazing out over the ocean as they shared this simple pleasure. It was a modest daydream, yet it infused him with hope.
Will set up the machine, watching the initial drops trickle through the filter. He almost anticipated the aroma, as if it would unfurl and embrace his senses. It was a way to feel close to Hannibal, to bridge the physical distance between them. Somehow, the scent of it made him feel as though Hannibal were right there beside him.
His sense of wonder only deepened: Where was he? Why hadn't Hannibal arrived yet? As far as Will could discern, this house stood alone in its vicinity. Unless, by some unfortunate twist of fate, he had washed ashore on a different island. Geography had never been his strong suit.
Then, it hit him—a phone! How could he have overlooked the existence of phones? Will surged forward, nearly stumbling over the couch in his haste to grab the device. As it rested in his eager hands, he pondered which number to dial. Hannibal, lost at sea or wherever he might be, wouldn't be answering his phone, assuming he even possessed one. Jack? The mere thought of that option led to a grim contemplation. Alana? A distant memory, and he doubted he still had her number; he might as well have eaten it. Lounds? Absolutely not.
The dilemma weighed heavily on him as he stood there, grappling with his limited choices.
Bedelia Du Maurier. She was, begrudgingly, his best option, despite his aversion to hearing her voice again.
Setting the phone down with a conflicted expression, his gaze wandered, lips pressed into a taut line. The prospect of a phone call to her was complicated. If she reported their interaction, authorities could potentially trace the call, provided he remained on the line for more than 30 seconds. But then again, what alternative did he possess?
Finding Hannibal.
He propelled himself off the couch, snatching up the key as he made his way to the door. Stepping out, he ventured along the coastline, as far as his feet would carry him. Will fixed his gaze on the undulating waves, observing their dance. He studied their movements, tracing their reach and rhythm to feel the flow of water currents. Through his silent communion with the sea, he sought to unravel the secrets of its tides, searching for clues about the possible paths it had taken Hannibal.
Hannibal's absence from a rescue mission was telling, and it felt like a stretch to expect anyone else to come to his aid. If Hannibal was alive and on the same island, he likely would have located him already. If they were separated, Will held onto a glimmer of hope that Hannibal might have found his way onto a different shore. Despite scanning the horizon, the mainland remained elusive, and he couldn't recall if it had always been this way. Perhaps, Will dared to hope, he might stumble upon a boat during his journey.
Boats, he mused, were comforting companions when stranded in the vast unknown.
They had qualities he yearned for—they were mobile, familiar, and predictable. Water, on the other hand, held a dichotomy of beauty and terror. It could be relentless, even downright crushing, even though it no longer touched him. Yet, it also had the power to soothe, and gazing upon the shimmering expanse had a calming effect on his restless mind.
Once he found Hannibal, Will had a simple plan in mind: fishing. He had spotted a well-maintained fishing rod and other equipment inside the house. With Hannibal's culinary skills, they could feast on freshly caught fish—no need for humans, no hint of cannibalism. Just fish.
Perhaps, they could also explore the forest for berries and mushrooms, or forage in the garden. He thought he had heard chickens clucking somewhere in the background, too.
As he ventured further, his hopes gradually withered and faded. By the time the sun began its descent, he found himself gazing at the same red house in the distance. It struck him then; he had been walking in a literal circle throughout the entire day.
Yet, this unintentional circuit did afford him a rough estimate of the perimeter—approximately 20 to 30 kilometers. If his calculations held true, that translated to a potential land area ranging from 32 to 72 square kilometers.
Numerous variables complicated his efforts to arrive at a more precise estimate. Uncertainty surrounded the time of day and the pace of his journey. Although it felt as though he had walked slowly, he couldn't fully rely on his adrenaline-fueled perception. Seeing that the numbers predominantly shared the digit '2,' he settled on 42 square kilometers as a reasonable approximation in his mind.
That realization provided some solace. He now had one thing clarified: he was on an island with no boat. Wonderful. While he might not have been the most ardent admirer of mathematics, the numbers and their rhythmic, predictable existence offered him a sense of grounding. As long as he kept his logical mind engaged, his emotional turmoil couldn't overwhelm him quite as easily.
Nearing the house, he cycled through a series of grounding exercises. Graham focused on steadying his breath, maintaining a sense of calm, and brainstorming alternatives to make sense of the perplexing situation at hand.
Being marooned on an island with no apparent escape felt akin to one of those exaggerated clichés or film tropes. The sheer absurdity of it all left him with a sense of mockery, as if some higher power were toying with him. The only thing that could have made it more cliché was stumbling upon Hannibal.
This circumstance meant that all options lay open before him. Will found himself facing an array of limitless opportunities, each contingent upon his perception of reality and how he chose to navigate it. The disconcerting aspect lay in this unsettling freedom, a terror greater than he had ever imagined, for uncertainty was his most formidable adversary.
The deluge of data, ceaseless thoughts, and sensory inputs inundating his mind daily often left him teetering on the precipice of overwhelm, even within the confines of his lecture room, where the scrutiny of watchful eyes bore down on him. His unique mental acuity allowed him to perceive hauntingly intricate details about people, but it also meant that his brain had to labor incessantly to process this torrent of information.
Engaging in eye contact wasn't necessarily the issue; it was the overwhelming depth of insight he gleaned from another person's gaze. He didn't know where to direct his attention, for locking eyes with someone meant he saw far more than he should. In return, he felt vulnerable, as though someone with a similar ability to read people like open books could scrutinize his very soul. It was an unsettling invasion of privacy. On both sides.
Every twitch of a muscle felt as though it were his own, leaping out at him with an exhausting intensity that defied adequate description, demanding his relentless attention day after day.
This meant that he minimized spontaneous and unpredictable inputs by crafting his routine as tightly as possible, using it as a foundation to alleviate the perpetual strain on his brain. Routine served as his shield. The fewer variables he had to constantly predict and vigilantly attend to, the more his mind could dedicate itself to other tasks, such as ensuring he remained nourished or allowing him to rise from bed without a splitting migraine.
All those seemingly effortless actions that came naturally to others required his deliberate consideration. Every minuscule task, even the routine act of showering or brushing his teeth, demanded an extraordinary amount of mental effort. To simply navigate a tranquil day, he had to summon immense strength, and then, frustratingly, people would criticize his inability to maintain eye contact. He scoffed inwardly.
Eye contact. Why did he have to overanalyze something so fundamental? Wasn't that where it all began?
Gazing into someone's eyes or simply being in close proximity to them had always proved overwhelming and discomforting, regardless of his feelings toward the person.
That was, until Hannibal.
Hannibal's dark eyes held a distinct allure. They were unlike any other—like rich chocolate to his senses, soothing, sweet, and tender. And on occasion, when the light graced them at precisely the right angle, they appeared to smolder, akin to living embers ensnared in resin.
At times, they even appeared as black as the night, resembling an endless abyss. On other days, they gleamed like he had captured stars within his very gaze.
And then there were his lips—when they formed that playful smirk, with the top one ever so slightly leaning over the bottom one, especially when he was concocting some mischievous scheme, fully aware of the havoc he was about to unleash. He appeared almost endearingly goofy, as though he were merely jesting. The countless crinkles that enveloped his eyes, folding in delight or pride. How his every movement quickened by a fraction when excitement or agitation seized him. And then there was that resolute, fleeting blink when he disapproved of something, though he retained the courtesy not to vocalize his intent to unsubscribe someone from life. Or those wolfish, unwavering stares—intense and piercing, as if he harbored a desire to sink his teeth into the mortal meat that dared to defy him. The curious tilts of his head, slight as they were, conveyed volumes, amplifying the expressiveness of his minuscule bodily shifts. It was almost as though he could decipher Hannibal's thoughts from these subtle cues alone.
And, it appeared that he missed those moments. The realization had crept up on him, and he found himself smiling at the memory, albeit unknowingly. Yet, like a cherished secret he savored, the smile gradually dimmed beneath the weight of his present circumstances. Will stood before the door, though he couldn't quite recall how he had arrived there. The sun had nearly vanished into the horizon.
Some deluded part of him dared to hope that when the door swung open, he would find Hannibal inside, wearing that familiar smug expression, perhaps seated at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. However, as he crossed the threshold and entered, the only thing that greeted him was the same darkness that had enveloped the house since he had left earlier that morning.
This darkness seemed almost excessive, either an anomaly against the current light or a lingering deception playing tricks on his senses.
As he investigated the kitchen, he discovered that everything remained exactly as he had left it. The coffee had grown cold, its once-pleasant aroma reduced to a bitter reminder, sitting on the counter like a reproachful specter. It seemed to glare at Will, mocking his naive hope that he might find Hannibal alive, even after their treacherous plunge off the cliff.
No. He couldn't fathom a reality where he received what he desired and achieved happiness, not after his betrayal of both himself and Hannibal to the unforgiving ocean. While he might have broken free of Hannibal's physical influence, he still carried the weight of his presence within his mind. He was embedded in every memory, every sight, every action. Once Lecter infiltrated your mind, it was, unequivocally, game over. And Will was acutely aware of this truth. The insidious corruption had already taken root, and that plunge had represented his sole opportunity to halt his descent into monstrosity. He had to put an end to himself. However, a paradoxical urge gnawed at him; he also needed to ascertain that Hannibal had met his demise or would do so shortly. If Hannibal still breathed, Will had a duty to stop him. Or was it just another pretext, a feeble excuse to seek Hannibal out once more, to amass yet another cherished memory?
‘What Hannibal does is not coercion, it is persuasion. Has he ever tried to persuade you to kill? He will. And it will be someone you love, and you will think it is the only choice you have.’ Bedelia's words reverberated within his mind, akin to a small, sharp yet oddly cheerful bell that captured his attention.
‘ Has he ever tried to persuade you to kill? He will. And it will be someone you love, and you will think it is the only choice you have.’ Their tone, once gentle, had turned sharp, akin to a scalpel slicing into his mind. It was as if his consciousness had zoomed in on them, and they were growing louder by the second.
Kill. Will. Love. Choice.
These words seared themselves into his chest like a branding iron, and in that moment, he couldn't deny the truth. She was right. Hannibal had manipulated Will into making the choice to kill the person he loved most.
Or, had Will persuaded himself?
She would be either gloating or quaking in terror at this moment, with the latter being the more likely scenario. This might prove advantageous.
Bedelia Du Maurier. He took a sip of water, settling beside the phone. After carefully setting the water bottle down, he extended his hand to dial the number linked to her home address. It was a slim chance she'd be there, as any smart person would likely be on the run, but –
It rang.
Someone picked up, but the line remained eerily silent.
Will hesitated, gripped by uncertainty about how to proceed and who might be on the other end of that phone. As if this someone had detected his unspoken query, a voice flowed smoothly into the receiver.
"Hannibal," a single word, honeyed in its delivery, spoken by a person he passionately despised, and yet, it felt like that voice had pulled him out of a living nightmare. What it offered wasn't quite a statement, nor was it a question. It existed in a twilight state between certainty and uncertainty, granting him the mercy of identifying the voice on the other end, but nothing beyond that. It was Bedelia.
17 notes
·
View notes