The Pope's Favorite Albums (Maybe)

There is absolutely no evidence that Pope Leo XIV spends his evenings in the Apostolic Palace comparing the relative merits of Italian symphonic power metal records. This is important to establish immediately, because Metal Riffcrusher has not obtained the Holy Father's Spotify Wrapped, intercepted a papal Discogs order, or discovered a tiny Battle Beast patch sewn inside the mozzetta. We are simply asking the question that serious music journalism has somehow ignored: if the Pope likes power metal, what does he put on?

Leo XIV, the current Bishop of Rome and therefore statistically one of the people most likely to own ceremonial clothing with excellent stage presence, seems like a natural candidate for the genre. Power metal already has choirs, organs, enormous robes, Latin-adjacent nonsense, paintings of guys pointing dramatically at the sky, and a suspicious number of songs about eternal kingdoms. The overlap is frankly getting difficult to ignore.

No conclave has confirmed any of this, but somebody in Vatican City surely owns a double-kick pedal.

First into the hypothetical papal CD wallet is Rhapsody Of Fire's Symphony Of Enchanted Lands. It is Italian, ludicrous, orchestral and absolutely convinced that every mundane event is part of an ancient prophecy. This feels correct. You do not listen to this album; you receive it from a hooded messenger who arrives on horseback during a thunderstorm and tells you the fate of the Crystal Throne depends upon track seven. We suspect Leo gives it a dignified 9, then quietly air-guitars to Emerald Sword when everyone else has left the room.

Next: Powerwolf's The Sacrament Of Sin. This is admittedly the dangerous choice, mostly because Powerwolf have spent years building an entire aesthetic out of Catholic imagery, werewolves, organs and theological mischief. Would the Pope approve? We have no idea. Would he recognise that the chorus production is enormous? Almost certainly, assuming he has ears. There is also something deeply funny about the possibility of Vatican officials sitting through Demons Are A Girl's Best Friend with the facial expression of men reviewing a complicated insurance document.

Blind Guardian's Nightfall In Middle-Earth seems non-negotiable. The Vatican has a library. Blind Guardian make music for people who believe libraries should occasionally require siege engines. Nightfall is dense, dramatic and full of doomed kings, ancient oaths, tragic consequences and people making catastrophic decisions because somebody found a shiny object. In other words, it has the narrative economy of several thousand years of European history. Papal verdict: excellent, but someone is asked to explain what a Silmaril is and does not come back for forty-five minutes.

Then there is Gloryhammer's Space 1992: Rise Of The Chaos Wizards, which presents a theological challenge mainly because it asks whether an immortal wizard can be defeated by increasingly irresponsible applications of science fiction. This may not appear in canon law. Nevertheless, the album has choirs, prophecies, cosmic warfare and a hero whose job description is essentially 'guy with hammer'. We imagine Leo XIV staring thoughtfully at the ceiling during Apocalypse 1992 before asking a cardinal whether the Vatican has jurisdiction over the Galactic Terrorvortex. Nobody answers. A committee is formed.

Sabaton's Carolus Rex also makes the list, because at some point every powerful European institution is legally required to hear a Swedish band shout dates at it. The album is gigantic, stern and full of military history, making it perfect for a brisk walk through a corridor containing seventeen portraits of dead men named Innocent. The only risk is that after three listens the Swiss Guard starts marching in 4/4 and demanding smoke cannons.

For something slightly less likely to trigger an emergency synod, perhaps Avantasia's The Scarecrow. Tobias Sammet's giant theatrical rock opera approach feels suitably ecclesiastical: dozens of guests, huge choruses, dramatic entrances, and the strong sense that everybody involved has been given a different coloured cape. The Vatican understands pageantry. Avantasia understands pageantry. Diplomatic relations should be straightforward.

We would also like to submit Stratovarius' Visions for consideration, partly because it remains a near-perfect slab of European melodic power metal and partly because the phrase 'papal Stratovarius phase' deserves to exist. Picture the Pope moving briskly through Vatican City while Black Diamond plays in his headphones, nodding almost imperceptibly at the keyboard solo. This image is unsupported by evidence and therefore beautiful.

There are obvious omissions. Helloween might be too foundational to leave out. HammerFall have enough templar-adjacent artwork to cause paperwork. Twilight Force could potentially be mistaken for an unauthorised visiting delegation from a very small enchanted principality. And DragonForce would create the practical problem of somebody eventually asking whether Through The Fire And Flames can be performed on the organ in St Peter's Basilica.

Again, none of this is real. There is no known papal power metal ranking, no Vatican-approved tier list, and no reason to believe Pope Leo XIV has ever spent forty minutes arguing about whether Italian symphonic metal peaked before or after 2002. But if that document ever appears, Metal Riffcrusher is prepared to analyse it with the solemnity it deserves.

Until then, our completely fabricated top three is Rhapsody Of Fire, Blind Guardian and Powerwolf. The white smoke means the playlist has been chosen.