As the boy becomes a man
Father’s minions pave the way
Set in motion now, Armageddon
Final conflict, End of days
is so overwrought that it’s nearly unlistenable. The song “Ghost of Freedom,” too -- what the hell is he talking about there, anyway? Maybe it refers to a movie I haven’t seen, but if so, it doesn’t sound like a very good one. Some guy who died in battle haunting battlefields and ghost-fighting alongside his ideological descendants? No thanks, man. But even within “Ghost of Freedom,” Iced Earth’s incomparable charm shines through. Structurally a power ballad, “Ghost of Freedom” spends almost all of its time practically begging for the fast-forward button or even the eject, but then, just as the forgiving listener is running completely out of patience, it girds up its loins and becomes the greatest Kiss song that Kiss wouldn’t have written. Increasing the volume of its dirge-like beat, it breaks free from the chains of forced sentiment that have been holding it down for three-and-a-half minutes, and all at once ten thousand Bic lighters flick on in the imagination’s darkened Meadowlands as a chorus of male voices sings with great feeling:
Don’t tread on me...live free or die!!!
To our fallen brothers
You died to keep us free
To our fallen brothers
Who gave us liberty!!!
When, above the din of this chorus, the lead singer begins to ad-lib patriotic remembrances of the fallen dead, the song becomes less like painful summer stock and more like something stemming from genuine conviction. Conviction of what, exactly, is a question that may never get answered, but Iced Earth have learned the secret that Iron Maiden had, and that Bob Dylan has, and that all charismatic artists have: as long as you sound like you mean it, it’s O.K.
