July 19, 2025 – This past Saturday, the Wells Fargo Center transformed from arena to cathedral as Ghost brought their ‘Skeletour’ to Philadelphia, a city already well versed in spiritual awakenings and theatrical flare. But this was no ordinary rock show. It was a full-blown mass. Cloaked in incense, inferno, and the faithful roar of the band’s devoted congregation.
Photos + Article by @a.j.kinney
Outside the venue, even before doors opened, the atmosphere pulsed with ritualistic energy. Entire rows of the faithful arrived clad in full regalia: painted faces replicating various incarnations of Papa Emeritus, some precise to era (yes, even the glorious corpse paint of Papa III), others reimagined with glitter, lace, and theatrical flair.
Nameless Ghouls swirled in their own interpretations, some with glimmering black masks, some horned, some hooded, all committed. There were even fan forged hybrids: Papa Ghoul mashups, gender bent papacies, and clever cosplay puns that walked a line between reverent and riotous. It was cosplay as communion.
People didn’t come to see the show, they came to belong to it.
Once inside, the phones went into locked pouches, thus no photos, and no distractions. At first, it felt foreign. Unsettling, even. But once the lights dimmed and the first hymn of “Klara stjärnor” swept through the cathedral, something clicked: We were all in it together, undistracted, unfiltered, fully present. This was a show meant to be experienced with your own eyes, not through a glowing rectangle.
And what an experience it was. Papa V Perpetua, part pontiff and part preacher, led the liturgy in full theatrical glory. The setlist blended fresh revelations from Skeleta such as “Miserere Mei, Deus,” “Peacefield,” and the mournful sway of “Lachryma”, with beloved scripture from the band’s canon like “Cirice,” “Call Me Little Sunshine,” and the pulpit pounding “Ritual.” Each act of the night unfolded like a chapter from a heretical gospel, complete with shifting backdrops, pyro bursts that could’ve singed angels’ wings, and costume changes as dramatic as a Vatican power struggle.
The stagecraft was simply divine. Flames erupted with biblical intensity. Lighting cues danced like stained glass brought to life. Ghouls glided across the stage like specters on sabbatical. And every wardrobe change Papa made whether donning an ornate mitre or a shimmering, spider laced, crimson suit, elicited full body gasps and cheers from the audience.
As the final encore of “Mary on a Cross,” “Dance Macabre,” and “Square Hammer” rang through the rafters, it felt less like a finale and more like a resurrection.
Final Benediction:
Ghost’s Skeletour would be best described as a shared ritual. It’s proof that this band has built more than a fanbase; they’ve cultivated a community, a church, a coven. In an era where most shows are half watched through phone screens, this night in Philadelphia reminded us what it means to feel something as it happens. To scream and sway and worship together under flickering lights and thunderous hymns.
And in the Church of Ghost, everyone’s welcome, as long as you believe in the power of riffs, robes, and the beautiful darkness that binds us.
