The year is 2009 and I have just hopped on a bus to Aveiro for the first edition of Vagos Open Air. Epica is on the line-up, and I have never heard of them before. I give their latest release a quick spin, and I’m not impressed – until I see them on stage. That was the moment I became a fan. Almost 16 years later, here I am, sobbing as I travel through Aspiral – the album that brought Epica back to me.
I’ll say in advance: this is going to be a very personal review. There will be no grading. No scoring. No technical jargon. Music, for me, has always been about how it makes me feel. How I relate to the lyrics, what emotions are brought up by the songs, especially by the voices that give them life. The last time I felt something with Epica’s music was when they released The Quantum Enigma. After that, their work became grand, more complex, more layered – but it felt empty. It stopped making sense for me, and it was painful. I had to let them go.
However, the universe works in mysterious ways and brought them back to me with what I can only describe as an absolute ode to what Epica does best: powerful symphonic metal, raw and emotional vocals, and a sense of coming home. Aspiral is a full trip – and I am here for it.
The Sound of Ego Death and Rebirth
The band themselves describe Aspiral as born from a place of ego death – and it shows. This album was created in songwriting camps, crafted together live, and stripped of all the studio tricks and excess. The synergy is undeniable. You can hear the trust, the grounding. There’s majesty, yes – but not at the cost of humanity. The orchestration serves the song, not the other way around.
If you know Epica, you know their usual formula: instrumental intro, 3-4 songs, a 10+ minute epic, interlude or ballad, a few more tracks, and an explosive title track. Not this time.
Cross the Divide kicks things off with zero pomp or ceremony – no intro track, just a direct plunge into music. And it’s glorious. The shouted “CROSS THE DIVIDE!” feels like a rallying cry, a wake-up call, a declaration. Simple structure, yes, but an absolute banger. And one that sticks.
Then we have Arcana. I’ll admit – I didn’t even listen to it when it dropped. I was too afraid of disappointment. But I was wrong. So wrong. Easily one of the best tracks on the album. It packs a surprising punch, the chorus is stunning, and while it may sound accessible, it’s powerful, intentional, and will knock you off your feet.
Now, I didn’t intend to go track-by-track… but this album makes that near impossible. So let’s carry on.
Darkness Dies in Light? I thought I was listening to The Last Crusade. This could’ve come straight out of Consign to Oblivion, and I say that with deep reverence – it’s my favourite. It’s a perfect callback, both in sound and spirit. This is where the A New Age Dawns arc begins its redemption.
Obsidian Heart floored me. The chorus carries a heavy melancholic weight – but it doesn’t wallow. It roars. There’s sadness, desperation, and yet an unshakable strength. Only four tracks in, and I’m wondering if this is the album I’ve been waiting for since 2014.
A Pledge for Unity
Fight to Survive – The Overview Effect is, without question, the pinnacle of the album for me. It’s not just a song — it’s a spiritual confrontation. A full-body experience. It grabbed me by the throat, cracked open my chest, and held my soul up to the stars. The lyrics alone could stand as a manifesto for those of us cursed (or blessed) with the unbearable clarity of seeing the whole — of sensing patterns, connections, truths, and the heavy weight of knowing too much.
“I try to understand why I can see it all…” — I broke. This line unravelled me. Because that is exactly what it feels like. When your mind constantly zooms out and sees the big picture, the overview, the devastating trajectory of a world asleep at the wheel — it’s maddening. And yet, this song captures that madness with purpose. It’s not just lamentation. It’s a call to persist.
The instrumentation is vast and cinematic. The layered vocals — soaring and guttural — mirror the duality of the fight: the internal war to stay grounded, and the external pressure of living in a world that refuses to wake up. The bridge, the breakdown, the solo — every moment is a scream into the void, but one that echoes with resilience rather than despair.
“Our integrity is our great strength…” — It was like hearing an answer to the question I’ve been carrying my whole life. This track doesn’t just stand out — it transcends. It’s not a favourite because it’s polished or catchy. It’s a favourite because it saw me. It held me in my chaotic clarity and said, “Yes, you’re not alone.” And I can’t thank them enough for it.
After the raw vulnerability of Fight to Survive, Metanoia – A New Age Dawns Part VIII arrives like a reckoning—a cosmic inhale after the breakdown, both personal and universal. It opens with that deep choral echo, a clear nod to Kingdom of Heaven, and from the very first moment it demands reverence. It’s sacred, it’s urgent, and it doesn’t ask for permission to pull you under.
This is where it all converges—the sound, the message, the intention. It’s not just technical brilliance, though there’s plenty of it. It’s the way the composition carries the weight of that existential ache. The guitars rage, the orchestra swells, the vocals rise and fall like waves, and right there in the centre of it all is the most painful and beautiful truth: we are all part of something greater, and still so desperately alone if we refuse to connect.
Together we are one. A line that might seem simple—almost cliché—in another context, but here? Here it lands like prophecy. It’s the heart of the whole damn record. The pain. The clarity. The slow-burning transformation that only comes after ego death. It doesn’t beg you to understand—it shows you. Loudly. Softly. Relentlessly.
If Fight to Survive cracks the shell, Metanoia pulls you through the void and out the other side reborn. Changed. And maybe, just maybe, seen.
The Much-Needed Embrace
T.I.M.E. is a direct nod to The Quantum Enigma. Apparition pulls us back into The Divine Conspiracy era. Eye of the Storm echoes Requiem for the Indifferent. And none of it feels forced. These tracks are fresh, authentic – not rehashed nostalgia, but evolution with intention.
And then, The Grand Saga of Existence. Nearly seven minutes of everything I ever loved about Epica – soaring vocals, symphonic grandeur, furious growls, pounding drums, and that signature Epica energy. It delivers.
Finally, Aspiral. One piano note and I’m already in tears. This ballad – this healing spell – is everything. “Scars and tears set free to fly in the atmosphere…” – this is the kind of closing track that stays with you. It’s soft. It’s powerful. It’s necessary. Still crying, so I’m going to leave it here.
This album? It’s a return – of the heart and soul. A rediscovery. A homecoming.
Aspiral wrapped me up in that old, safe Epica blanket I thought I’d lost – one of fierce truths, raw emotions, and lyrical introspection. It’s no longer a wall of sound. It’s a hug. A long-awaited embrace – one that comforts without smothering.
It’s comfort and confrontation in equal measure. It’s dancing and headbanging. It’s tears of joy and pain. It’s an album that reminded me why I love this band, and why they still matter.
I’m home again. Thank you, Epica.
Review by Lucia Correia