Undeniably influential. Sadly, Kiske’s falsetto is my villain origin story.
Finally, we arrive—historically speaking—at power metal.
I thought I was ready. Ready for drama. For grandeur. For dragons, knights, and riffs that make me want to ride into battle on a flaming pegasus.
I thought I was excited.
I was wrong.
So, fine. Let’s do this properly. If you say "power metal," the history books scream "Helloween."
Let’s give the pumpkin their due.
Helloween are often dubbed the "fathers of power metal" (who decides this, by the way?) and sit alongside Blind Guardian, Sabaton, and DragonForce in the genre’s so-called "Big Four."
Power Metal 101 (A Brief Guide to Capes, Choruses, and Questionable Fashion)
So what actually is power metal?
At its core, it’s fast. Melodic. Over-the-top. It thrives on clean, high-pitched vocals (usually delivered with the force of a man battling a dragon mid-solo), double bass drumming, heroic choruses, and riffs that carry just enough momentum to feel like they might knock something over. Lyrics? Almost exclusively fantasy, mythology, or some vague notion of personal triumph.
The atmosphere is epic. Think: slow chord progressions stretched across shimmering keyboards and a sense that everything—everything—is deeply important. Even if it’s just about a wizard.
But let’s not ignore the costumes. Oh no.
Power metal is one of the few genres where dressing like a Viking, a pirate, or a budget superhero is not only acceptable—it’s expected. Bands have turned up on stage as cavemen, dwarfs, and assorted LARP escapees. It’s no wonder the genre has a cult following among fantasy fans, tabletop gamers, and anyone whose bookshelf includes at least one Wheel of Time novel.
Concept albums based on entire fantasy epics? Standard.
Sincerity levels? Painfully high.
Self-awareness? Often missing in action.
Origins: The Grandfathers With Guitars
The genre draws from Dio (dragons, kings, etc.), Judas Priest (twin guitars + Rob Halford’s banshee wail), and Iron Maiden (galloping basslines and choruses built for stadiums).
In the U.S., power metal took a speedier, thrash-adjacent form in the '80s (Manowar being the loudest example). But Europe? Europe went full sparkle. Keyboards. Concept albums. Whole narratives. That’s where Helloween come in.
Enter Helloween: Hamburg’s Loudest Export
Formed in 1984 by Kai Hansen, Michael Weikath, Markus Grosskopf, and Ingo Schwichtenberg, Helloween started thrashier (Walls of Jericho, 1985) before sliding into speed metal with sparkles on top. Enter Michael Kiske on vocals—a four-octave frontman with serious Halford energy—and bam, European power metal was born.
Their Keeper of the Seven Keys albums (Part I, 1987 & Part II, 1988) are considered genre-defining.
Originally intended as a double album, the label split it in two because of course they did. Hansen was the primary writer on Part I, while Part II highlights Weikath’s contributions. Both were critical and commercial successes. Pt. I hit #15 in Germany and even crept onto the U.S. Billboard charts. Pt. II did even better.
The Listen: Respect the Legacy, But—Yawn?
Look. I wanted to love these albums. I tried. I get why they made waves. Tight riffs, catchy melodies, and Schwichtenberg’s drum work pushing everything along like he’s got somewhere better to be. But Kiske’s falsetto? I struggle. Big time. It doesn’t uplift me—it makes me roll my shoulders back and gnash my teeth like I’m bracing for impact.
Musically, I enjoyed a few fleeting moments—some guitar solos, a melody or two that caught my ear. But most of it just sat there. Not badly written, just—flat. The kind of music that never stops you in your tracks or makes you actually feel something. It plays. You nod. You forget it ever happened.
And yes, parts of it sound straight-up Maiden, which tracks. NWOBHM was the blueprint. But if we’re choosing between Kiske and Bruce Dickinson? Sorry. Bruce wins every time.
I Want Out (And I Kind of Did)
I Want Out is their big one—anthemic, accessible, huge chorus. And yet, I felt—nothing. It’s power metal teetering on the edge of pop, aggressively radio-friendly to the point of sterility. It’s all hook, no bite. A song engineered for mass appeal, not emotional impact. It sounds like it was built for a stadium sing-along, but leaves you standing there, arms crossed, wondering what all the fuss was about.
Final Verdict: History Made Me Do It
These albums were required listening. Power metal wouldn’t be what it is without them. But will I be playing them again? Unlikely. It’s not bad—it’s just not for me.
Still, I’m holding out hope. Somewhere out there, a power metal band might yet sweep me off my feet like Dio did a few months back. He remains my secret metal god. Holy diver, forever undefeated.