The Pyromantic Symphony

The Pyromantic Symphony – the third opus by Austrian composer and multi-instrumentalist Lanvall (birth name: Arne Stockhammer) 

Released in 1997, it predates his entry into the symphonic metal scene through the formation of Edenbridge. While this album often gets overshadowed by his later work, it actually reveals a foundational layer of his artistic identity. Yet make no mistake: this isn’t a mere footnote in his career. 

This album stands as a resplendent monument to musical ambition—an early indicator that Lanvall wasn’t just dabbling in prog and symphonic styles; he was sculpting cathedrals out of sound.

Upon finishing the album, one may find themselves struck by a pang of existential inadequacy

why can’t I write music like this?

It evokes that kind of beautiful despair, the kind that only comes from confronting something that is both masterful and painfully out of reach. With each movement, The Pyromantic Symphony reveals a rare synthesis: it is as progressive as it is symphonic yet remains fluid and accessible gliding with the grace of a spring-fed river, full of elegance and life.

For those who know Lanvall primarily as the guitarist and song writer behind Edenbridge, this solo effort may come as a revelation. Truth be told, many listeners (myself included) may have reached this record without much prior exposure to Edenbridge. 

But even a single listen is enough to illuminate the sheer depth of Lanvall’s compositional prowess.

The album features just seven tracks, but that’s more than enough to convey his refined musical sensibilities.

Interestingly, despite his identity as a guitarist, Lanvall doesn’t use this project to indulge in fretboard heroics. Quite the opposite. This is a composer’s record, not a guitarist’s ego trip. 

The Pyromantic Symphony

The opener, “The Crystal Entrance,” doesn’t even contain any guitar at all. Instead, it unfurls with cathedral-like choirs and the solemn swell of a church organ, establishing a majestic, almost sacred tone.

From there, the music transitions into “Castles in the Air”—a piece where the guitar finally emerges, carrying the melody like a knight leading a solemn procession. Yet even here, other instruments remain somewhat subdued, acting as understated companions rather than flamboyant soloists.

It’s not until the choral section that the orchestration begins to flower into something more complex and layered.

Interestingly, certain guitar passages evoke comparisons to Marty Friedman—particularly his Scenes album. That said, the similarities are largely superficial. While Scenes leans heavily into East Asian melodic phrasing and a kind of spiritual minimalism reminiscent of Kitarō,

in contrast, The Pyromantic Symphony stays firmly grounded in the majestic lineage of European symphonic rock. Thus, even though both artists favor emotive, atmospheric playing, their musical languages diverge quite distinctly.

At times, it even flirts with the essence of Mike Oldfield—not in imitation, but in spiritual kinship. There’s something distinctly Oldfieldian about the way Lanvall weaves lush soundscapes without ever relying on conventional rock dynamics.

In My Head

This European elegance is not accidental. The album treats music as a total landscape, not a vehicle for guitar-driven bravado.

That’s not to say Lanvall lacks skill—on the contrary, his command of the instrument is undeniable—but here, he chooses to serve the composition rather than the solo. The spotlight is reserved for the composition’s emotional arc, not any one individual’s flair.

In essence, this is music for those who crave something deeper—those who long for melodic beauty that whispers rather than shouts, and arrangements that breathe with complexity and grace. 

The Pyromantic Symphony isn’t simply an album; it’s a window into a musical mind that treats composition like architecture. Every note has its place. Every structure has its purpose.

And for those weary of overproduced, guitar-solo-stuffed albums that confuse technicality with artistry, Lanvall’s third work offers a welcome retreat. It’s introspective without being opaque. Lavish without being pompous. And ultimately, symphonic without being self-indulgent.

A hidden gem? Certainly. But perhaps more fittingly—a relic of a time when artists still made music for the sake of beauty itself.