Enter the Shadows: Maria Nicolette (DJ Vespõra) on Symphonic Metal, Trauma-Informed Practice, and Inclusive Community Nights

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2026/02/03

Maria Nicolette (DJ Vespõra) is a London-based creative producer, DJ, and founder of Enter the Shadows, billed as London’s first and only symphonic goth/metal club night hosted at The Space Theatre. She also founded Act for Impact, delivering accessible, drama-led workshops grounded in trauma-informed practice, safeguarding, and suicide-prevention training, with a focus on disability inclusion, neurodiversity, and mental health. With prior experience in communications-related work for the UK National Crime Agency, she centres women’s safety and community care. Living with kidney disease and regular dialysis, she channels resilience into mentorship and event-making.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen speaks with Maria Nicolette (DJ Vespõra) about building inclusive culture through two linked projects: Act for Impact and Enter the Shadows. Nicolette explains trauma-informed practice as awareness, listening, and non-inquisitive support—distinct from therapy—applied to disability-accessible workshops and corporate training that uses drama and improvisation to develop creativity and teamwork. She traces her love of symphonic metal from Evanescence to Nightwish and describes launching a symphonic-focused club night at The Space Theatre, growing a community through volunteers, artist stalls, new bands, and a reinvestment ethos shaped by health realities and women’s voice-centred genre history.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today we’re here with Maria Nicolette, DJ Vespõra, founder and resident DJ of Enter the Shadows, billed as London’s first and only symphonic goth/metal club night at The Space Theatre. She is a creative producer behind themed events that blend metal, gothic culture, and community. She also runs ActForImpact.co.uk, which she founded to build inclusive spaces for artists and fans and to deliver accessible, drama-led workshops. Maria has worked with the UK National Crime Agency, including in communications-related roles.

Her work in that environment informed a stronger focus on women’s safety and justice. Living with kidney disease and managing regular dialysis, she channels that reality into stubborn optimism, mentorship, and resilient showmaking. Her nights pair heavy orchestration with human warmth. What is Act for Impact?

Maria Nicolette: Act for Impact, I basically created it.

I created it because I felt there was a gap in the market for accessible workshops. I’m officially trained in access drama workshop facilitation, trauma-informed practice, suicide prevention, and safeguarding.

So I can work with people with disabilities—that is what “access” means in the UK—along with neurodiversity and mental health. I felt that something bigger could be done beyond the community acting workshops that many theatres run for free. The government funds them, and they offer them for free to bring communities closer to action, support mental health, and support expression.

I felt we could develop that further, focus more specifically on people with disabilities, and offer more practical support. Part of Act for Impact is also running workshops in corporate environments and using drama-led skills to strengthen creativity, expression, leadership, and teamwork. These environments are often very boring during training, and drama-led practice is not commonly used in corporate training.

That is mainly because people have not thought about it. These are probabilities because I have not researched them. The creative and corporate industries do not really get along. Even though creativity is a big part of doing your job in business, they prefer to have a marketing team handle it. But marketing is different from acting and drama.

Marketing teams can do PR and communications, creative writing, and events, but they are not trained in acting. Acting is a very unique skill for expressing yourself and expanding creativity, especially improvisation, which gets you out of your shell and helps you be as creative as possible.

Jacobsen: So what does trauma-informed mean in this context? 

Nicolette: There is a psychologist-nurse who created a programme. I believe it is called Thrive. If you do training with that programme, you can earn bronze, silver, and gold-level certification. I completed bronze, silver, and gold.

Trauma-informed means what it says on the tin. You are trained to be aware that the people you are working with may have trauma—whether that relates to addiction, mental health, ADHD, medication, chronic illness, other conditions, or disabilities. You are not on the medical side. You are on the side of awareness: understanding people’s realities and approaching them accordingly.

With a practice that is more open, more silent—listening, giving that person space, you are not inquisitive about their condition or their mental health. You accept that they have something, and if they want to talk about it, they can. You give them the space to do that, and you sit with them in their darkness. That is what trauma-informed practice is.

You are not forcing it. You are not inquisitive. You are taking things one step at a time and allowing people to approach you. Of course, you can be informative—for example: “In our workshops, we will be covering certain aspects that may affect your disability. Please let me know, and be as open as you can, so I can put things in place to support you beforehand.” But it is advised that you do not force it, push, or be inquisitive. That is trauma-informed practice, because you can reopen trauma wounds, and that is not fair. It needs to be a safe environment.

Jacobsen: One quick final point on that, regarding the term “inquisitive.” How does an inquisitive approach differ from an inquiring conversation with an individual?

Nicolette: This is my opinion—I do not claim expert authority on the distinction. But in my experience, when working in a trauma-informed way, inquiring is more about checking in. It is about presence, about showing that you are still there. Inquisitive, on the other hand, is more like coming in and saying, “So, about your condition—what details can you give me about how you are feeling today?” That pushes emotions.

If someone wants to talk about their emotions, that is fine. But you are not a psychologist—that is not your role. A psychologist can ask those questions because their job is to help the person, if the person wants that help, and because they are trained to gather information and offer techniques. I am not a psychologist, which is why trauma-informed practice is essential. You are not qualified to do therapy.

What you are trained to do is to be aware—to be informed that people may have trauma. That is the difference, at least as I understand it. When I completed my gold-level trauma-informed training, it was made very clear that this is a practice, not a therapy. I am not a therapist, and I do not claim to be one. It takes years to become a therapist.

So that is the difference. I can now work with people with disabilities in an informed and aware way.

That has taken us down the path of my other business, because Act for Impact is my acting and workshop side. Enter the Shadows, meanwhile, is the symphonic metal club night—something that turned into a business almost overnight without me fully realizing it at the time.

Jacobsen: For those who may not be familiar, the first obvious question is: what is the symphonic part, and what is the metal part? What happens when you throw those two paint colours together?

Nicolette: Originally, my exposure to symphonic metal was when Evanescence came onto the scene. I don’t remember that period, but they did not emerge through the traditional heavy metal circuit. They were on MTV. I was young—I was a teenager—and I remember being in Cyprus at the time.

My cousin was quite religious, and she saw them and said, “Who are these weird people? This is not okay.” Meanwhile, I was sitting there watching something new unfold—something different happening in front of me.

Something sparked in me. I remember thinking, I have never seen anything like this on public, popular TV. At the time, MTV was all pop and R&B, and suddenly this appeared. It was different, and it made me feel something. When I came back to the UK—I had been on holiday in Cyprus—I immediately bought their album.

That was it for me. I thought, this band represents me. At the time, they described themselves as Christian metal—though I am not sure whether they still do, so do not quote me on that. I remember thinking: I am Christian, I am Greek, but I also like things that are dark, unique, and expressive. And the fact that the band was female-fronted mattered. She felt powerful—like a powerful woman on stage.

Not too many years later, I went to university. During those four years, I spent a lot of time in Camden Town and met metalheads and rockers—not really goths, more metal and punk crowds. I made friends in the metal scene and became particularly close with one woman who asked me, “Have you ever heard of Within Temptation?” I listened and thought, Oh my God—now I do not just have Evanescence, I also have Within Temptation. It felt like a whole new world opening up.

Then I went to a Korn gig—sorry, not Nightwish yet—and I met a guy named Danny, who I am still friends with. During my university years, he later became a promoter up north, not in London. He said, “Nice to meet you at Korn—would you like to go and see Nightwish?” And I thought, Excuse me? That is how I ended up seeing Nightwish, who became even bigger than Within Temptation and, in some ways, Evanescence.

Evanescence has around 7 million followers, mainly because it also attracts mainstream pop audiences. The other bands are followed more narrowly by the metal and goth scenes. That is the difference. Anyway, I saw Nightwish two or three times when Tarja was still in the band, and it was mesmerizing. I remember thinking, There must be more of this.

After I finished university, I did not follow the scene closely. I would buy new albums from Within Temptation, Nightwish, and Evanescence when they were released, because I enjoyed the music. But eventually I started wondering, Where does this music live? Why does this not exist as a space? I waited over a decade—more than a decade.

Then I came across a female-fronted metal festival in Islington Angel, near where I lived. That was when things shifted again. I discovered Leaves’ Eyes, who are a fantastic band, and Sirenia were also there. I met them in person. I was wearing one of their T-shirts—quite low-cut—, and they noticed my neckline and asked if I was okay. I said yes, and they asked if I wanted a photo with them. They were incredibly kind. Over time, my connection to the scene deepened.

The pandemic also played a role, not only because of everything else that happened around diversity, inclusion, and social awareness, but also because the music scene changed. Symphonic metal became more visible. I think part of that visibility came from broader conversations around diversity, equity, and inclusion—including LGBTQ+ inclusion—and a growing openness in alternative music spaces.

People from different ethnic backgrounds, different skin colours—women supporting women, and helping young women. All of that became quite prominent. When diversity, equity, and inclusion became a significant focus in the business world, it also trickled into the creative industries.

Empowering women became more visible. But then I realized that when I went to club nights—especially in Camden Town over the last three or four years, post-pandemic—they would maybe play one or two symphonic metal tracks. Usually, it was a single Evanescence song. And I thought, that is not very broad.

Evanescence broke into the scene through popular culture, not through the underground metal scene. That always felt odd to me. This idea kept growing inside me. Then, quite unexpectedly, something shifted when I decided to go to the theatre for my own mental health and become part of an acting group. After three tough years—my arm not settling, fistula complications, and a lot of personal trauma—acting felt like the only thing that helped me feel better.

When I joined The Space Theatre, they asked whether I would like to volunteer beyond acting and become part of the events management committee. Everyone volunteers; we help raise funds because the theatre is a small charity with limited resources. I said, “I’ve been part of the goth scene for the past twelve years with my husband, and before that, I was involved in the metal scene during my university years. Would you like me to create something for the theatre?”

I told them it would focus on symphonic metal because I love that genre. I was sincere: I said I did not know how to DJ. I would learn using Spotify and literally plug my phone in. I did not want to be elitist about DJ culture—it did not have to be perfect. They said, “Yeah, Maria, just do it.”

People started coming. They started paying attention. Within two months, I had around 300 followers, all saying, “We’ve never had a symphonic metal night before.” At first, I thought, okay, calm down—it’s probably just the first and only symphonic metal night in London. But then I checked Google.

Within twenty-four hours, Enter the Shadows was the only result appearing across the entire first page of Google when searching for symphonic metal club nights. That shocked me. I thought, maybe it’s not just London—perhaps it’s the UK.

I kept asking Google and AI tools the same questions. They would list goth and metal nights, but they would not identify anything else specifically focused on symphonic metal. They would only mention Enter the Shadows. If I searched for “symphonic metal,” I would, of course, get countless bands. But when I searched “symphonic metal night” or “symphonic metal club night,” it was just Enter the Shadows—nothing else.

I went deeper and deeper with the research. That is when I realized that this might be the only symphonic metal club night in the world. Unless there is one hidden somewhere that has no internet presence and has never contacted me, which I find hard to believe in the age of the worldwide web.

It is difficult to imagine that someone running a similar night somewhere in the world would not reach out to say, “Hold on, I do one too,” whether in Brazil or anywhere else. Based on extensive research, Enter the Shadows is unique.

I still find it hard to believe that someone would not approach me. So, I have created history without meaning to. I was not looking for it, and I did not expect it.

In terms of symphonic metal, it comes from heavy metal—it is essentially an extension of it. But as the decades have passed, art and music have become more nuanced, so the boundaries are no longer as clear as they once were. Still, symphonic metal emerged primarily because of female-fronted vocals.

Those vocals tend to be higher-pitched, more operatic, melodic, and orchestral. That is where the “symphonic” element in the metal scene comes from. Over time, the defining feature—and something we women are not willing to let go of—is the prominence of female-fronted bands.

That said, an increasing number of bands include both male and female vocalists. Lacuna Coil, for example, has both. Leaves’ Eyes has both. Visions of Atlantis has both. So it is not always accurate to say “female-fronted” in a strict sense. There has also been crossover with power metal and gothic metal. Some bands will say, “We are not purely symphonic—we are gothic metal,” yet there is overlap and seepage between the genres.

There are also male-fronted bands that still describe themselves as symphonic, but that is quite rare. I do not pretend to have encyclopedic knowledge of the scene. I have never claimed that. I am frank about who I am. I am not the most technically skilled DJ in the world—I use Spotify and plug my phone in. I am not the most experienced expert on symphonic metal either.

But I know enough, and I care deeply enough about this genre, to do this authentically. People ask me questions, and sometimes I respond by asking, “What do you think?” I am part of an alternative women’s WhatsApp group run by Sonia, and we often discuss the origins of symphonic metal and its crossover with gothic metal.

I also have a friend, Ian, who is very into symphonic metal and folk metal. He once said to me, “You should listen to Dogtanian—they are a French band and feel a bit symphonic.” I listened and thought, yes, but they are not purely symphonic. And he said, “But what is purity in music anymore?” That is a fair point.

Still, if you want to be very black-and-white about it—if you want to put a box around the genre—I think it is fair to say large metal bands with prominent female vocals generally define that symphonic metal. Those vocals—operatic, high-pitched, melodic—are what distinguish the genre.

That said, many symphonic metal bands do not necessarily play symphonic metal festivals. They often share line-ups with power metal bands instead, which is interesting and something I still want to explore more with Sonia. Power metal, as a genre, tends to be predominantly male-fronted.

Anyway, I have ADHD, so I tend to take the scenic route when explaining things. But the core point is that symphonic metal originated in heavy metal, and it was identified as “symphonic” mainly because of its female-fronted vocals.

Jacobsen: What can people look forward to in the first quarter and a bit of the second quarter of this year in terms of symphonic metal events from you?

Nicolette: When I say “us,” I mean my husband and me. I do all the work—the planning, the social media, everything—but his support is essential. He is emotionally supportive, and on the night itself, he always comes with me to the theatre. He never lets me go on my own.

As a thank-you, I also say to him, “If you want to DJ, you can DJ.” It is plug-and-play, and people love him as well. He does not actually like symphonic metal—he really does not—but he supports me, and I support him with his music. That is how it works in a marriage.

In terms of what people can expect, the short answer is: growth. As I mentioned earlier, May 31st was our very first event. I nearly cancelled it because I was panicking and thinking nobody would show up. Thank goodness the artistic director—Matty, as we call him—said, “Just do your best, Maria. Even if only the volunteers show up, they always support.”

In the end, it was not just volunteers. About 350 people expressed interest, and roughly 45 attended. The following month, a few more came. Halloween was our biggest night, with around 70 people in attendance. That might not sound like a lot, but for a venue like ours, it is significant.

You have to love symphonic metal and be willing to travel to Docklands, which is not the easiest area of London to reach. It is central, but it feels a bit isolated—we jokingly call it “the island.” We are based near Canary Wharf, where the banks are, and some people do find it challenging to get to.

Despite that, we built a social media following of over 300 people within two months. I also created a WhatsApp group after the first one or two Enter the Shadows nights. There are about twenty people in that group who pay attention, share updates, and say things like, “Oh, the next one is coming up—thanks for letting us know, Maria.”

Not all of our social media followers attend, of course. Some are in other countries and cannot easily travel to London. Still, they like knowing that this exists—that somewhere in the world, in London, this is happening.

I have even had Within Temptation like my posts and follow me. They are my favourite band. When I saw that, I thought, I cannot believe this is happening. I even joked with them, “Give your social media person a raise—I cannot believe you are liking my content and following me.” It still feels surreal.

At this point, it’s been about 9 months, and we are going to keep going. As long as The Space Theatre continues to give me a free space to run the night, I will carry on. Hopefully, the word will spread and more people will become aware of what I genuinely believe is a historically significant event—something that is happening on this planet that very few people know about yet.

I do believe it is historical, because it is the first—and as far as I can tell, the only—symphonic metal club night in the world. And it started in a small theatre that struggles to stay alive. That theatre is also a community centre: a place for people with disabilities, for older people, and for community actors like me, who use acting to support our mental health and feel connected and engaged.

We now have a new artistic director—young, in his thirties—who took over from Adam, who had cared for The Space Theatre for around twenty years. And our patron is Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings. So I always tell people: if you are going to come to our symphonic metal night, come knowing you are stepping into something a little bit magical.

A listen and a backstage tour. Because our symphonic metal night takes place in an actual theatre, we also offer a small backstage tour. We also show people that our patron, Sir Ian McKellen—who, of course, played Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings—has signed the stained-glass window on the left-hand side of the building. His signature is there, and people are welcome to take photos with it. Some people already have.

As a venue and a theatre, we have a lot to offer. And Enter the Shadows itself is happening inside a theatre. How many club nights can say that? I know of one other alternative night that takes place in a church, but it is not symphonic metal. Our venue is a theatre housed in a former Scottish Presbyterian church, complete with stained-glass windows. That feels like home to me, in a very real sense. It is surreal, beautiful, and wonderful.

We also have a bar, unusual for a church, but we do. It is called The Space Bar and Kitchen. You can go upstairs, get a drink, then come back downstairs into the main hall and dance. For the first time, we also supported a new, up-and-coming symphonic metal band called Artemis and Apollo.

Was the sound system perfect? No. I am not going to lie. I am frank about that. But the band came up to me afterward and said how grateful they were. They even gave me a free T-shirt and said they really appreciated being given the opportunity. People were drinking, enjoying themselves, and having a good time.

One person did say, “The sound was terrible.” But that person is a professional sound engineer—that is literally his job. He came to Enter the Shadows because he loves symphonic metal. I am not going to name him, because I do not really know him. And I said, “I know—it is not perfect. We are a small theatre, and we do the best we can.” Until January, I had been volunteering at The Space Theatre, and I still approach it with that same mindset.

Now I am moving toward formalizing this as a business, through an agreement with the theatre, so that it becomes something I might eventually earn from. I am a woman with a disability, and I would like to reach a point where I can earn something. We are in discussions—it has not happened yet—but that is the direction.

Looking ahead, I want to bring in more bands. And if I do start getting paid by the theatre, I want to put that money straight back into The Space Theatre. I know that sounds counterintuitive—you might think I should pay myself—but my goal is to reinvest in the venue.

I want to improve the sound system so that we can eventually host a festival. I would love to create something like Enter the Shadows: The Darklands Festival, named after the Docklands area where the theatre is located. It is a play on the word “Docklands.” But I cannot do that unless the sound system is strong enough.

I certainly cannot afford to buy a new system—that would cost tens of thousands—but if I could rent high-quality systems, we could bring in more bands. I recently had a conversation with Deity and Devilry at The Big Red in Camden Town. I went to see them specifically to support a new band, and those conversations are part of thinking about where this could go next.

Nicolette: They did really well. We are now in conversations, and I said to them, “Look, our sound system is not great, but would you consider doing this for charity—just coming in and taking part?” I explained that they could use a backing track instead of a full live setup so that we wouldn’t need a drummer. That makes the sound more manageable with our current system. That is what Artemis and Apollo did: a guitarist and a singer with backing tracks, because that is as much as our sound system can handle right now.

In terms of what else people can look forward to, I secured a DIY photo booth by speaking with a Korean gentleman who owns an app called Flimsy. He gave us access for free. He said, “If you are doing this for these reasons, all I want is photos from the events to show that our app works well.” I told him it was the only app I felt comfortable using for a DIY photo booth.

We also have volunteers at The Space Theatre who support us. One of them wants to become a photographer, so I told her, “Bring your camera.” I bought a gothic backdrop for her, and she did her first photo set on our night. She can now use those images for her portfolio and slowly build her photography business.

We also have small artists who come and set up stalls in the corner. At our last event, an artist named Adriana sold out of all her smaller handmade pieces. The larger pieces—one-off acrylic works—were more expensive, so those did not sell as quickly, but she completely sold out of her smaller items. We also run raffles and give away prizes to participants.

After three months of running everything on my own with my husband, I was approached by someone from the goth scene. I am very much part of that scene as well. He said, “I do not mind volunteering—can I DJ?” I was genuinely surprised because no one had ever wanted to DJ with me before. I had approached established DJs in the goth scene, and they told me, “If you want me, it is £100 an hour.” I explained that this was for charity, and I could not afford it. They said, “Then we cannot do it.”

People also questioned who would travel to Docklands. But it turns out people would. We had two women from Hammersmith coming almost every month. They said, “This is the only symphonic metal night we can find. Of course, we will travel an hour and a half.” And they did.

We have very passionate people. Some of our guests have become part of the community. Albie, who volunteers at The Space Theatre, is also a community member who lost his mother, and we support him closely. We made him a DJ for Halloween and New Year’s. Misha, one of our biggest supporters, asked, “Please, Maria, can I DJ for you?” I said yes—it is plug-and-play.

We give people opportunities to do something they love within the genre they love. Sometimes we cannot fit everyone in—we do not have unlimited space or time—but we try. I have had people tell me, “You listen. You really listen to what your guests enjoy.”

The night is primarily symphonic metal—that is the focus—but we also include some heavier metal. People jump around to that. We even throw in The Prodigy, because people still love that energy. Toward the end of the night, my husband plays more industrial music—boom, boom, boom—because it is after midnight. People are tired; they want to switch off mentally and move side to side. That steady industrial rhythm lets them rest while still dancing.

So we have a bit of everything. Our resident DJs are me—DJ Vespõra—and TG Smith, who leans more toward darkwave and goth styles. That is not symphonic metal and does not come from heavy metal at all, but some people have told us, “I am not purely goth, and I am not purely metal—I like both, and I like dancing to both.”

Most people who come are not purists. In fact, many of the more traditional goths prefer established nights like Slimelight, which has been running for decades. But the people who come to Enter the Shadows tend to be more open in their musical tastes.

We have had a lot of people from the goth scene—people who are open to different kinds of music—come down many times. The people I want there are not strictly goth or strictly metal; they are open-minded. That is what makes it special. It is fantastic and growing organically.

Some nights are quieter. New Year’s Eve, for example, had our lowest turnout. That was mainly because Docklands is challenging to reach, and many of our regulars are overseas but live in the UK. A lot of them travelled back to their home countries or up north to be with family. Others did not want to go out because of the weather, the risk of catching a cold, the cost, or simply because they did not want to leave the house on New Year’s Eve. There were many reasons. Still, a small group of our most dedicated supporters came down and said, “I would not miss this for the world, Maria. This is my favourite genre.”

We are now well on the way toward February. One thing that did not help New Year’s Eve, to be fair, was timing. Matty is essentially a one-person operation at the theatre. He does have a co-artistic director and co-CEO, Sarah, but she has only been in the role for a few months. Matty still carries most of the workload. Tickets went on sale only two weeks before the event, which is far too late for something like this. He was exhausted and wanted to focus on Christmas.

That is why we skipped January. I told him I could not do another last-minute event. I said, “Leave January. I am not doing this again without proper lead time.” February, by contrast, has been planned well in advance. The tickets are already live, the event is already listed, and within the first twenty-four hours—do not quote me exactly—we had around fifty people marked as interested and about ten marked as going. That includes me, possibly my husband, and perhaps The Space Theatre. And that was without any advertising.

I usually put about £20 a month of my own money into Facebook advertising. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. Facebook can be unpredictable. It often supports you the first few times, and then the reach drops off. Contrary to popular belief, it no longer always puts events in front of the right people.

What else can people look forward to? Hopefully, celebrating our first anniversary—knock on wood—as long as I am well. I am a disabled founder, and I try not to make promises in case something unexpected happens. But I genuinely believe that the joy my acting and Enter the Shadows bring me helps my health. I think that the happier you are and the more aligned you are with your purpose, the more likely it is that your health will stabilize and allow you to live longer.

If there is one thing I would say to anyone, it is this: find what brings you joy. For me, that is symphonic metal, Enter the Shadows, being on stage as a DJ, and being my own boss within this space. I control the event. I do not have people second-guessing me or my abilities as a disabled woman, which has happened to me many times in life.

When I manage things myself, I know I can do them well. We are going to get there. It is going to be something special. We can continue to grow and bring even more people into this world, bringing in new bands, up-and-coming bands, and more female voices—more and more of them. People are celebrating what they are calling the first female-fronted headliner at Download Festival. 

Download Festival is a huge festival held at Donington Park. The first time I went was in 2004. I never went back—not for any reason other than my health condition. More recently, cost has also become a factor, but primarily, it is my condition. I cannot physically manage going to Donington.

Recently, it was everywhere online—newspapers, heavy metal media—celebrating “the first female-fronted band” to headline. And I thought, hold on—no. Linkin Park was never a female-fronted band. The only reason they are now being described that way is that they chose a new lead singer.

They chose the best person for the job. She happens to be female. Her vocals are not symphonic, and the band was never designed to be symphonic. There are very hardcore women in metal—very heavy, very dark, very raw—who are not symphonic at all. But they are not headlining either.

Off the top of my head, take Halestorm. Their vocalist is incredibly raw and powerful, but she is not symphonic. That does not diminish her at all—but not every female-fronted band is symphonic. If a woman is using deep, roaring vocals, that is heavy metal or another extreme genre—possibly death metal—not symphonic metal.

Simply being a woman does not make a band symphonic metal. And it bothered me to see Download Festival framed that way, because it takes something away from the women who truly front the symphonic metal scene as a distinct genre and movement.

If you want to highlight a female-fronted headliner symbolically, why not choose a band that was always female-fronted from the beginning? Even if it is not symphonic, choose a heavy metal band that has always centred a woman’s voice.

Jacobsen: Symbolically, what is the image of women in symphonic metal?

Nicolette: Symbolically, I think it gives space to female voices that never really had space before. Just because there have been women in hardcore metal does not mean they had an easy path. You always hear narratives like Ozzy and Black Sabbath created heavy metal. Then you see this long legacy of bands and genres that are overwhelmingly male.

Even my husband will say, “I do not really like female voices in heavy metal or hardcore metal.” And that may be because female voices can make some men uncomfortable. It does not give them that same sense of aggression or rush.

For example, my husband saw Sabaton for the first time. I introduced him to a lot of heavy metal—mostly traditional, male-fronted bands. He loved it. He came home and made a heavy metal playlist. None of it had female vocals, because it just does not suit him as a person. But I have been to symphonic metal concerts and music events—such as the female-fronted metal festival in Islington, Angel—and clearly men do love this music. They really do.

What struck me most, though, was the oddest experience of all. I would go on my own, look around the crowd, and even though I have been part of the metal scene for about twenty years and the goth scene for around twelve, I did not recognize a single person. That felt strange.

So, where are these people who love symphonic metal as a genre? I have maybe a handful of friends in the metal and goth scenes who genuinely love symphonic metal—a handful. Yet the alternative scene is massive. What is going on? Where are these people?

Most of the people I know prefer traditional heavy metal or classic rock. It is pretty strange. That is part of what is symbolic about symphonic metal: it gives a voice to women. And yes, it is a small part of the broader heavy metal genre—I am not going to pretend otherwise—but it deserves to be recognized in its own right.

It is recognized in magazines like Metal Hammer and Louder. Big bands like Evanescence, Within Temptation, and Nightwish have all been featured there. But I do not feel they have ever been properly separated—never really given a space that says, “This is symphonic metal. This is its own thing.”

Let us give those women the majority of the space, for once.

That does not mean I oppose mixing genres. When I went to The Big Red—the Imperial Palace venue in Camden Town—I went to support several bands. One was Deity and Devilry, because they are symphonic, and I wanted to get to know them. The other was Die Kur, a group I know from the scene. I have spent time with them at places like the Devonshire Arms, the Electric Ballroom, and the Underworld. There is absolutely no reason not to mix male-fronted and female-fronted bands. That is not the issue.

The symbolism of symphonic metal is that it centres female voices. That is why it needs its own space—to exist clearly, confidently, and visibly in the broader metal world.

Jacobsen: Any final words, or a quote, that really sums up your experience of symphonic metal?

Nicolette: I can give you a quote for Enter the Shadows—and also one for symphonic metal as a genre. The quote for Enter the Shadows is actually a bit menacing. We created it accidentally with my other resident DJ.

As for symphonic metal itself, I would say this: symphonic metal was born from women being at the helm—and that matters.

I do call myself a feminist, but not in a way that says men should not have space. I am not interested in separation. I am a feminist who believes we should give women a voice—and when there is space for everyone to exist together and support one another, we should do more of that.

Symphonic metal has a gentler quality compared to much of heavy metal, bringing people closer to the metal scene who would not usually listen to it. They hear these vocals and say, “Oh, this is part of metal? This is beautiful. This is melodic.”

Even my mother—very traditionally Greek, very Christian, and not a fan of this kind of music—once heard me singing a Within Temptation song and said, “Wow, this is beautiful.” I told her, “Mum, this is symphonic metal.” She was shocked.

Many people I know—people who would describe themselves as “regular”—come to Enter the Shadows and realize, “This is not as intimidating as I thought.” And it is women’s voices that made that possible. Those operatic, melodic voices opened the door to popular culture.

Seven million people follow Evanescence for a reason. They did not all arrive through underground metal scenes. Many discovered them through MTV and mainstream exposure. Those voices brought people in.

So if I had to frame it as a quote, it would be something like:

Adore symphonic metal for its power to place female voices at the helm—and to welcome new audiences into metal through beauty, melody, and strength.

I know “sweet voices” is not quite the correct phrase—I struggle to find the exact word sometimes because of my ADHD—but those voices are what brought people into metal who might otherwise have feared it, avoided it, or never gone near it.

As for Enter the Shadows—let me count the words. Five words.

Our slogan is: “Carve it on your gravestones.”

What I mean by that is simple. Enter the Shadows is here to stay. It has already carved itself into history as the first—and, as far as I know, the only—symphonic metal club night in the world. So carve it on your gravestones that more is coming. Carve it on your gravestones that it is here to stay. And do not forget the next event—on February 20th.

Whether it has a legacy beyond me or not—and I hope it does, and I hope I live long enough to see it—it has already been carved into history. Nothing can change that.

Jacobsen: Excellent. Thank you very much for your time today. I appreciate you going through all of this.

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