Thalìa Bellazecca on Finding Her Voice in Primal Fear

Byline: Ayeshah ‘Ice’ Somani

She once played a queen on stage. Sword in hand, shredding through fantasy worlds with mythic flair, her solos were written like spells and delivered like prophecy. But Thalìa Bellazecca isn’t playing royalty anymore. She doesn’t need a crown to prove she’s powerful.

Now, she’s traded fantasy for fire: joining Primal Fear, a band that doesn’t deal in make-believe. They deal in reality. And Thalìa, it turns out, has a lot to say about the real world.

Primal Fear has never been subtle. Their songs speak bluntly, naming the fractures most bands avoid: cancel culture, systemic decay, the chaos between people and governments. And yet somehow, Thalìa doesn’t just fit, she locks in like she’s always been there.

“It took a bit of time for understanding and learning the language of the band,” she says, “but I definitely melted very well with it and I can just get better and better.”

She doesn’t overthink the transition. There’s no dramatic overhaul of her identity, no forced merge of past and present. The truth is simpler—more honest.

“That ‘Thalestris’ energy…it’s just me,” she says. “It’s how I am in my life, on stage, or when I write solos.”

And now she gets to write them in a context that demands something deeper. Something closer to the bone.

“I approach the writing in a different way depending on the subject,” she says. “It’s all about mindset. The closer you feel, the better and easier it is for writing and playing.”

That closeness is all over Domination, the band’s upcoming album, and her first recorded chapter with them. Her solos stretch across nearly every track, not as decoration but as anchor. Not one-note flourishes, but responses to the themes being thrown like grenades from the vocal booth.

“I tried to put my feelings regarding these themes into my solos,” she says. “I hope you can hear them as I do.”

There’s a kind of clarity in her phrasing that doesn’t rely on speed or spectacle. Every note carries weight. Her solos don’t just add drama, they hold the tension between what’s been said and what still needs saying.

“I always saw solos as the voice of the instrument,” she says. “I decide how that voice should be by diving into the entire song, understanding the mood, and trying to create something that melts in the proper way.”

Working with Magnus Karlsson has sharpened her voice even more, technically and emotionally. “He totally knows how to help get the best out of you,” she says. “My phrasing has definitely gotten better.”

There’s no insecurity about stepping into a legacy. No hesitation around making her presence known. Just a quiet sense of arrival.

“It happened as soon as I heard the master of this upcoming album,” she says. “Hearing myself and my solos in between the work of these great musicians felt out of this world. I was so excited and proud.”

Her guitar lines feel like they belong there because they do. And underneath all of it, there’s the unshakeable feeling that she’s been working toward this moment for years.

“I always wanted to talk about these themes and play songs that were showcasing them,” she says. “I feel really close to them… this is what I always wanted to play and be recognized for.”

She doesn’t perform to escape anymore. She performs to engage. And with a stage this grounded and a band this loud, Thalìa doesn’t need mythology to make a moment feel massive.