Opeth - Damnation and Deliverance

With over a million and a half records sold worldwide and numerous awards and accolades, Sweden's Opeth are one of the most celebrated Scandinavian metal bands of all time. Their great achievement has been combining, with unique personality and creativity, the intricate, cerebral structures of progressive metal with the aggressive rhythms and heavy assaults of death metal. All without ever sacrificing an elegant melodic sensibility, which also makes room for numerous acoustic passages, keyboard/organ work (at a certain point the band will find new life in instruments like Hammond, Moog or Mellotron) and soft digressions, drawing on both progressive rock and the folk-rock tradition. In both cases, the inspiration will come from the well-known Anglo-Saxon scenes as well as the local Swedish one.

This niche occupied by Opeth in the metal world was later abandoned in the 2010s, when the band's music shifted - somewhat surprisingly, though some saw it coming - into an affectionate, nostalgic revival of 70s prog, which stirred up strong controversy among fans, press and critics alike. But we'll get there in due time.

This union of light and dark is driven, alongside the top-tier instrumental work of the various lineups that have passed through the band, by the versatile voice of one-man-band and multi-instrumentalist Mikael Åkerfeldt (pronounced "Ocherfelt"), capable of switching from a soft, delicate clean voice to a guttural, otherworldly roar ("growling"). The resulting atmospheres likewise reflect a delicate balance between opposing souls, blending with surprising naturalness the imaginative, velvety tones of certain progressive rock with the dark, ferocious ones of extreme metal, as well as more spectral moods, all without ever sounding disjointed or incoherent (aside from the occasional early-career naivety). The lyrics in particular reveal a kaleidoscope of different expressions: brooding and reflective, or decadent, funereal if not outright depressive, "gothic" in the 19th-century sense of the word. Small, hermetic personal dramas, but also fairy-tale adventures, dreamlike, at times bittersweetly melancholic.

Light and darkness, violence and elegance, calm and conflict, desolation and passion, constantly merge in Opeth's music.

The beginnings: raw and ambitious

Mikael Åkerfeldt, as mentioned, is the determined and imaginative mastermind behind Opeth, the true boss of a project that has seen numerous talented musicians pass through its ranks over the years, often leaving behind good relationships - but also the occasional falling-out - on a personal level. All the final decisions are his: new lineup additions, the directions taken, the artistic intentions, the language adopted. But there have even been outside figures who managed to leave their mark, offering technical and theoretical advice that on more than one occasion allowed the band to revitalize its style or break new creative ground: above all, Dan Swanö (Edge of Sanity), Steven Wilson (Porcupine Tree) and Jonas Renkse (Katatonia).

A curious biographical note: Åkerfeldt, however, is not actually the band's founder - that title belongs to David Isberg, who formed the original core of Opeth in Stockholm in 1989, drawing inspiration for the name from Wilbur Smith's fantasy-historical novel "The Sunbird" (which mentions Opet, an imaginary lost Phoenician settlement in South Africa whose name means "City of the Moon").

In this embryonic phase, Opeth were conceived simply as a death-metal band like the many others taking shape at the time in the Swedish capital (think Tiamat, Dismember, Entombed, or early Edge of Sanity). Isberg asked the then sixteen-year-old but already talented musician Åkerfeldt to join the band on bass, without even informing the other members (especially the one who was already the official bassist!), setting off a first round of conflicts and departures. Cutting things short, after a couple of years Isberg himself left, uninterested in the direction that the very young but charismatic and determined Åkerfeldt wanted to take the sound. The band wasn't formally disbanded, so the latter took total control of it, devoting himself to vocals, guitar and writing all the songs. Alongside him, meanwhile, came new members who were young heavyweights-to-be: Peter Lindgren (second guitarist), Johan De Farfalla (bass) and Anders Nordin (drums), giving the band its first stable line-up.

Mikael Åkerfeldt grew up a metalhead – and a collector too. Like many of his generation, he started out with Black Sabbath and as a kid would go around record shops looking for anything that remotely resembled them. Once he came of age, he took a keen interest in the brutal death metal that was emerging at the time in the United States and in his native Sweden, two scenes each with their own peculiarities; but above all he was drawn to the more melodic sounds of traditional heavy metal, Iron Maiden and, especially, Judas Priest. He was also very attracted to the Swiss band Celtic Frost, with their seminal, avant-garde take on thrash metal that by the mid-80s was already anticipating much of what would become typical of death metal, black metal and even gothic metal. These are all very famous names, but alongside them it's worth mentioning the little-known Mefisto, a cult band on the Swedish underground scene that lasted only long enough to put out a couple of thrash/death demos, with traits that had immediately caught Åkerfeldt's attention. He recounts it this way in an interview: "I used to sell tapes, and the singer who formed Opeth, David, gave me the Mefisto demo, 'The Puzzle'. Up to that point I was interested in death metal, but I wasn't really captivated by it. Bands like Hellhammer were brutal, and I liked the brutality, but I felt something was missing. Mefisto had a guitarist who played classical guitar intros, and the solos were fantastic, but it kept that brutality we were after. I was completely blown away. To me, 'The Puzzle' is the ultimate classic of Scandinavian death metal."

This spark is telling, as for the young Swede things were about to take a whole new turn as far as his musical tastes were concerned.

With the arrival of the '90s, taking advantage of a part-time job at an instrument shop, the restless Nordic musician also discovered the world of progressive rock, becoming utterly captivated by British classics and lesser-known names alike (King Crimson, Genesis, Yes, Jethro Tull, and also Gentle Giant, Wishbone Ash, Comus, but above all he's crazy about Camel). It didn't take him long to develop a taste for continental names too (from the French band Magma to homegrown Italian acts like Banco del Mutuo Soccorso, Goblin and Pfm) — in fact, he's one of the greatest devotees of international prog, though he's less enthusiastic about most of so-called neo-prog. Whenever the chance arises, chatting backstage at a show or answering interview questions, Åkerfeldt never fails to suggest or recommend lesser-known names from various scenes that deserve to be brought into the spotlight and rediscovered. You'll rarely find a personality so devoted and passionate about a genre, a source of information with an immense cultural background. Ask Åkerfeldt to talk to you about prog and he'll spend hours sharing details and trivia the way only the most genuine devotees can, in the name of his sincere and generous love for the genre. Ask him specifically for recommendations on Scandinavian prog and his eyes will light up as he rattles off names that are unpronounceable to most of us — great bands that for him are true classics worth rediscovering, deserving to stand alongside the English groups that helped shape the evolution of his music, or more recent talents worth following with trust and esteem: Kebnekaise, Trettioåriga Kriget, Samla Mammas Manna, or, from the '90s onward, also Anekdoten, Änglagård and Landberk — big names in Sweden but all too often forgotten elsewhere. And one of his favorite records is the self-titled album by the Danish band Culpeper's Orchard.

For Åkerfeldt, progressive rock is first and foremost artistic freedom, creativity, standing apart from the crowd, change. If needed, it's also irony, of which he's always well stocked. But above all, it's a series of open doors to many different worlds. He put it this way in an interview from October 30, 2015 with Loudersound: "Both as a guitarist and as a songwriter, prog made me realize it was okay not to get stuck on just one genre. It was more interesting to mix things up a bit, which is what we started doing with Opeth back then. I always loved the warm production they had back in the day, compared to the big metal productions of the '80s. Listening to progressive rock also got me interested in other kinds of music, like jazz, fusion and all that cool stuff, which I can actually hear in some of these bands, like, 'oh, this is just like Miles Davis!' or something like that. It really helped me develop my musical taste." And he goes on: "I think I'm a bit of a rebel in that sense, I've always had a problem with any kind of authority and with people saying things have to be a certain way." And then: "I'm a traditionalist in the other sense, in that if I'm listening to Maiden I wouldn't want them to make a techno record. But that's really a problem for me, because I just can't stick to one specific style for long. In the end, that's what makes Opeth a progressive band, in the true sense of the word. There are bands like us, Porcupine Tree and Radiohead who simply change every time, which is what I prefer, to be honest. It's fine with me if you call us a prog band right now, but maybe next time we'll be something else. And I guess that's exactly what prog means!"

With this musical background behind him, in the first half of the '90s Åkerfeldt set out his vision of what Opeth should be, first writing death-metal songs longer, more complex and more elaborate than the norm (for example "Into The Frost Of Winter" and "Eternal Soul Torture", 6- and 8-minute demos that are filthy, raw and thoroughly stereotypical — this is a still very immature Opeth), then gradually beginning to write long, multifaceted tracks and increasingly weaving in numerous acoustic and atmospheric influences, eventually forging a brand new style. It was still a rough process at the time, but one that would steadily refine itself over the course of the band's career.

The debut album Orchid was recorded in 1994, but since the Candlelight label was still small and not particularly well organized, it was only released in 1995. Organizational and financial issues would be a constant problem for early Opeth. The cover shows two vividly saturated pink orchids against a completely black background, as if to represent elegance amid darkness. Production was handled by a friend of Åkerfeldt's with whom he shared a great deal in common: Dan Swanö, the multi-instrumentalist leader of Edge of Sanity, another death-metal band that was in the process of blending the genre with prog and other sounds in an open, eclectic way (in their case, AOR, heavy metal and even gothic rock). The two constantly traded ideas and suggestions, as well as progressive-rock listening tips they were both obsessed with.

Due to the limited resources available, the sound Swanö chose for the recordings at his Unisound studios is rough and dirty, with the drums poorly captured (in particular, the double-pedal work sounds annoyingly muffled and buries the guitars), and the clean vocal parts are given very little prominence (mixed at far too low a volume). The record opens with the twin-guitar harmonies of "In Mist She Was Standing", which recall the legacy of British heavy metal and then unfold over 14 minutes of duets between distorted and acoustic guitar, maintaining a certain balance between aggression and melody. The tremolo distortion and icy atmospheres also immediately highlight the contribution of black metal to this early incarnation of Opeth, with particular points of contact with fellow countrymen Dissection, a band so seminal to many early-90s Swedish death-metal acts that they're explicitly name-checked in the credits.

The following track, "Under The Weeping Moon", instead opens as a spectral hybrid of prog, folk-rock and doom metal, somewhere between Camel, Comus and Candlemass; it then spills into a cerebral death-metal outburst reminiscent of Morbid Angel and Atheist, before finally giving way to an arpeggiated coda where Åkerfeldt's clean vocals take over. Although the songwriting still shows a bit of immaturity, this is an absolutely personal style, with few possible comparisons, and it's ultimately its rough sound and sprawling arrangements that manage to immediately grab the attention of the Scandinavian metal niche.

The two best tracks are probably "Forest Of October", 13 minutes balanced between aggression, desolation and cold, featuring a heart-pounding solo that nods to the best of technical death metal, along with a moving electric/acoustic middle section; and "The Apostle In Triumph", 13 minutes that open as a thrilling folk ballad before turning into an infernal speed/black-metal march worthy of Celtic Frost.

There's no shortage of heavy piano chords that morph into romantic flourishes (the brief interlude "Silhouette"); bass-and-guitar gallops reminiscent of Iron Maiden if they had growled vocals and were crossed with the early, sulfurous At The Gates ("The Twilight Is My Robe", 11 minutes).

The main flaws of Orchid lie in the fact that the whole thing still sounds like a collage of disparate ideas and passages, yet to be effectively fused into a cohesive, spontaneous style, and in the fact that the various sections of the songs tend to be overly repetitive in their sequencing, even monotonous in the acoustic digressions. Even the length of the tracks is more the result of wordiness than of genuine development over the distance.

Åkerfeldt, in short, has plenty of ideas, but still has to find the right balance to turn them into masterpieces. The talent is there, though, and in the European underground the record starts getting people talking.

In 1996, Åkerfeldt returned the favor to Swanö, taking part in Edge of Sanity's excellent "Crimson" as a guitarist and recording some backing vocal lines. Right after that, he collaborated with another friend, Jonas Renkse of Katatonia (who, Mikael recalls, "hated prog and preferred the Cure", to the point that he once handed Mikael a Porcupine Tree record he hadn't liked, sparking something in Mikael that we'll come back to shortly). Renkse was the band's singer, but had developed vocal cord problems, so Åkerfeldt stepped in to record the growled vocal parts on the tragic, aching "Brave Murder Day", a gem of death/doom metal (once again produced by the ever-present Dan Swanö). From then on, Renkse would return to the mic, but only with clean vocals. There would be other collaborations down the line too, in side projects, but for now let's get back to Opeth.

That same year, the magnificent Morningrise was recorded and, with perfect timing, released. For many, it's already the band's first masterpiece, if not the unmatched peak of the Swedes' career. For others it isn't quite there yet, since it still carries over some of the traits that weighed down the debut, but it's unquestionably an excellent step forward. As far as this writer is concerned, part of its charm lies precisely in these contrasts, and it's especially interesting to weigh its strengths (many) against its weaknesses (few) in light of what the band would go on to achieve, especially given the stylistic evolution still to come. The album was, in fact, composed for the most part during the waiting period before Orchid was released, and even in the years before that, with ideas dating back as far as 1992; in that sense, the style is the same, only expanded and made even more ambitious.

Personal preferences aside, it's an objective fact that Opeth were trying to outdo themselves even further. There are only five tracks, but all of them are suites running at least 10 minutes, for a total listening time of about an hour. The monumental "Black Rose Immortal" even exceeds 20 minutes, a continuous emotional and stylistic rollercoaster that squares the Opeth sound as it stood up to this point, where the prog-metal and acoustic/folk dimensions intertwine chaotically and magnificently with death-metal heaviness.

If the black-metal influences on the previous album could mostly be traced back to Dissection, at this point we should also point to nearby Norway's early Ulver, who in that same period, with "Bergtatt" (1995), were showing a similar approach in terms of atmosphere, as well as in the sonic aesthetic of moving effortlessly from extreme metal to Nordic folk (later adopted wholesale on "Kveldssanger", also in 1996).

Despite its length, the arrangements on Morningrise are actually more polished, with a better balance between the instruments. "Advent" is unsettling and sublime in the way it merges Judas Priest and Death, "The Night And The Silent Water" navigates with ease through hammering sounds that, in the distance, bring out the black-metal aftertaste of early Opeth, "Nectar" paints springtime landscapes in its acoustic passages, torn open only by death-metal outbursts. Then there's the closing "To Bid You Farewell", essentially an acoustic folk ballad, marked by Åkerfeldt's mournful voice, a small, elongated gem of melancholy and solitude dealing with the theme of separation.

We walked into the night

Am I to bid you farewell?

Why can’t you see that I try?

When every tear I shed, is for you

Another improvement is that Swanö's production keeps the same raw, icy sound as the previous album, but fixes the mixing issues: the drums never sound disconnected from the rest of the instruments, there's no double-pedal drowning everything out, and the clean vocal parts sit at just the right volume. The bass also finds more room, definitely a plus. The cover is a slightly blurred black-and-white photo of a pre-neoclassical-style bridge on the grounds of Prior Park in Bath, England, conveying a sense of desolation and solitude, the atmosphere of a ghost story.

Morningrise was a huge success in the underground, and many magazines immediately hailed it as a progressive-metal and death-metal masterpiece, although at the time such recognition brought the Swedes only limited satisfaction, since money was scarce, the label couldn't afford much promotion, and the band members had to make plenty of sacrifices just to make ends meet. What's more, Åkerfeldt wasn't actually very happy with the album, and felt that some passages were unlistenable (as he would recount in the 2003 DVD "Lamentations"). What drove him most in writing new songs was the need to give the arrangements a fresh, sharper, more cohesive cut.

Meanwhile, personal friction with the other band members resurfaced. Åkerfeldt had forged an effective partnership with guitarist Lindgren, who by now was something of his right-hand man, with great understanding and complicity between them in splitting the guitar parts on the songs (Lindgren would even sporadically contribute to a few songs otherwise credited solely to Åkerfeldt). However, his relationship with bassist De Farfalla soured over personal matters, leading to his being kicked out in 1997 after a run of shows. Just as had happened when De Farfalla joined the band, Åkerfeldt didn't inform drummer Nordin, who, offended, decided to quit the group.

Åkerfeldt consequently placed an ad and replaced the two members with two other excellent musicians, both children of Uruguayan immigrants: Martín Méndez and Martín López respectively (the latter had just recorded "Once Sent From the Golden Hall", the debut album by Amon Amarth). They were young, not even twenty yet, had impressed at the auditions with their technical skill, and above all didn't challenge Åkerfeldt's role. It was the start of a new phase for Opeth.

Melodic refinement and ongoing maturation

The following work, My Arms, Your Hearse (the title is a line from "Drip, Drip" by Comus), was released in 1998. It's a natural continuation of the band's sound along the new path Åkerfeldt wanted to pursue. Alongside the more polished arrangements comes a decisive move toward synthesis: no track reaches 10 minutes, there are even short interludes, and the melodies become more direct and darker. This doesn't compromise the complexity of the songwriting, which actually proves even more technical, as well as more compact. This time Opeth offer direct, intense songs with a grim aftertaste, rather than long, elaborate suites. This also brings the band's death-metal side to the fore, but with an approach much closer to the American take on the genre—technical and visceral—rather than the icy, typically Swedish one of the previous two albums. The progressive-metal component is also more concise.

The songs flow into one another extremely smoothly, with almost every track leading directly into the next: among the standouts, "April Ethereal" is a furious avalanche of guitar and drum riffs, built around Åkerfeldt's ferocious, desperate growl, never so deep and otherworldly; "When" is more harrowing than ever, yet without giving up the crystalline class that underpins these desperate atmospheres.

The album's peak is arguably "Demon Of The Fall", a truly disorienting track, thanks not so much to sheer violence in itself as to an incredible pursuit of sound, turning into a distorted earthquake that overwhelms the listener. "Demon Of The Fall" then flows into an epic coda, which dissolves into "Credence", a mournful slowdown where very dark acoustic guitars create the perfect backdrop for intoning decadent words. Opeth are by no means monolithic, and they shift moods as freely as they shift tempos.

"Karma" is furious and savage, the darkest peak of the album, featuring some of the most malevolent, infernal riffs the band ever wrote, only to give way to the brief "Epilogue", an instrumental driven by melodic guitars and Hammond organ in a nostalgic nod to the '70s. The acoustic and clean-vocal passages throughout the album are brief complements to the more violent riffing, or atmospheric interludes built around songs structured that way, and they're less dominant than on the first two albums, where entire sections were devoted to such digressions. That said, this doesn't make them any less important to the album's balance: it's precisely this interplay of contrasts between heaviness and softness that makes the Opeth sound so fascinating and distinctive.

The sound is dark, clean and very catchy, thanks to the fact that production this time passed to Fredrik Nordström at his Studio Fredman, one of the masterminds behind the Swedish sound of that era, who brings out the best in both vocals and instruments (assisted by Anders Fridén of In Flames as a collaborator). The atmosphere pairs perfectly with the cover art, a retouched photo of a Swedish forest: the sky is a saturated, chilling blue, the trees are pitch-black, creating a stark contrast in which details blur away entirely: a single mass that swallows up the viewer; the foreground grass is an unsettling reddish-brown; at the centre, a mysterious figure dressed in black blends into the trees, except for its small grey face. It's a dark, macabre scene.

The lyrics are interesting because they're organised as a story whose steps are divided up among the songs, and each one mentions the title of the next song at its close. My Arms, Your Hearse is a concept album: it tells of a ghost who remains trapped on Earth, tormented by what the people close to him think of him now that he's dead; in particular, he's afflicted because he mistakenly believes that the woman he loved in life isn't sufficiently grieved by his passing. He searches for a year to influence her behaviour, but only succeeds in scaring her to death. After this tragedy, he tries to reunite his spirit with hers, but must give up and accept that it's impossible, feeling emotions such as terror, despair and, finally, resignation. It's at this point that he understands the futility of his intentions, and passes on to the other world in peace.

If My Arms, Your Hearse is viscerally steeped in death metal, without ever abandoning progressive-metal structures and complexity, Still Life, released the following year, is instead more open to clean vocals, acoustic contaminations, soft passages and prog-rock. These traits run through the album even at its most extreme moments, lending it a uniquely melodic charge and introducing peculiar effects that would become the band's trademark (in particular, certain reverbed guitar sliding notes that seem to weep in the distance, comparable to the closing section of Death's "Perennial Quest"), layering electric and acoustic guitar within the same section with ever-greater fluency.

Another new development is the role of the clean vocals: previously they were mainly paired with the calmer moments, rarely with the more aggressive, guitar-driven ones, standing clearly apart from the growling. This time, however, Åkerfeldt experiments more frequently with using them in the heaviest passages, staging an unpredictable alternation with the roared vocals. To be precise, the two alternate unpredictably except during the effective emotional climaxes, which are generally tied to the use of clean vocals, and the combination comes across with skilful naturalness (hinting at itself throughout the thoroughly immersive listen).

The opening "The Moor" references Camel's "The Great Marsh" not only in its title but also in its opening phrasing, a fairly explicit tribute that shows Opeth to be as tied to the past as they are projected into the future. "Godhead's Lament" starts out as one of the most aggressive tracks, before making room for some of the most thrilling melodic riffs in the band's history, a magnetic vocal in the near-chorus, and a sensational acoustic section. "Benighted" is hushed and subdued, as is "Face Of Melinda", both almost decadent ballads. "Moonlapse Vertigo" captivates with its reverbs and harmonies, while "Serenity Painted Death" is obsessive, dark and alienating, before turning into intriguing vintage acoustic prog and showing off an irresistible solo – a combination reminiscent of Wishbone Ash. "White Cluster" is equally captivating in the end, powerful and expressive, culminating in an arabesque-tinged prog-death.

Searching my way to perplexion

The gleam of her eyes

In that moment she knew

The songs' lengths vary, from 5 to 11 minutes, striking a new balance compared with the extremes reached on the previous two albums. This time the cover is a painting by Travis Smith (who begins his fruitful collaboration with the band here), dominated by the contrast between the dark tones of autumn vegetation and the bright red glowing in the distance, reflected on a lake where a woman in mourning weeps. The atmospheres are indeed warmer, but no less unsettling – if anything, they're even more dramatic. Instead of spring ghosts and autumn demons, this time the album's concept tells of a man banished from his medieval village for his lack of faith. The protagonist has long been away, but returns to reunite with his bride, Melinda, the only one who professes love for him, but who is murdered for it by the other villagers, who see her as an ally of a heretic. The protagonist, blinded by rage, avenges himself in the blood of those responsible; he is then captured in turn and sentenced to death. After being beheaded, he is reunited with his beloved in the afterlife. It's another macabre tale, bearing both similarities and differences with the one on the previous album; in particular, it's the bittersweet ending that now seems to be a recurring trait of Åkerfeldt's lyrics.

This violence in the story seems almost at odds with the album's more subdued sounds, but it's an illusion: the lesser heaviness doesn't prevent it from painting psychologically tense scenarios, arising from its focus on earthly matters (religious conflict, marginalisation, hatred and social contempt) that give Still Life its narrative strength. It's a spectacular album, as well as Opeth's greatest success up to this point. It also marks the band's transition, settling temporarily with the Peaceville label before finally landing at Music for Nations, a double move that opens up new horizons for Opeth thanks to greater funding and promotion: this hint of financial stability proves important for the band, as it allows them to focus on the music with greater calm and harmony.

This stylistic and qualitative evolution reaches its peak in 2001 with Blackwater Park, the band's most thrilling, rich and inspired work, as well as its most successful, finally launching Opeth onto the international stage thanks to sales figures (which allow the band to support themselves through music alone, without needing other jobs, and even to afford a manager). A landmark of its generation, as confirmed by the enthusiastic reception from the trade press. The title is yet another prog reference, this time to a German band of the same name that released only one album, "Dirt Box", in 1972. The cover is again the work of Travis Smith, who plays with greyscale to create what looks like a rock carving, depicting dead trees stretched out like scythes in a swamp, and a group of shadows in the distance.

Overall, Blackwater Park is the summation of everything the Swedes had done up to that point, extraordinarily meticulous and distinctive in its arrangements and production work, in which Fredrik Nordström outdoes himself. But credit for the latter must be shared with someone else: alongside him, Steven Wilson of Porcupine Tree is brought in to collaborate, not only as co-producer but also as an additional supporting musician. For Åkerfeldt, the start of his collaboration with Wilson is a genuine turning point that, in his words, opens a new phase in Opeth's career. His direct touch is felt above all in the use of supporting keyboards and in certain background atmospheres. But it's his indirect role that matters most, as Åkerfeldt explained in an interview for Metalitalia on 19 July 2021: "His contribution was fundamental for 'Blackwater Park', because he taught us that we could experiment, that we had no reason to be afraid. Back then we still had more than one foot in the death metal world, where there are rules you're not supposed to break, except at your own risk. Steven made us understand that this record was ours and nobody else's, and that we could do whatever we wanted. That lesson of his pushed us to experiment even more, to develop musical ideas we'd otherwise have set aside, ideas that weren't common twenty years ago. I think 'Blackwater Park' sounds different from what was being written at the time, it has a whole other level of complexity."

Thus, a desire to experiment, sonic extremism, refinement, complexity, atmosphere and melody merge in unmatched balance. The already intense and majestic "The Leper Affinity", with its heart-pounding introduction, is merely an exciting calling card compared to "Bleak", powerful, visceral and featuring the most moving solo Åkerfeldt ever wrote. "Harvest" is a brisk, ethereal acoustic ballad that fully captures the imagery of a bucolic scene tinged with autumn mist and Nordic cold. "The Drapery Falls", so reverb-laden and centred on atmospheric interplay and moving high notes, recalls Pink Floyd steeped in death metal. "Dirge For November" opens mournful and afflicted, before unleashing violence and power. "The Funeral Portrait" is a brisk ride that puts heaviness at the service of immediacy. The closing title track marks an elegant, lengthy farewell in midtempo, where cadenced riffs accompany a harrowing, tormented growl.

Confessor of the tragedies in man

Lurking in the core of us all

The last dying call for the ever lost

There's no concept this time, the songs are all thematically self-contained. But the sense of ethereal disorientation, the anger, the passion, the melancholy that pervade them are traits that stem precisely from this choice, because Mikael chose to make each song utterly personal and introspective rather than tying them to a narrative. He draws inspiration from the negative events of his life, for which music acts as catharsis. In an interview on 12 September 2001 for Ultimate Metal, he explains: "It's not a concept, but you could say there's a connection between the songs because they're all pretty much about the same subject, basically just personal thoughts pulled from some dark corner of my subconscious. I think everyone has these kinds of dark thoughts, and this time I basically pulled them out for the lyrics. I feel more and more reclusive from everything and everyone. I don't enjoy people's company anymore. I'm very suspicious. I've had strange experiences over the last two years, I don't trust people anymore, I always get the feeling they just want something in return. Sometimes I'm more or less disgusted by it. It's not as bad as it sounds, I've added a bit of spice to the lyrics to make them more interesting. In general I despise people. It might sound very strange, I'm not unsociable, in fact I'm quite sociable. But it's just one of those feelings you sometimes get: it feels like everyone's a fucking idiot."

There's often debate about the contrast between more spontaneous, instinctive music, sometimes seen as immature, and more elaborate, "constructed" music, sometimes criticised as contrived. These are two forcibly dichotomous stereotypes, yet it's worth recalling them, because Blackwater Park represents the union of the best elements of both archetypes: it's the result of letting one's most genuine personality and creativity run free, and then carrying out the most meticulous, thorough polishing work possible (in the arrangements, in the sounds). A mature, intense masterpiece, technical and emotional, dynamic, multifaceted.

Meanwhile, Mikael Åkerfeldt joins Dan Swanö, Jonas Renkse and Anders Nystrom to form Bloodbath. The quartet releases "Resurrection Through Carnage" in early 2002, a work of pure, old-school death metal, uncompromising, macabre and oppressive, but above all deliberately stereotyped for parodic purposes. Åkerfeldt, after all, has always had a certain sense of humour, repeatedly showing on various occasions that he doesn't always take himself too seriously and that he can play along when needed. The record is violent, visceral and surprisingly accessible, despite the "chainsaw" distortion (typical of early-90s Swedish death metal, which it constantly pays homage to) and the tuning lowered by 5 semitones. There are huge differences from the Opeth sound, and every progressive element is set aside. Åkerfeldt will later hand over his spot to Peter Tägtren (Hypocrisy, Pain) in order to focus on Opeth.

I am the Eros Ramazzotti of Sweden. And also a genius when it comes to modern music

Towards an inevitable turning point

Right after the release of this side project/divertissement, Åkerfeldt shuts himself away in isolation, composing a remarkable amount of music. It's a difficult period for him, which he works through guitar in hand, writing melodies and musical foundations like never before. But he writes all kinds: his intention is to create something very dark and very heavy, something that pushes the path of the last three years to an extreme, but what comes out, following his inspiration, turns out to be largely melodic and contemplative instead. The brilliant musician is unsure what to do, because he feels it's a collection of riffs, arrangements and melodies that are too different from one another. His friend Jonas Renkse helps him out, suggesting he record everything in the same session and make two complementary albums, like two sides of the same coin. Åkerfeldt likes the idea so much that he makes the decision without consulting his bandmates (who nonetheless welcome the idea) or the label (which instead needs convincing, on the promise that everything will be completed within the time needed to record a single album, a choice that will lead to gruelling recording sessions). The idea of a double CD, in turn, becomes two albums released close together.

This is how Deliverance came about, released in autumn 2002. The title references a famous 1972 film by John Boorman (review here on OndaCinema), released in Italy under the title "Un tranquillo weekend di paura"; specifically, Åkerfeldt dedicates the album to the pain and suffering endured by the character of Bobby Trippe, who is tortured, humiliated and raped at the start of the film. The cover, again by trusty Travis Smith, recalls the slightly blurred black-and-white style of Morningrise, but is actually a painting made to look like a remarkably convincing period photograph. The subject is a Victorian bedroom, dark, desolate and spectral. What stands out most are the doll on the bed, which sinisterly resembles a corpse, and the reflection in a mirror of what looks like a ghost. The title takes on a symbolic, almost religious meaning, suggesting - together with the cover - the idea of a soul abandoning its mortal remains.

The record is heavy and violent, the most extreme since 1998, and in some ways harks back to the band's early days in terms of song length (all over ten minutes except for a brief interlude) and the cold sound. Unfortunately the production takes a step backwards, leaving the guitars sounding more scratchy and the drums less balanced with the rest of the instruments. This is mostly down to a number of problems that plagued the recording sessions: the band is forced to move from Nacksving Studios, initially rented for the occasion, back to Fredman; instruments and equipment break down or malfunction; there's confusion over production duties, with Wilson only stepping in at the final stages (according to Åkerfeldt, he "saved the record") and unable to contribute to the mixing, which is instead handled by another well-known sound engineer, Andy Sneap; and finally, the tight schedule leaves everyone a little on edge.

The songs themselves, though, are still fantastic: "Wreath" is an immediate, direct outburst that seems to set aside the delicate sweet-and-sour balance of the band's recent work, save for some tasty exotic percussion woven into it, vaguely reminiscent of Tool. The title track "Deliverance" is even more impulsive and bleak, though it leaves room for an aching, tense melodic release.

"Master's Apprentice" (another tribute-title, this time to an Australian hard-prog band) is particularly macabre, even if the combination of a slow riff with full-throttle double bass drumming feels a bit jarring. "By The Pain I See In Others", finally, is the gem of the album, aching and devastating, punctuated by bizarre traveling-circus sounds that only heighten the sense of madness and alienation, and once again by exotic instruments (percussion, maracas).

The only exceptions to this ferocity are the spectral piano-and-guitar ballad "A Fair Judgement", ten enthralling, dark minutes building to a funereal crescendo, and the brief acoustic interlude "For Absent Friends" (which references the Genesis song of the same name by Genesis). Otherwise, this is more a death metal record than a prog one, even if it retains the technical flourishes and long running times of previous songs. The tracks aren't always fully multifaceted - they tend more to stretch out and prolong scathing choruses and hammering riffs, adding classy connective passages to keep things coherent and continuous. In the end, a hidden track even turns up.

In spring 2003, meanwhile, came Damnation, the companion record. There isn't a trace of metal here: it's a melancholy, funereal prog-rock work, yet one with an easily digestible melodic touch, partly because it's fundamentally schematic and linear. Damnation draws on vintage 70s prog as well as the more recent, more accessible sound of Porcupine Tree (and therefore, indirectly, of Pink Floyd, to whom the English band owes a great deal, and whose echo can indeed often be felt throughout the record). Wilson is practically a fifth member here, since he handles not only production and mixing but also all the keyboards and organs, especially the ever-present mellotron, which gives the songs a warm, enveloping, very vintage sound. He also writes the lyrics for "Death Whispered A Lullaby". Finally, he has the vocal parts recorded at his own No Man's Land studios, to avoid the problems described above that had plagued the instrumental tracks. The creative and songwriting core, however, remains Åkerfeldt's alone.

The tracks are languid and calm, always pervaded by a deep underlying melancholy. "Windowpane" and "To Rid The Disease" stand out as among the most mournful and bleak; "In My Time Of Need" is one of the most Floyd-like moments after "Death Whispered A Lullaby", which reaches dreamlike, spacious peaks showing just how well the lessons of Gilmour and co. were learned; "Closure", meanwhile, brings the prog-folk influences even further to the fore with excellent results in terms of melodic sense, blending them with exotic, Tool-like percussion. "Hope Leaves" is the sweetest, most touching song of all, without ever losing a certain underlying unease; "Ending Credits" is a bluesy instrumental, but despite its name, the real closer is the atmospheric, nocturnal "Weakness", driven by near-ambient keyboards, timid guitar notes and filtered vocals. Overall, the similarities with Wilson's band are noticeable at the level of arrangements, especially in the acoustic progressions, but the moods and attitude here are more twilight-tinged and decadent, and above all lacking the pop-rock streak that accompanies the English "porcupine". That said, Wilson himself was in turn somewhat influenced by Opeth around the same years. A comparison can be drawn with In Absentia by Porcupine Tree, released the year before, for the sonic similarities and differences in both directions (particularly with tracks like "Lips of Ashes", whose electric guitar effects are very similar).

Damnation takes the metal audience by surprise and splits it in two: generally, progster fans appreciate it and see it as a brave departure from the band's usual standards, while the more purist deathster crowd dismiss it as boring. Veterans of classic prog are also split, between those who find it technically flawless but lacking in bite, and those who appreciate its distinctive melodic streak.

Taste aside, the album remains an important work in Opeth's discography because, although initially conceived as a significant non-metal detour, in hindsight it would prove to be the seed of future drastic decisions made by Åkerfeldt, and in any case it's clear that its sound would find fuller development on the two following records. Smith's cover art acts as a counterpoint to that of Deliverance: still in black and white, but favoring white over black, to the point where the blinding glare of the sun through a window dominates the image. In the foreground stands a doll, shifted to the left; the center of the frame lingers on a table set for tea, like a glimpse of elegance amid the desolation. Surreally, one can also make out the doll's true proportions, which, through an optical illusion, make it appear to be a person - but a dehumanized one.

Damnation was also dedicated to Åkerfeldt's grandmother, who died during the recording sessions.

Deliverance and Damnation were later reissued in 2015 as a double CD, remastered and remixed. The original production, though deemed acceptable after Wilson's last-minute course correction, never fully satisfied the Swedes. Deliverance, in particular, sounds fuller and more full-bodied in the new version, the guitar distortion seems less harsh and more rounded, while the vocal parts come across with more reverb effects applied. On the other hand, this somewhat dilutes the original desolate chill that gave the record its distinctive aura, and the fuller sound is also less crisp. Which version one prefers is mostly a matter of taste. In any case, the reworked record is better balanced in terms of channel mixing, and more hidden sonic details come through. The main change is in the drums, which before were almost too exposed and detached, whereas here the opposite happens, with the volume at times coming across as too low. Damnation is comparatively less altered, with no significant changes noticeable, aside from a slightly warmer sound and a few marginal vocal effects used sparingly. The occasion of the remix is a good excuse to mention a problem, not entirely solved here, that afflicts many records worldwide (not just the originals of these two) and is often discussed among audiophiles - namely, the often excessive compression of the dynamic range. Those who own the vinyl edition report that the situation is better there, with an overall sound less granite-like than on CD.

It doesn't take long for Opeth to head back into the studio, though with a few changes. First of all, Steven Wilson is unable to collaborate, both because he's too busy with his own projects and because Mikael Åkerfeldt wants to experiment with new approaches and new kinds of sounds. Struck by inspiration, he begins sowing the first seeds of the new album, Ghost Reveries. Per Wiberg, already a live collaborator, is officially recruited as keyboardist - the first new permanent member since 1997, in a lineup that has remained remarkably stable. His role centers mainly on the Hammond organ, and secondarily on the Moog synthesizer and piano, but he also handles the mellotron, which he shares duties on with Åkerfeldt; as a result, the arrangements end up sounding similar to Damnation, but applied to metal compositions, as on previous records.

Meanwhile, the label Music for Nations runs into financial trouble. The band thus signs with the more solid Roadrunner, a Warner division already well known for distributing famous rock and metal names, especially American ones. The prospect is one of even wider promotion and improved earnings.

Ghost Reveries is recorded at Jens Bogren's Fascination Street Studios and is, in effect, a summary of the previous chapters, with a few tweaks to the arrangements. The sonic extremes and the growling return, but the usual prog-death combination shows far more melodic openings (a legacy of the previous record), and the riffing occasionally takes on a vaguely more rock-leaning, less violent feel. Already the opening title track and the subsequent preview single "The Ghost Of Perdition", where the growling duets in an original way with the Hammond organ, strongly evoking Deep Purple in death-metal form, point to an Opeth that's recognizable but tangibly more accessible (incidentally, a cover of the English band's "Soldier Of Fortune" appears on the limited edition of the record). The other single, "The Grand Conjuration", has an unusually radio-friendly attitude, built on the usual multifaceted structure typical of the Opeth style, brushing up against the heavier side of King Crimson in its closing section.

The sounds are dark but warm, deliberately vintage in tone at several points, far from the spectral atmospheres of Deliverance, but with distortion that's deliberately dirtier than on Blackwater Park. The cover shows lit candles in a dark room, in yellow-brown hues; in the distance, light from a church window, against which a shadowy figure is silhouetted. For Åkerfeldt it's "probably the most gothic cover we've ever had", but truth be told, the songs on Ghost Reveries aren't actually all that bleak - if anything, they convey a notable sense of familiarity and vitality.

"Beneath The Mire" also adds exotic touches with its arabesque synthesizer, which blends perfectly with the infernal tone of the growl, before turning nocturnal and enveloping in the subdued bluesy/prog central section. "Atonement" is a pleasant, slightly psychedelic soft track, with gentle guitars recalling the bluesiest side of Led Zeppelin, tribal percussion and vocal filters à-la Tool, acoustic and keyboard layering reminiscent of Camel, and dense atmospheres close to Pink Floyd. Just a preamble before the captivating distorted riffs of the fabulous "Reverie/Harlequin Forest", which show Åkerfeldt truly at ease setting a calm, delicate clean vocal as the track moves along increasingly epic paths, until the terrifying growl returns, immediately cut off by acoustic parentheses. "Hours Of Wealth" again shies away from metallic sounds, playing like the folkiest side of Jethro Tull dipped in Camel atmospheres. The closing "Isolation Years" is a brief, emotional and decadent track, in pure Damnation style.

Ghost Reveries is a work that, even with its emphasis on melody, proves as usual complex and intricate; yet it seems to lack that certain something that made the previous records so memorable. There are two reasons for this: first of all, the riffing, as already mentioned, generally doesn't carry the same power and passion—indeed the band seems more inspired precisely in the non-metal moments, where they focus on atmosphere, and where the distorted guitars sometimes sound bland or out of place; the best moments arise exactly when these are pushed into the background or dropped altogether, making more room for bass, drums and especially keyboards and organ, the latter truly pervasive.

Beyond that, in terms of songwriting the band now seems to settle into the meticulous work of skilled, mature craftsmen, less revolutionary and more mannerist in drawing from hard rock, folk-blues and '70s prog-rock. The songs are all well written and well constructed, simply a bit more derivative in their individual ingredients.

The album is thus praised almost unanimously by critics, and thanks also to the distribution of the new label it achieves decent sales results, but the general perception is that it still ranks a notch below Still Life or Blackwater Park (or even Morningrise for the more traditionalist fans). Repeating oneself, after all, is difficult, and it would be naive to expect it even from them.

Right after the release of Ghost Reveries, Mikael returns to Bloodbath, with whom he releases "The Fathomless Mastery" in 2008: pure, uncompromising death metal, as stereotyped as possible by precise intent. However, the volcanic Swede leaves the band again to focus on Opeth, and also because his vocal cords can no longer sustain growl at this level for an entire album.

Meanwhile, the internal balance that had worked until then among the members of Opeth breaks down for unfortunate external reasons: Martin Lopez leaves the band due to health problems that prevent him from continuing to tour. He is replaced by Martin Axenrot, whom Åkerfeldt had met in Bloodbath, and who had recently become one of the most precise and brutal drummers in Swedish metal. Lopez would later join the Soen project alongside famed American bassist Steve DiGiorgio, offering a style halfway between Opeth and Tool. He's not the only departure: in 2007 Peter Lindgren also leaves, feeling he has lost enthusiasm and inspiration now that Opeth have become a worldwide phenomenon, and unable to keep up with the pace of touring. He is replaced by Fredrik Åkesson of Arch Enemy, the Swedish melodic death metal outfit.

These two new arrivals might suggest a more "pummeling", direct and impactful direction, but let's remember that Opeth is Mikael Åkerfeldt, and it's he who decides the musical direction. Watershed comes out in 2008 and is a work that sharpens the contrast between the metal and non-metal parts, while reducing the death component in the former. The title says it all: a watershed, because—as we'll see—it will be the band's last metal album. Åkerfeldt already has his mind set on progressive rock, wanting to repeat the experience of Damnation, but devoting himself completely to entirely different sounds: not as a side excursion to explore, but as his very heart and trademark. The cover art is ambiguous: a figure seen from behind, seated at a desk in a room steeped in darkness, except for the central window from which a dazzling light pours in. It almost seems to suggest that the figure is looking out onto something new, leaving the darkness behind; a suggestion that indeed fits with the concept of a "watershed".

The album is very melodic, technical and intense, but once again it sounds mannered: a remarkable exercise in style. The arrangements and sounds are similar to the previous album, with the keyboard element scaled back (sounding more like accompaniment) in favor of various atypical instrumental inserts, such as oboe, horn, flute and even strings (adding a never excessive symphonic-prog touch). The best side, as on its predecessor, is the space given to instruments other than guitar, particularly the very muscular rhythm section, on fine form. Its contributions, however, sound more like displays of virtuosity than atmospheric brushstrokes.

The opening track, "Coil", is a short (just 3 minutes) acoustic folk song in which Åkerfeldt duets with the female voice of Nathalie Lorichs, disarming in its simplicity. It flows, however, directly into "Heir Apparent", heavy, dark and murky, an intricate up-and-down of death-metal onslaughts and prog-folk warbling, generating a jarring contrast through the sudden change of tone that then becomes alienating and hallucinogenic. The schizoid "The Lotus Eater" sounds disorienting, between sudden outbursts accompanied by melodic singing, chilling atmospheric breaks, frantic guitar-and-Hammond duels, show-offish or psychedelic instrumental passages, continuous swings between clean singing and growl, or between blastbeat and minimalist digressions. At this point, indeed, Opeth seem to have been infected by a mad, virtuosic and sensational strain of prog, while at the same time wanting to recall their more intimate, subdued side. Part of the credit also goes to Axenrot, who turns in a monstrous performance on drums, extremely technical, precise and colorful.

Then comes "Burden", a long epic ballad marked by Hammond and guitars, which in its closing coda turns unusually dissonant (Åkerfeldt laughs as he finishes playing the out-of-tune classical guitar, and his laughter is repeated and distorted, as if to give the irony an unsettling touch). The single "Porcelain Heart" is dark and spectral, centered on the contrasts between the heavy riffs, the subdued acoustic atmospheres, the disorienting effects of the second guitar and Åkerfeldt's mournful voice. The limited edition of the album includes a bonus track, an alternate version titled "Mellotron Heart", a humorous way of celebrating the arrangement's key instrument, namely the mellotron (alongside a moog).

"Hessian Peel" is initially shy and delicate, with very sweet guitars and a moving flute; then more restless and tense, in a crescendo of Hammond and classical guitar that gives way to electric guitar, while the drums grow increasingly assertive, only to become almost silent before being suddenly torn open by a death-metal onslaught with growl and double bass drum at full throttle. The closer, finally, is "Hex Omega", monolithic yet melodic, as if Black Sabbath were meeting Porcupine Tree.

Starting from the same ingredients, Watershed seems to be at once more maximalist and more minimalist than Ghost Reveries, mixing sweet and savory, and above all managing to recover some of the bite in its harder, more aggressive passages. With both audience and press, the album marks a new success, as well as a personal sales record for Opeth. Many longtime fans turn up their noses, but the band's new following keeps growing. The main difference between the last two albums and the rest of the discography is one of attitude: rather than a metal band venturing into progressive rock and making it their own, it sounds like a '70s prog band treading metal paths.

At this point, Åkerfeldt decides to do the most obvious thing one can do at the height of success, namely leave it all behind, shed his skin, and openly admit he wants to disappoint his fans in order to devote himself entirely to whatever he pleases, whether they like it or not.

Changing Everything to Change Nothing

Change arrives decisive and sensational with Heritage. For Åkerfeldt, metal has for years now been a stagnant, self-indulgent genre, endlessly recycling itself, following the usual clichés and distrusting anyone who tries to dare something different. Mind you, plenty of creative and innovative bands have emerged in recent years, but they represent small niche gems: the majority of metal is judged repetitive, simplistic and an end in itself. In a word, for Åkerfeldt metal has become commercial, no longer possessing the artistic spark it once had. On top of that, his vocal performances are no longer what they used to be, and singing in growl rather than clean vocals grows increasingly difficult for him. Meanwhile his fondness for progressive rock and for paying homage to the classics of the past has grown, and the urge to break away from it all and devote himself to that sound he loves so much, and wants to bring back to life, becomes ever more vivid in him. And what better opportunity to do so than by rebuilding his own music from the ground up?

The title of the new album is once again a mission statement in itself: heritage, legacy. What Opeth gather up, as they dedicate themselves entirely to playing like a 70s prog band, and what they leave behind of their past. The cover art is highly symbolic and evokes the fantastical style of classic prog: at its center stands a tree whose fruits – which a procession is about to harvest – are actually the heads of the current Opeth members; at its base lie fallen heads, or rather skulls, representing former members (in a decidedly undiplomatic touch). One head is in the act of falling: it belongs to keyboardist Per Wiberg, who left the band without ceremony right after the recordings were finished. The tree represents the band's new prog direction and has infernal roots growing from Lucifer himself, representing the extreme metal past they came from.

Heritage is a melodic, semi-acoustic, deeply referential progressive-rock album, totally free of metal parts, drawing heavily on the genre's golden age and on the more recent Swedish scene. Less intricate and whimsical than Watershed, it doesn't give up complexity, but puts it in service of sonic exploration and reflection. Masterfully performed, superbly faithful in sound and arrangements, it's a tribute from start to finish. The problem lies in the overwhelming sense of derivativeness, which strips away personality and distinctiveness. Some tracks sound like they came straight off a Genesis record (like “The Lines In My Hand”), a King Crimson record, or a Jethro Tull one (“Famine” seems to come straight out of “Red”, but with a flute that's blatantly lifted from “Aqualung”).

The most obvious comparison should be with Damnation, but paradoxically that 2003 album sounded more personal, even if less elaborate and polished. The resurrection job here is flawless and even delivers some genuinely evocative moments, not just for its ability to stick to the language of certain bands (above all the epic “Folklore” and the melancholic “Marrow Of The Earth”). It's worth asking, though, where Åkerfeldt's stated aims of free experimentation and progress can actually find fulfillment, if the goal is to recreate a specific sound, a specific feeling, rather than filtering them and bringing them up to date with today's context.

The same holds true for the following Pale Communion, an album that seems built on pre-established archetypes and reproduces them slavishly, with touching nostalgic nods and admirable faithfulness, but once again leaving more than one doubt as to how much sense a band like Opeth playing this kind of music actually makes, when you could just listen to the originals directly. Compared to Heritage, there's a bit more energy, with more virtuosic and direct moments and fewer atmospheric digressions, but the two albums are connected by a common thread. The keyboards this time are handled by Joakim Svalberg, who favors warm, evocative textures.

Some tracks fully embrace the choral quality of Yes (“Eternal Rains Will Come”), others navigate the medieval and epic coordinates of King Crimson (“Cups Of Eternity”, “Voice Of Treason”), or sound like fine tributes to Steve Howe's acoustic guitar work (“Elysian Woes”). There's no shortage of jazz-rock touches either (the fun “Goblin”), grandiose suites in the style of Camel (the excellent “Moon Above, Sun Below”), and long dramatic poems (“Faith in Others”).

Pale Communion is a perfect instruction manual on vintage progressive rock, with its tempo changes, polyrhythms, layered keyboards, arabesque phrasing, quirky sections, and acoustic passages paired with technical solos set against opulent backdrops. A genuinely bold experiment, given the negative reaction from both fans and the label itself (Roadrunner didn't renew the band's contract after this album, and Opeth had to sign with Nuclear Blast). There's no denying that Åkerfeldt proves consistent in pursuing his choice with dedication and full awareness, not caring what others think and focused solely on expressing his own artistic intent.

Still, listening to these last two albums, there's an elephant in the room: the original definition of progressive put forward by Robert Fripp, which Mikael Åkerfeldt himself has claimed and praised, and has wanted to embrace throughout his career – that of music that is free, unbound by borders or dogma, open to cross-contamination, that progresses, innovates and renews itself. One has to wonder, then, whether what amounts to an accurate, genuine and devoted revival of a 40-year-old sound – in short, a tribute – can really be called prog.

2016 brought Sorceress, which tries to revive the Swedish band's creative and emotional verve while staying within the coordinates of the previous two albums, but leaning more toward hard-prog. The opening title track boasts some of the most compelling guitar and organ riffs heard in years, and is probably the most convincing and charismatic track of the bunch. The grit of “The Wilde Flowers” (a title inspired by the former name of Caravan) and of “Chrysalis”, with its guitar attacks backed by organ, recalls the most technical hard-rock of Deep Purple. “A Fleeting Glance” blends British psychedelic folk with guitar work close to Rush and melodies reminiscent of Porcupine Tree, “The Seventh Sojourn” (openly inspired by Family's “Summer '67”) takes on ethnic shades between keyboard arabesques and ethnic percussion, while “Era” is perhaps the catchiest, most direct and immediate track of the set, close to 80s hard & heavy.

The more complex, cerebral side emerges especially in “Strange Brew”, a technical, virtuosic track that squares the most psychedelic Led Zeppelin (anyone say “Dazed And Confused”?), before developing into something more pompous and biting, and finally closing with a spectral, stripped-down coda. Among the more placid moments, worth noting is “Will O' The Wisp”, derived from Jethro Tull's “Dun Ringill”.

Sorceress is perhaps the most “mainstream” album of these “new” Opeth. Some will hear it as partly a metal-free Watershed, others as a more melodic and impactful Heritage, and still others as a more immediate Pale Communion. Accepting that this is simply what Åkerfeldt means to express at this point, Sorceress remains, flaws and inevitable “backward-lookingness” included, a record with its share of enjoyable moments and in all likelihood the best of this new era, even if not quite what many fans were hoping for.

2019 brought In Cauda Venenum, recorded in two versions (Swedish and English). The album confirms the direction of the band's recent work, with tracks that on average run longer (7-8 minutes), often complex and shifting in style, alongside an attitude that has grown more hard & heavy. Opeth, love them or not, are a band of tremendous technical and compositional skill. They prove it throughout, with varied rhythm changes, few metal moments, assorted folk arrangements, and carefully crafted melodies contained within a huge cauldron of prog influences of every kind (from King Crimson to Genesis, from Dream Theater to Italian prog, down to an unexpected nod to Megadeth's “Hangar 18”). On the downside, there's a certain repetitiveness, owing to the tracks' all-too-consolidated – and perhaps overly long – structure.

The almost Petrucci-esque intro with choir on “Dignity” is undoubtedly top-notch, as is everything that follows, with a voice able to constantly shift and adapt to folk atmospheres, hard-rock moments and prog-metal riffs. The lyrics draw on a speech by Swedish social-democratic leader Olof Palme, who was assassinated in 1986 in an attack plotted by members of the Swedish far right. The speech honoring this great leader of the European left speaks of the fear of the future and of loneliness, a recurring theme throughout the album. “Heart In Hand” is another highlight, showcasing a Sabbath-esque riff and a spot-on melody, as well as prodigious technical skill from all the musicians and an ability to let different worlds coexist without any jarring seams.

In the following tracks we find increasingly pompous and grandiose arrangements (the epic symphonic finale of “Next Of Kin”) or overly romantic atmospheres (the 80s pop-metal-style ballad “Lovelorn Crime”). “Universal Truth”, with its imposing keyboards, is decidedly tied to early King Crimson, before heading into distinctly Opeth territory. If we want to find something truly different, we need to venture into the six minutes of “The Garroter”, which opens with an inconclusive Spanish guitar passage that's nonetheless redeemed right after by a jazzy piano-and-guitar rhythm, hints of a substantial musical culture rooted in jazz-rock that never abandons its pursuit of melody.

The closing “All Things Will Pass” plays the card of being epic and heart-wrenching at once, with a powerful yet melancholic riff and lyrics about the alienation of a society of lonely men, immersed in technology, hyperconnected to one another yet closed off in their own micro-worlds.

After a decade spent exploring prog territory that redefined their artistic identity, The Last Will And Testament arrives as Opeth's attempt to reconcile with their metal roots, without giving up the conceptual ambition that has guided their most recent work. This fourteenth studio album marks two significant returns for the band: it's their first concept album since “Still Life” (1999) and their first primarily metal album since the distant “Watershed” (2008), two works that stand as milestones in their discography.

The album, featuring an unusual contribution from Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull, is a journey into the emotional devastation of a post-World War I family, thrown into turmoil by a will that reveals unspeakable secrets. However, despite the rich concept and polished production, the stylistic fusion seems to remain unfinished. While there are moments of great intensity – such as the dynamic layering of "§6" or the epic prog of "§5" – a sense of fragmentation emerges elsewhere, preventing any genuine cohesion between genres. The album's closer, "A Story Never Told", is an evocative folk/prog track free of metal elements, but it feels disconnected from the rest of the work, underlining the lack of a truly compelling synthesis.

Despite its ambitious nature and Opeth's ability to maintain a distinctive sonic identity, The Last Will And Testament suffers from emotional monotony and an excessive rigidity in handling its many influences. More than a step forward, this record seems to represent a pause for reflection, with the band grappling with its own legacy without finding a clear direction. Despite its shortcomings, the work doesn't diminish Opeth's historical relevance or their creative potential: if they manage to synthesize the lessons of their past with their ongoing evolution, they will still be able to give audiences new works worthy of their reputation.

Because if we stop thinking, we will be dead

Contributions by Valerio d’Onofrio (“In Cauda Venenum”), Marco Sgrignoli (“The Last Will And Testament”).

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