LIVE FROM THE PIT: Opeth, Grand Magus

“Tragic friendship called inside the fog,” Mikaels voice haunts the venue with the wickedness of a thousand vengeful souls, “pouring venom, brew deceiving.” The forceful words slither into the ears of the devoted, a congregation swaying in a ritualistic delirium. Some are weeping. Parts of the crowd hold hands in a Danse Macabre. Arms go up in religious fervour. It is a garden of unearthly delights, and every soul here partakes in the fruit.

But let’s rewind a bit first. This is OPETH we are talking about here, isn’t it? One of the most consistently high-quality live bands in metal right now? The crème de la crème? The magicians of melancholy? The tsars of guitars? Yes, of course they’re amazing. They have always been amazing. You don’t walk into a Michelin-star restaurant and expect anything less than an unforgettable meal. Before anything else, let us delve into the science of why Opeth these days are amazing. Aside from the fact that they are all top-notch virtuoso musicians with a touring crew tighter than a cave diver’s wet dream, what makes this era of Opeth particularly enthralling is simple: Mikael Åkerfeldt has returned to the inhuman growls of old.

It’s as if every internet squabble over his clean vocals eroded away into obscurity overnight. Truly a sight to behold. And with their new record, “THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT,” the band has created the audio equivalent of a peace treaty. Just enough growling to satisfy the death metal crowd, and plenty of progressive rock elements to please the equally demanding prog fans. It is a tenuous balancing act delivered with unshakable confidence of artisans who know they are untouchable. Their previous jaunt into the UK at Bloodstock last August was a by-request party by all accounts, with performances so strong across the board that the Dio stage could barely contain them. They told us they would return. And now, here they are, standing before us once more, grinning like they know something we don’t. And maybe they do.

Trips to the Roundhouse in Camden always take the form of a pilgrimage. The metalheads march together from the station, a slow pilgrim’s progress towards their circular pantheon. Though once inside, beers flow like holy water, and they all watch as the words “GRAND MAGUS” light the screen in Old English Text MT font. Grand Magus were also at Bloodstock with Opeth a few places back from their performance, and once more they come to support their Swedish brethren. Grand Magus are a band with great riffs, solid musicianship, and frankly – quite catchy songs. Yet this is not enough for the crowd. A few hands go up, but most in attendance are merely undergoing the wait. But they do not have to wait long, because before you can say “die,” the lights have gone down and Opeth are walking out to Aphrodite’s Child.

At once, "§1" begins, and it is a wonderful opener, the ambassador of this new reconciliatory era for the band. It sprawls out across the crowd in great spectral tendrils and Mikael’s voice, a mix of soaring cleans and abyssal growls, commands the night - culminating in the thunderous refrain: “THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF FATHER.” Then comes the real gut-punch. “Master’s Apprentice.” A song so towering, so perfectly wrought in brutality and beauty, that the room tilts on its axis – a very welcome addition to the setlist. It is the highlight of the night, an unholy union of light and dark, and the moment when every soul present remembers - oh yes, Mikael Åkerfeldt still has the greatest growl in metal. Then the leviathan awakens fully with “The Leper Affinity,” its teeth gnawing, its talons raking through the room with Blackwater Park-era fury sounding like it just walked out of the record.

Before “§7” starts, Mikael, ever the sardonic raconteur, muses that it’s “fucking difficult to play.” Humble as ever, they make it look effortless. Especially drummer Waltteri Väyrynen, a man with a phenomenally large shoe-size judging by how quickly he managed to supersede Martin Axenrot. Not a note missed, not a beat out of place, it is drumming par excellence. Proven by someone in the crowd screaming “WALTTERI” whenever there’s a lull, beckoning to their new rhythmic favourite.

The set takes a melancholic turn with “Häxprocess” and “In My Time of Need,” the latter prompting a sea of swaying bodies and misty eyes. And then a deep cut, “The Night and the Silent Water,” a pleasant surprise - gracing the Roundhouse once more -  from “Morningrise.” Mikael’s growls add an air of menace to its gentle tides. The bellowing ever-present undertow beneath the song exhibits the brilliant playing of long-time bassist Martín Méndez. “§3” once again proves the power and legitimacy held by their latest contribution, and then, Opeth’s signature banter returns. Mikael meanders into an anecdote about his schoolboy football days before snapping back into the abyss with “Ghost of Perdition.” And thus, we return to the introduction. Yet it is Fredrik Åkesson’s moment to lord over his guitar, and the crowd responds with metal-induced mania.

With the new closer, “A Story Never Told,” they leave the stage to play heavy metal peek-a-boo. They then dive into the much-loved “Sorceress,” with keyboardist Joakim Svalberg really baring their chops thoroughly. Heads move like bobbles on a dashboard, swaying to the marching rhythm. Finally, they end with the pièce de resistance, “Deliverance.” It is a towering, earth-shattering closer, album-quality material. The incredible and iconic outro pounds out with blaring lights, and then it is over. Unfortunately.

The setlist is structured in a logical way, bookended by predominantly death metal with a middle section focused on the more sombre offerings. A noble gambit, though one that left the middle section slightly burdened under the weight of its own wistful melancholy. The faithful grew restless, shifting in their beer-sticky purgatory, eager for the return of the beast - melodeath head and prog fan alike. It also might be the result of the amount of alcohol being toted around the venue, with Mikael barely able to get a word in sometimes as someone yells something inflammatory at him just to get a reaction less like a deity and more like a beleaguered older brother pestered by his drunk and belligerent siblings. Yet, they brought it hard and heavy as they so consistently do, with a quality that is impossibly hard to match in today’s sphere of touring groups. It leaves Opeth with their greatest competitor – themselves.

In our humble opinion, a more dynamic placement of songs might have served them well. But that is the smallest of quibbles, a nit to pick in the mane of a lion. Opeth are as good – or even better – than many who have seen them say they are, and they have earned every accolade. To miss them on their next jaunt around the grey isles would be to miss a band to tell your children about. We undeniably find ourselves in the midst of an Opeth renaissance. And we follow this age of sonic enlightenment with bated breath, eager for whatever arcane and magnificent thing these Swedish wizards can conjure next. So to answer Mikael’s question posited just before the encore; “Haven’t we been fucking great?!” It is a resounding yes.

Words: Kiarash Golshrani

Photos: Tyler Whiting