It's inevitable, really. From the instant Mikael Åkerfeldt gets a touch of the growlies, precisely 78 seconds into album opener §1 (‘Paragraph 1’), a certain, especially vocal subsect of Opeth’s fanbase will be sent into a frothing ecstasy at the prospect of them returning to the progressive death metal stylings they pioneered at the turn of the millennium. Claims like ‘The best Opeth record since Watershed’ can’t be far behind.
But then, is that all too regressive? Certainly, 2011’s Heritage was controversial for many, the band going full suede patches and purple velvet smoking jackets as they gleefully explored the outer reaches of progdom – or at least what buried obscurities Mikael could unearth on the cheap from Stockholm car boot sales. But that adoration for prog has always been a consistent – and key – element that made the Swedes so fascinating in the first place.
Thankfully, they haven’t lost that on The Last Will And Testament, either. Opeth’s 14th album is just as much a product of the expansive instrumentals they so deftly traded in over the past decade of elbowing their way into venues like Wembley Arena or the Red Rocks Amphitheatre. The result is a best-of-both-worlds application that continues to build on the gorgeously layered, technical chops of 2019’s In Cauda Venenum while reintroducing a bluster and heft that has been absent for 16 years. Nothing is lost; everything regained.
Their first concept album since 1999’s Still Life, The Last Will And Testament is set in a post-World War I society as an affluent family attend the reading of a will. Secrets are unearthed, harsh truths and huge plot twists are revealed, and Mikael revels in poetic lyrics that come off like Edgar Allan Poe trying his hand at writing Miss Marple, or perhaps a dry run to him soundtracking the next Knives Out instalment.
It’s gleefully explored and adds extra character to the songs as instrumentals dip and weave, soar and swoop. It’s giddying and glorious to find Opeth so free and unfettered again. Their longstanding nimble-fingered acoustic segments are in short supply, tellingly only popping up on closer A Story Never Told.
Instead, the thunderous boom of Ghost Of Perdition looms large on both §1 and §2, while the symphonic-by-way-of-Middle-East underpinnings of §3 feel like an obvious endpoint to elements the band tinkered with all the way back on Blackwater Park.
There are also complete left-turns; a baroque, harp-like instrumental gives way to a deviously hooky Ian Anderson flute solo on §4, the Jethro Tull frontman also lending his voice to narration throughout the record, while Europe’s Joey Tempest pops up on §2 – albeit used incredibly subtly, quashing any hopes of a full arena rock revolution.
More than three decades on from their formation, that Opeth can manage to surprise is a massive feat. That their music can still be so innovative and exciting is nothing short of astounding. While The Last Will And Testament certainly feels like a full-circle moment for the band, the application of jazzy instrumentals – skittering drums, odd time signatures, jaunty flutes – suggests there are still paths left unexplored.
Forget Watershed; this is Opeth’s best since the career-making heights of Blackwater Park and Ghost Reveries.
The Last Will And Testament is out November 22 via Reigning Phoenix.
