A drawback of being the mastermind behind one of metal’s most acclaimed bands is that no matter how much he might want to expand their sound into realms beyond heavy/extreme music, there will always be strong opposition from metal purists to anything new Mikael Åkerfeldt attempts. Metal’s bizarre dichotomy – perpetually seeking new ways to define itself yet still firmly rooted in tradition – is reminiscent of the divide among jazz aficionados in the mid-20th century, when some refused to recognize the artistry of such experimental forms as bebop and free jazz. Or, to put it less diplomatically, metal is still dominated by middle-aged men who like to complain, bitterly and nonstop, about how Opeth singer/maestro Mikael Åkerfeldt abandoned his guttural, growled vocals in favor of clean, melodic singing in 2011.
After 2008’s ferociously heavy Watershed, Åkerfeldt felt as though he’d drawn as much from the extreme metal well as he could and began an experimental period of almost 15 years in which Opeth would venture deep into 1970s progressive rock. The result was an extraordinary period of creativity in which Opeth reinvented themselves with four increasingly adventurous albums: 2011’s Heritage, 2014’s Pale Communion, 2016’s Sorceress, and 2019’s In Cauda Venenum. Each record masterfully balances progressive rock, jazz fusion, and folk with Opeth’s core sound, only with the guitars less overdriven and the arrangements more atmospheric. With Åkerfeldt expanding his vocal range as well. While all four records thrilled a good number of the music critic cognoscenti, a large faction of the metal scene demanded a full return to the old ways as if that was ever a possibility with an artist as perpetually curious as Åkerfeldt.
What Åkerfeldt can do, however, is find a way to bridge all sides of Opeth’s increasingly expansive oeuvre into something concise, cohesive, and new, precisely what he and his bandmates have done on Opeth’s spellbinding 14th album. A Succession-style concept album centering on the will of a wealthy patriarch being read to his children in the wake of his death, The Last Will and Testament is their most focused, disciplined piece of music to date and their heaviest work in more than 15 years. Extreme metal, progressive rock, and chamber music interweave in a way that has never been done before, each seemingly disparate side feeling like a natural fit. It’s so seamless that, for all its visceral power, there’s less of a metal influence than some might think, despite the long-awaited return of Åkerfeldt’s death growl.
Granted, that growl of his is one hell of a trump card, as few in the genre can match the hellish breadth of that sound, and Åkerfeldt uses it throughout his narrative to punctuate the darker thematic elements. He unleashes that voice immediately on “§1”, a rampaging opening track that hearkens back to 2005’s “Ghost of Perdition” while setting the stage for the drama ahead. Joakim Svalberg’s swirling synth, organ, and mellotron arrangements create an unsettling feeling, while new drummer Waltteri Väyrynen quickly proves his worth by making the complex, syncopated drumming sound fluid and natural. The song’s tone is robust and dark, and indeed, the guitars return to the murk and more of classic death metal, but the structure of the track is still in keeping with Opeth’s post-2011 direction, willing to veer into more somber, even abstract movements, which in turn lends even more tension to the track. Just as importantly, it’s an immediately gratifying composition, allowing listeners to settle in for a ride that quickly gets as labyrinthine as you’d expect from such a band.
“§2” mines familiar territory, juxtaposing aggressive death metal with mellower progressive elements. However, Akerfeldt’s command of his songwriting, which is much stronger than 15 years ago, makes this hybrid different. Each little movement accentuates the development in the record’s plot, from the passages indebted to King Crimson’s In the Court of the Crimson King to the traces of Yes and Goblin interspersed here and there. “§3”, which was released this past summer and showcased on Opeth’s fall tour, is the band at its most propulsive, the quintet navigating one of the dizziest prog arrangements Åkerfeldt has ever written. Guitarist Frederik Åkesson, a key member since his addition in 2007, proves his worth on a nimble solo, not missing a beat amidst the controlled chaos.
“§4” offers some of The Last Will and Testament’s most thrilling moments. The gothic death metal movement that comprises the first two minutes suddenly gives way to harp and acoustic guitar, which then shifts into a flute solo by Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson that feels lifted from a Jess Franco film. After a gorgeous solo break by Åkesson and Åkerfeldt, the song erupts into a monumental death metal bridge, but instead of careening toward a climax, Opeth downshift into a more ominous, brooding outro, the lack of resolution lending more tension to the moment.
Väyrynen, whose drumming style is much more relaxed than the departed virtuoso Martin Axenrot, puts on a clinic on “§5”, hitting the many (and do I mean many) brutally difficult passages while maintaining a sense of groove, which, considering the complexity of this wild, Middle Eastern-meets-flamenco-meets-prog song, is a massive achievement in itself. Bassist Martin Mendez, meanwhile, turns in a sterling performance on “§6”, his warm, finger-plucked tone anchoring the lush arrangement.
All the fun of the slowly building plotline comes to a head on the seventh track, as the patriarch’s executor reads the inheritances to the man’s three children. Throughout, Åkerfeldt’s ornate, almost Victorian language adds a deliciously gothic touch to the compositions (“Sullen woes deep in the mire / In essence only mine to bear / Who will reside ’neath the spires / A house to grant an heir”). Atop a menacing, creeping arrangement, truths are revealed, inheritances doled out, and the patriarch takes devilish, posthumous glee in the shocking surprises he has revealed to his surviving family. But a coda at the end, the stunningly pretty “A Story Never Told”, reveals another letter, adding a wicked little twist. Reminiscent of the mellotron-driven ballads King Crimson excelled at more than 50 years ago, it’s as strong as any song on Opeth’s 2003 mellow masterpiece Damnation.
When Opeth released In Cauda Venenum five years ago, it felt like the culmination of an era where all the non-metal sounds the band had been experimenting with musically coalesced in a way that echoed the mastery of earlier, much louder classics as Ghost Reveries and Blackwater Park. The Last Will and Testament is a stunning recalibration by a group that, by incorporating new musical and sonic ingredients for the last decade and a half, has made their palette even richer. With the extreme metal side back alongside their unquenchable thirst for all things 1970s progressive rock, this is a new high-water mark for one of metal’s most acclaimed and beloved bands.