Opeth frontman Mikael Åkerfeldt was sitting in a cheap hotel in the unglamorous Derbyshire town of Ripley when he heard Steven Wilson's rough mix of his band's album Damnation for the first time. It was late summer 2002, and Åkerfeldt and guitarist Peter Lindgren were mixing Damnation's heavier sister album, Deliverance, with Andy Sneap at the latter's nearby studio.
"We only had one pair of headphones between us," Åkerfeldt recalls now. "I said to Peter, 'Can I go first?' I listened to it and thought, 'Oh God, I can't believe it's us. It was pretty amazing to me. I got shivers listening to it. I've got shivers thinking about it now." Until that point, Opeth had been viewed as knotty, complex extreme metal band whose signature sound fused blasts of roaring noise with bursts of clean vocals and moments of bucolic beauty. But Deliverance and Damnation unspliced the two constituent parts of their DNA. Where Deliverance (released November 2002) leaned wholly into the heaviness, Damnation (following five months later) was all clean vocals and crystal beauty.
With its sinuous, stripped-down sound and heavy use of Mellotron, Damnation wore the influence of Camel, Nick Drake and King Crimson's quieter moments proudly on the sleeve of its brown corduroy jacket. After a decade of swimming in metal's darker waters, this was Mikael Åkerfeldt's coming-out party as a true-blooded progressive rock fan.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1625747790/1706879462/articles/tdemRbGln1707138899292/8765136178.jpg]
"In a way I think Damnation isn't that unique," says Åkerfeldt. "It's a normal prog rock record. It's not particularly new-sounding in the grand scheme of things, but for Opeth it was completely new and unique." The singer is talking to Prog at his home in Sweden, a few weeks before Damnation gets a slightly belated 20th-anniversary vinyl reissue. He went to see hard rockers Europe play a homecoming show in Stockholm last night and he has the hangover to prove it. But even without the alcohol-induced rough edges, Åkerfeldt still has superhuman levels of self-deprecation. "People give so much love to Damnation," he says wryly at one point. "Even I have to go, 'Yeah, it's alright.' You can't get too carried away." The Opeth that made Damnation had the wind in their sails thanks to the acclaim that greeted their fourth and fifth albums, 1999's Still Life and 2001's prog-metal landmark Blackwater Park. By that point, Åkerfeldt had slid into the role of Opeth's de facto leader ("Pretty much because no one else wanted to do it"). He had a clear idea of what he wanted to do next and it didn't involve making a prog record.
"We said, 'Let's do a super-heavy record," he says. "But as I was writing this heavy stuff, I kept coming up with things that were softer, like [Damnation's opening track] Windowpane.
I was thinking, "That's not good. What do I do? I don't want to write a soft record."" It was Jonas Renkse, singer with fellow Swedes Katatonia, who came up with a solution: make two records. "I thought, 'Hmmm, not a bad idea.' I was very confident in those days: "Two albums? Not a problem.
I've got shitloads of ideas."" For a vintage rock fanatic such as Åkerfeldt, a double album would have been a logical course of action. Except he wanted to keep the heavy material and the quieter material separate and distinct. "I wanted to release them as two different albums on the same day," he says. "I wanted each one to stand on their own two feet." That was easier said than done. Both Guns N' Roses and Bruce Springsteen had released two albums simultaneously. The problem was that Opeth weren't Guns N' Roses or Bruce Springsteen, and their label, Music For Nations, said no.
"They maybe saw it as us wanting to get out of the contract early, like when a band does a deliberately shit album," says Åkerfeldt. "But I was adamant and also not a very good businessman, so I said, 'Let's make these two records count as one album - you get two for the price of one, we won't spend that much more money on recording."" The label grudgingly agreed, but insisted the records would come out separately: the heavier, more metal-friendly Deliverance first, the softer, more risky Damnation a few months later. Åkerfeldt had got his way, albeit with a compromise. But that was the easy part.
Opeth's first choice of studio, Gothenburg's Studio Fredman, run by Still Life co-producer Fredrik Nordström, was being refurbished.
Nordström pointed them in the direction of Nacksving, a cosy former restaurant in the middle of Gothenburg with vaulted ceilings ("Like a monastery," says Åkerfeldt).
Steven Wilson, who had been introduced to Opeth's music a few years earlier and had subsequently produced Blackwater Park, was on board to co-produce the two albums. The band would finish off the records at Wilson's No Man's Land studio in Hemel Hempstead, following a brief stint at the finished Studio Fredman. But at that early stage in Nacksving, the band were left to their own devices.
"Frederik set up the sound and then pissed off," Åkerfeldt says. "No one else was there, so Peter and I were sitting there with two-inch tapes, wondering how the hell to do it." Still, Åkerfeldt was feeling cocky. They'd written most of the last two albums in the studio, so why change a winning formula? "I don't think I had a single finished idea when we went into Nacksving," says the frontman, who shouldered the burden of songwriting on his own. "And we didn't rehearse, either."
That's when the scale of the task began to dawn on him. Åkerfeldt had elected to record the heavy songs for Deliverance first, followed by Damnation's quieter material. But getting the former out of the way was a tough ask.
"With Deliverance I was writing during the night and recording during the day, chainsmoking cigarettes, sleeping on the studio floor," he says. "I was tired and not inspired.
I just wanted to get it out the way." It didn't help that Opeth themselves were starting to come apart at the seams. Peter Lindgren, who had been in the band since 1991, and drummer Martin Lopez were distracted, which added to Åkerfeldt's stress.
"Peter pissed off right as we were about to start recording the guitars: 'I'm going to a party, I'll be away for a week or two. I guess he lost interest. He didn't really play rhythm guitar on the records. I did most of it because he wasn't there." (Lindgren and Lopez would make last one more album, 2005's Ghost Reveries, before departing).
Despite it being largely recorded in the same studio in the same time frame, Damnation would be different in every respect. The stresses that seemed so all-encompassing that they turned Åkerfeldt's shit grey at one point dissipated. "Once Deliverance was out of the way, it was [relieved], 'Finally...".
Where Deliverance was as heavy as granite and as intense as a blast furnace, its companion album was stripped down and graceful.
Åkerfeldt cites cult Swedish rock band Paatos as a key influence on Damnat...
"We only had one pair of headphones between us," Åkerfeldt recalls now. "I said to Peter, 'Can I go first?' I listened to it and thought, 'Oh God, I can't believe it's us. It was pretty amazing to me. I got shivers listening to it. I've got shivers thinking about it now." Until that point, Opeth had been viewed as knotty, complex extreme metal band whose signature sound fused blasts of roaring noise with bursts of clean vocals and moments of bucolic beauty. But Deliverance and Damnation unspliced the two constituent parts of their DNA. Where Deliverance (released November 2002) leaned wholly into the heaviness, Damnation (following five months later) was all clean vocals and crystal beauty.
With its sinuous, stripped-down sound and heavy use of Mellotron, Damnation wore the influence of Camel, Nick Drake and King Crimson's quieter moments proudly on the sleeve of its brown corduroy jacket. After a decade of swimming in metal's darker waters, this was Mikael Åkerfeldt's coming-out party as a true-blooded progressive rock fan.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1625747790/1706879462/articles/tdemRbGln1707138899292/8765136178.jpg]
"In a way I think Damnation isn't that unique," says Åkerfeldt. "It's a normal prog rock record. It's not particularly new-sounding in the grand scheme of things, but for Opeth it was completely new and unique." The singer is talking to Prog at his home in Sweden, a few weeks before Damnation gets a slightly belated 20th-anniversary vinyl reissue. He went to see hard rockers Europe play a homecoming show in Stockholm last night and he has the hangover to prove it. But even without the alcohol-induced rough edges, Åkerfeldt still has superhuman levels of self-deprecation. "People give so much love to Damnation," he says wryly at one point. "Even I have to go, 'Yeah, it's alright.' You can't get too carried away." The Opeth that made Damnation had the wind in their sails thanks to the acclaim that greeted their fourth and fifth albums, 1999's Still Life and 2001's prog-metal landmark Blackwater Park. By that point, Åkerfeldt had slid into the role of Opeth's de facto leader ("Pretty much because no one else wanted to do it"). He had a clear idea of what he wanted to do next and it didn't involve making a prog record.
"We said, 'Let's do a super-heavy record," he says. "But as I was writing this heavy stuff, I kept coming up with things that were softer, like [Damnation's opening track] Windowpane.
I was thinking, "That's not good. What do I do? I don't want to write a soft record."" It was Jonas Renkse, singer with fellow Swedes Katatonia, who came up with a solution: make two records. "I thought, 'Hmmm, not a bad idea.' I was very confident in those days: "Two albums? Not a problem.
I've got shitloads of ideas."" For a vintage rock fanatic such as Åkerfeldt, a double album would have been a logical course of action. Except he wanted to keep the heavy material and the quieter material separate and distinct. "I wanted to release them as two different albums on the same day," he says. "I wanted each one to stand on their own two feet." That was easier said than done. Both Guns N' Roses and Bruce Springsteen had released two albums simultaneously. The problem was that Opeth weren't Guns N' Roses or Bruce Springsteen, and their label, Music For Nations, said no.
"They maybe saw it as us wanting to get out of the contract early, like when a band does a deliberately shit album," says Åkerfeldt. "But I was adamant and also not a very good businessman, so I said, 'Let's make these two records count as one album - you get two for the price of one, we won't spend that much more money on recording."" The label grudgingly agreed, but insisted the records would come out separately: the heavier, more metal-friendly Deliverance first, the softer, more risky Damnation a few months later. Åkerfeldt had got his way, albeit with a compromise. But that was the easy part.
Opeth's first choice of studio, Gothenburg's Studio Fredman, run by Still Life co-producer Fredrik Nordström, was being refurbished.
Nordström pointed them in the direction of Nacksving, a cosy former restaurant in the middle of Gothenburg with vaulted ceilings ("Like a monastery," says Åkerfeldt).
Steven Wilson, who had been introduced to Opeth's music a few years earlier and had subsequently produced Blackwater Park, was on board to co-produce the two albums. The band would finish off the records at Wilson's No Man's Land studio in Hemel Hempstead, following a brief stint at the finished Studio Fredman. But at that early stage in Nacksving, the band were left to their own devices.
"Frederik set up the sound and then pissed off," Åkerfeldt says. "No one else was there, so Peter and I were sitting there with two-inch tapes, wondering how the hell to do it." Still, Åkerfeldt was feeling cocky. They'd written most of the last two albums in the studio, so why change a winning formula? "I don't think I had a single finished idea when we went into Nacksving," says the frontman, who shouldered the burden of songwriting on his own. "And we didn't rehearse, either."
That's when the scale of the task began to dawn on him. Åkerfeldt had elected to record the heavy songs for Deliverance first, followed by Damnation's quieter material. But getting the former out of the way was a tough ask.
"With Deliverance I was writing during the night and recording during the day, chainsmoking cigarettes, sleeping on the studio floor," he says. "I was tired and not inspired.
I just wanted to get it out the way." It didn't help that Opeth themselves were starting to come apart at the seams. Peter Lindgren, who had been in the band since 1991, and drummer Martin Lopez were distracted, which added to Åkerfeldt's stress.
"Peter pissed off right as we were about to start recording the guitars: 'I'm going to a party, I'll be away for a week or two. I guess he lost interest. He didn't really play rhythm guitar on the records. I did most of it because he wasn't there." (Lindgren and Lopez would make last one more album, 2005's Ghost Reveries, before departing).
Despite it being largely recorded in the same studio in the same time frame, Damnation would be different in every respect. The stresses that seemed so all-encompassing that they turned Åkerfeldt's shit grey at one point dissipated. "Once Deliverance was out of the way, it was [relieved], 'Finally...".
Where Deliverance was as heavy as granite and as intense as a blast furnace, its companion album was stripped down and graceful.
Åkerfeldt cites cult Swedish rock band Paatos as a key influence on Damnat...
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Prog (Digital) - 1 Issue, Issue 147