The "White" album, in emulation of THE BEATLES, arrived right on the heels of the "black" one. Nominally the seventh, but in reality the second half of the band's sixth masterpiece. It would be foolish to go on at length here, trying to describe this Music — capital M — in words. If we live to see the day when heavy metal is finally admitted into the halls of conservatories, I'm prepared to swear that OPETH will be a mandatory item in the curriculum.
And why not — it is both intelligent and masterful. Mr. Akerfeldt and company don't merely pluck strings or bang on drums — they paint (precisely paint!) a mood. Gracefully, unobtrusively, in a truly authoritative manner. The acoustic landscapes of "Damnation" after the dense, murky "Deliverance" are a breath of fresh air. Yet we remain in the same room — dimly lit, now submerged in a pale twilight, with a mirror's eye staring into emptiness and a rag doll perched beside a child's crib: "O-oh, sleep my child..." A film projector crackles, reviving squandered memories in the mind.
Music utterly devoid of any pomposity, free from the tiresome foolishness of the assembled followers of HELLOWEEN. Tender, like a lullaby, like the touch of a warm mother's hand in my time of need. One wonders what the lads from PINK FLOYD would say upon learning that their best record was actually made by someone else entirely...
An X.O.-grade euphoria, for those whose ears demand a brief respite. For those whose taste is impeccable and who are unafraid of the man standing as a dark silhouette at the window — the one whose lips whisper: "Farewell..."