Review Summary: Utterly devoid of the progressive magic it tried so hard to capture
Opeth has a long, and storied history; dabbling in the more intricate, drawn out natures of many different genres. It’s only in the last half decade that they’ve descended into what many refer to as a prog-life crisis, paying a little “too” much homage to progressive acts of the 70s and 80s. Despite this, could they have possibly utilized these influences to draft up a coherent, and varied album? They could have, but they dropped the ball harder than an anvil slamming down on a whoopee cushion; this album is brimming with unnecessarily bombastic songwriting, painful stylistic choices, and an overall sense of laziness that not even the band’s experienced musicianship can overcome.
Technical proficiency isn’t everything; as for every passable guitar passage you hear, it awkwardly segments into a forced roundabout of useless, bland verses that are solely meant for Mikael to splurge his vocals onto without care for whatever happens behind them. Speaking of vocals; Mikael’s clean vocal tone sounds like a drunken love child between Geoff Tate post-Dedicated to Chaos, and Tyler Connolly of Theory of a Deadman. He’s attempting so hard to match his “contemporaries” of those past eras, that he ends up sounding like a power metal vocalist wandered into a bluegrass festival, and just decided to wing the crap out of a performance. He barely emotes throughout the songs, and even when he does, it sounds strained as though his vocal chords are degrading. The lyricism is passable, yet there’s no intrigue or point to any of the songs messages.
Hiding from discovery
Staring down into the ground
Had they seen the poison in me
A tide of spite would be found
Moving faster, lingering gaze
Feasting on my sanity
A grain of sand against endless waves
A wish for the slaughter of conformity
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“The Wilde Flowers”
So Opeth, you can write phrases with clichéd, pretty sounding metaphors, but that’s not how you write an album that stacks up to the rest of your discography. The dribble ranges from half-baked metaphors, to lyrical conundrums that leave you wondering “I’m wondering why they took so much lyrical inspiration from Deryck Whibley, are they feeling like casualties of society?”
The production is mind-numbingly overdone, to where the guitars actually sound like distorted keyboards, when they’re not doing out of place, and oddly well produced solos. The instrumental prowess here only serves to further frustrate; due to the fact it’s so sloppily organized, nothing can be consistently enjoyed. Sweeps upon sweeps cascade into dull chugs in what seems like an instant, while complicated drum fills amalgamate with out of place bass rhythms, and kill any sense of actual melodic progression in the song compositions. The only reprieve from the lack of consistency is from the few decent sounding acoustic passages; even then, attempts at such like in “Will O The Wisp” come across as sounding like an Avenged Sevenfold “Seize the Day”, or “So Far Away” scratch take.
This album is a perfect example of what happens when experienced, talented, and respected musicians not only go through the motions, but also experiment with new ways to try and go through the motions. At the end of it all, Opeth’s “Sorceress” is a hailstorm of an album, fluttering down washes of technical songwriting, with none of the organization, or inspiration to make it appealing.
