Concert Review: Opeth, London, UK, 9 November 2006

A queue of vertical bodies trace the contours of Chalk Farm Road, curving around one obtuse angle, then another, a clear eagerness rising off the pates. Guys slouched, feeling the slight heaviness of prior alcohol consumption, brandishing unwashed Atheist t-shirts and talking about that time Nuclear Assault played a club nearby. Girls posed in the apparel of night-camouflage, harnessed by lace, awash with sultry gothic overtones, innate energies simmering just under the pale skin exterior, like a leather-studded cauldron imprinted with the icons of every beat blasted within a two-mile radius. 

This writhing line of subjects is waiting for the gates of the Camden Roundhouse to be unshackled and thrown open, giving entrance to the venue hosting tonight’s gig, a duo of Opeth and special guests Paradise Lost. The Camden Roundhouse, nestled neatly north of the drug-addled high street of Camden in London’s north, recently refurbished, promises to be an exemplary terrain for the Swedish headliners. The preamble to the event made all the more electrifying with the news that the show is to be filmed for a possible DVD release. How those neck-hairs stood erect at the gospel! 

With the chimes of 7 pm oscillating between disparate inner ears, the entrance was unblocked and in marched the hordes. Tripping over zealous youths mounting an attack on the merchandise stall, we punctured our way into the main arena, a mighty, circular room, already accumulating residents at both bar and stage.  

A thirty-minute period of pre-show set-up and galvanised anticipation and Paradise Lost hit the stage. 

I’ll have to admit to not being too familiar with the British doom/goth band, the varied peaks and troughs of their career, from early-to-mid-'90s acclaim to subsequent criticism in the following years concerning musical direction. However, this provided me the opportunity to sample their tonalities, and in a loud and social environment, hopefully resulting in being finally able to resist aligning them with My Dying Bride as one and the same. 

Playing for approximately an hour, Paradise Lost enthusiastically strode atop the stage like the veterans they are (their debut album, the wittily titled Lost Paradise, was released in 1990). Animated and tight, they threw out their songs with little ostentatious bravura, allowing for the occasional word or two as a song intro. Pilfering knowledge from the head of my accomplice, I learned that much of the set was made up of early material – the aforementioned lauded music. A large emphasis on synth atmosphere and mid-paced riffery meant that the adrenaline glands of much of the audience remained restrained, heads contented in subdued nodding.  

Article Author: Aaron Fleming

Aaron Fleming is a waster and an idler - prone to pomposity - forever enchanted by the filmic and the sonic, words and the aesthetic - given to the most ludicrous appraisal of Culture's finest icons and compositions. He resides in London.

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