As soon as I saw Alter Schlachthof appear on Opeth’s European tour poster, I started crossing off the days on my calendar, counting down to that otherwise meaningless Tuesday, October 14th. A few nights earlier, they had played in my hometown, Zagreb. It was their second time there. Despite having seen Opeth live at least ten times over the years, I’ve never managed to catch them in my own city. By the time they first played there, I was already living in Dresden. And while I’ve always had something against Tuesdays, a day I’ve never quite understood the purpose of, this one completely shattered my theory of cosmic scheduling. Last night, the incomparable Opeth turned that otherwise lifeless weekday into something extraordinary.
The evening opened with Paatos, a Swedish progressive rock quintet whose music feels like a secret passageway between eras. It sounds as if the dreamy melancholy of the seventies met the cinematic moodiness of modern prog. Their sound balances melancholy and mystery, combining warm analog synths, hypnotic basslines, and Petronella Nettermalm’s ethereal vocals gliding above it all. They presented a cross-section of their career, including several songs from their latest album “Ligament,” which came out earlier this year. It’s an album that feels both fragile and defiant, full of emotional weight and understated beauty. On stage, Paatos didn’t need theatrics; they simply let the music breathe, and the result was mesmerizing. Their closing song, sung in Swedish, could easily fit on one of Opeth’s gentler records, carrying that same bittersweet tenderness that lingers in the air long after the last note fades. I hadn’t heard them before, but by the end of their set, I was completely taken in. It wasn’t for everyone. Some in the crowd clearly preferred heavier tones. But for those with a soft spot for introspective, atmospheric prog with a feminine touch, it was a quiet revelation.
During the break, while the stage was being set for Opeth, I wandered through the venue, stretching my legs and visiting the merch stand, just as one does when the fan in them takes over. The guy behind the counter asked the man before me, “Cash or card?” The man said, “Cash.” The vendor sighed and asked, “Does no one use cards here?” The answer came dryly: “No. Welcome to Germany.” I laughed to myself. Some things never change, and that includes the charm of old-school concert logistics.
When the lights finally dimmed and the first atmospheric tones of “§1” from “The Last Will and Testament” filled the room, the crowd collectively exhaled. That slow, shadowy opening pulled everyone straight into Opeth’s world, which was intricate, ominous, and hauntingly beautiful. Then came “Master’s Apprentices,” and suddenly all restraint was gone. The crowd erupted, heads swaying, hands in the air, and voices rising wherever Mikael’s growls allowed them to follow. “The Leper Affinity” carried the wave further, and by the time the new material, “§7,” began, the connection between stage and audience was seamless.
Between songs, Mikael’s humor took over, as always. It was sharp, dry, and self-aware. He mentioned how much German music had influenced Opeth. “Especially Scorpions,” he added with a smirk. Judging by the crowd’s mixed reaction, not everyone shared that opinion, but the playfulness and mutual affection were palpable. Then came one of those spontaneous Opeth moments when Mikael spotted a woman in the audience and asked, “Is it your birthday today?” “Yes, forty-two!” she shouted back. “Ah,” he said, “I see, it’s like Oceans of Time here.” Later, when he was asked for a group hug, Mikael raised an eyebrow and replied, “Don’t you have enough people around you? Im working here, quite busy with rockin’… Maybe later.” The whole hall laughed. It was that perfect blend of humor and humanity that makes Opeth shows so much more than just concerts.
The setlist moved elegantly between eras, seamlessly blending older classics with unexpected surprises. “The Devil’s Orchard” kicked things off with an infectious rhythm and a subtle jazzy undercurrent that immediately engaged the audience. Then came a brief but hilarious performance of “You Suffer,” the Napalm Death cover that lasts a combined three seconds, delivered as a tongue-in-cheek tribute to grindcore history. The crowd enthusiastically joined in on vocals, embracing every absurd second of the moment. To everyone’s delight, the band performed “You Suffer” again – because why not? After the laughter subsided, the haunting “To Rid the Disease” followed, its fragile melodies stilling the entire venue and drawing everyone back into Opeth’s immersive world. You could feel every note sink deeply into the audience. “The Grand Conjuration” came next, a deep and hypnotic piece that held everyone in rapt attention. Then “Demon of the Fall” brought the crowd back to the band’s rawer beginnings with powerful riffs and visceral intensity. “Ghost of Perdition” unleashed the loudest response of the night, with phones raised, heads bowed, and total surrender from the audience. Finally, “Deliverance” brought the set to a cathartic close. That ending, one of the most powerful outros in metal history, hit with precision and fury. When it was over, there was a brief second of stunned silence before the hall exploded into thunderous applause.
The sound at Alter Schlachthof was solid and commanding. It was loud without being muddy. Martín Méndez’s bass was powerful and resonant, giving the room a steady, grounding pulse, while Fredrik Åkesson’s and Mikael Åkerfeldt’s guitars cut through clearly, weaving intricate layers of melody and heaviness. Joakim Svalberg’s keyboards added atmospheric depth, filling every corner of the hall with warmth and texture. Waltteri Väyrynen’s drumming was precise and dynamic, with every cymbal crash and subtle fill audible and perfectly integrated into the mix. Mikael’s vocals soared effortlessly over it all, alternating between growls, clean singing, and whispered passages, commanding attention without ever overwhelming the instruments. Every member had space to shine, and every detail could be savored, leaving the audience completely suspended in the music’s spell.
After thirty-five years, Opeth remain a force that refuses to fade. They are constantly evolving, refining, and challenging themselves. They can make you laugh, cry, and headbang, sometimes all within the same song. Last night in Dresden, they did it all again. It was another show that left me breathless, grateful, and slightly dazed, walking out into the cool October night with “Deliverance” still echoing in my head. Opeth had done it again, and suddenly Tuesdays feel like a day worth keeping.
