Review & Photography by Manny Manson for MPM
In the heart of Birmingham, beneath the haunting sprawl of industrial towers, stands the Symphony Hall, its grand architecture an enduring statement to the city’s rich cultural history.
Outside, not far from this revered venue, a bench rests in quiet reverence, an iron and stone memorial to Black Sabbath, the band that helped birth an entire genre from the very darkened alleys of this steel-breathed city. The shadows of the past hang heavy over the crowd gathered this night, as if the spirits of those who forged the path of metal were gathered around, waiting in silent anticipation for what was to come. The night, as brooding as the air of this industrial city, seemed pregnant with expectation.
The house PA rumbled to life, filling the hall with the familiar and dissonant hum of the opening strains of an obscure ZZ Top cover of Jailhouse Rock, a curious and almost ominous choice, perhaps a fleeting tribute to the pulse of rock and roll rebellion that has permeated through every facet of Birmingham’s musical soul. The stage lights flickered, a prelude to the storm that was about to unfold. Grand Magus had arrived.
Grand Magus, hailing from Stockholm, Sweden, are a band whose name conjures visions of myth, magic, and the raw power of heavy metal’s most primal forces. Formed in 1996, the trio has carved out a place for themselves within the pantheon of traditional metal, drawing on influences from doom, stoner, and classic heavy metal. With a discography spanning from Grand Magus (2001) to Sunraven (2024), their sound has been one of unwavering power, with themes of war, mysticism, and strength. Their music stands as a testament to the enduring power of traditional metal, carried on the shoulders of towering figures like Black Sabbath and Judas Priest. Their unmistakable blend of thunderous riffs, commanding vocals, and epic storytelling have earned them a loyal following across the world.
As the echoes of the Jailhouse Rock cover faded into oblivion, Grand Magus took to the stage, led by the imposing figure of Janne “J.B”. Christoffersson on vocals and guitar, Ludwig “Ludde” Witt behind the drums, and Mats “Fox” Skinner on bass. The opening song, “I, The Jury” from Hammer of The North (2010), immediately threw the audience into the depths of their world. The sound, though thunderous and brimming with energy, was surprisingly clear for such a heavy band. The bassline pulsed like the heart of a beast, and the guitar riffs cut through the air, sharp and sure. Christoffersson’s growls, deep and gravelly, added a sinister charm to the proceedings, while the crowd, enthusiastic and yet somewhat subdued, hung on every note. The atmosphere was one of quiet intensity, the crowd moving with the music like waves against the rocks.
As the opening track bled into “Skybound” (the lead single from Sunraven – 2024), the energy in the room began to slowly rise. The song’s anthem-like quality, pulsing with a sense of limitless freedom, filled the Symphony Hall. Skinner’s bass thundered beneath the band’s performance, a reminder of the primal force of their music. Christoffersson’s command over the crowd was evident, he stood tall, his voice a guiding flame as he led the audience through the darkened realms of heavy metal. The crowd’s reaction was building, a deep, guttural murmur of appreciation rumbled as the riff-heavy track soared to its peak.
The haunting, almost hypnotic opening of “Steel Versus Steel” (from Triumph and Power – 2014) followed, the guitar bending and swaying as Christoffersson’s deep voice provided a counterpoint to the guitar’s soaring lines. The intensity of the track mirrored the stage dynamics, Witt’s drumming a relentless hammer, driving the song forward with unyielding power. The crowd swelled in appreciation, the sound of bodies shifting with the rhythm a constant hum throughout the hall.
When the unmistakable notes of “Ravens Guide Our Way” (again from Hammer of The North – 2010) took flight, the energy was self-evident. The crowd silently murmured with subdued cheers as the band’s mastery of melody and mythic storytelling became apparent. The galloping rhythm and Christoffersson’s booming vocals seemed to summon the very spirits of battle, the mystical ravens taking flight within the music’s haunting wings. The lighting matched the energy, flickering shadows and red streaks weaving through the darkened hall, emphasizing the mystical air of the track. The crowd were slowly coming alive, and there was no turning back.
The stage was alive with movement as the riff-heavy “Sunraven” (the second from the latest release Sunraven – 2024) tore through the venue. The song, full of dynamic changes and powerful swings in tempo, had the audience swaying, there were moments of solitary headbanging in stalls as if some of the crowd, were caught in the current of the song’s soaring melody. Skinner’s bass and Witt’s thunderous percussion were the bedrock on which Christoffersson’s voice rose like a great storm.
By the time “Untamed” (from Wolf God – 2019) arrived, the atmosphere was thick with the charge of anticipation. The power of the track, the driving, relentless force of the drums, the chugging guitars, had the crowd chanting, sporadic fist-pumping was breaking out amongst those who had now ventured to their feet. The symbiosis between the musicians was clear; Fox’s drumming was like a primal heartbeat, while Christoffersson and Skinner wielded their instruments, at times high above their heads, with a ferocity born from years of battle on stage. The sound in the hall was magnificent, each note resonating with the heavy power of their mythology-laden lyrics.
The deeply atmospheric “Like the Oar Strikes the Water” (from the earlier Iron Will – 2008) followed, its intro slow and brooding, a vast, haunting build-up that enveloped the audience. Christoffersson’s vocals here were more subdued, delivering the lyrics with a quiet intensity, as if invoking a spell. The crowd, seemingly in a trance, listened intently as the song unfolded, building into its stormy crescendo, the guitars rising and falling with each rhythm shift, until it reached its devastating peak, at which point the crowd roared in approval.
Finally, “Hammer of the North” (the title and third and final track from the colossus that is Hammer of the North – 2010) brings the band’s set to a triumphant close. The track is a colossal anthem, each note a towering witness to the power and majesty of metal. The audience, now completely unleashed, their cheers echoing through the hall as Christoffersson raised his hand to command them like a warrior leading his troops to battle. The final notes were met with deafening applause, and as the band took their bow, the now standing crowd roared in approval, a unified sea of metalheads who had witnessed a performance that would be etched into their memories for years to come.
As the stage was cleared, the pause was a brief respite, an ominous stillness before the storm. The air seemed dense, there was an oppressive silence that followed the departure of Grand Magus leaving the air thick with anticipation. Their set, a vivid tapestry of doom-laden riffs and thunderous percussion, had clearly set the tone for the night, it was a journey into realms far beyond the mortal coil. As the stage crew hurried to clear the remnants of their sonic storm, the darkness deepened, and the crowd settled into a stillness as intense as the night air itself… The clinking of seats, the shuffling of feet and soft murmurs filled the space, but it was clear that all were waiting for one thing: the arrival of the mighty Opeth!
As once again the atmosphere shifted. The transition being almost ethereal, as if the entire venue had been holding its breath. The house lights once again hallowed in reverence, a new darkness enveloped the room. Opeth had finally arrived, and as the house PA, ever insistent in its prelude, suddenly hummed to life, the deep, sinister tones of Seven Bowls of Wrath by Aphrodite’s Child crept into the venue’s tight nooks and crannies like a deathly omen. And then, with a muffled thud, the PA fell into silence once more. The lights dipped, fading into a twilight of shadows as the stage set for Opeth was revealed. It was so clear from the start, that this would be a tale of transcendence into something darker and far more enigmatic.
Opeth, the Swedish progressive metal band that had emerged from the heart of Stockholm in 1990, had been conjuring their intricate and mystifying symphonies for over three decades.
With a discography that spanned from the death metal-infused Orchid (1995) to the genre-defying In Cauda Venenum (2019), their music had evolved into a complex labyrinth of melody and madness. Opeth’s style, once built upon death metal ferocity, had grown into a majestic fusion of progressive rock, folk, and jazz, each album an evolution, each album an exploration of sound and spirit. Their musical output is defined by technical mastery, intricate compositions, and an ability to seamlessly blend the aggression of death metal with the introspective qualities of progressive rock. Albums like Blackwater Park (2001), Ghost Reveries (2005), In Cauda Venenum (2019) and The Last Will and Testament (2024), a new concept album, have cemented Opeth as one of the most innovative and revered bands in the world of metal.
With the lights finally dimmed, the audience had now been drawn, collectively, into the band’s darkened aura, some dared to whisper in this hushed reverence. And then it came, the first haunting notes of “§1”, the opening ‘paragraph’ from The Last Will and Testament (2024). Mikael Åkerfeldt, the band’s ever-charismatic frontman, stood poised like a spectral figure. The music swirled, clean, haunting guitar lines, intertwining with the melancholic hum of organ and delicate cymbal taps.
The stage was bathed in a dusky-shades, shadowy Victorian house scenes dancing behind Åkerfeldt as he lifted his guitar with the poise of a maestro preparing for an otherworldly symphony. The crowd were enraptured, faces lit in flickering candlelight as they leaned in closer with their mobile phones at eye level, delighting in every note. The band’s chemistry was, as ever, magical, each musician playing with an intense focus, as if communing with something beyond the veil of the physical world.
From the delicate, serene beauty of “§1”, the set immediately plunged into the depth of “Master’s Apprentices” from Deliverance (2002). The song’s opening, driven by Martin Méndez’s serpentine bass, wound itself around the room like a curse, while Åkerfeldt’s vocals, both clean and growled, shuddered through the venue like a death knell. The band were in perfect synchrony, shifting effortlessly from crushing heaviness to haunting melodic passages. The lighting shifted, the amber glow now replaced by red, cool blues and purples, accentuating the eerie, gothic atmosphere that had now enveloped the stage. The crowd was reverential, murmuring in awe as we sat hypnotised while we watched Opeth navigate the intricate time signatures and complex song structures with an almost supernatural ease.
With a profound sense of darkness still lingering in the air, the haunting strains of “The Leper Affinity” (from Blackwater Park – 2001) washed over the crowd like a fast-approaching tide. The churning, doom-laden guitars and Åkerfeldt’s guttural growls reached deep into our souls, the melodic back and forth between the musicians propelling the song through sudden bursts of aggression before easing into more ethereal passages.
The crowd, now utterly mesmerised, followed each twist and turn of the song with rapt attention. It was a perfect marriage of death metal ferocity and progressive grandeur, as Opeth wove their sonic spell. The lighting became darker still, heavy shadows falling upon the musicians as they created a suffocating atmosphere, one that seemed to close in on the audience, drawing them deeper into the music’s grip.
Then, as though pulling the audience from a dream, “§7”, another offering from the latest offering, The Last Will and Testament (2024), brought a shift. The music here was almost hypnotic, rhythmic and rhythmic again, with soft, intricate guitar picking and bass melodies that seemed to hum with an ancient power. Åkerfeldt had previously pointed out that this was a hard song to play, he couldn’t figure out why he’d written it. The soft, ethereal keyboards hovered in the background, lending an air of surrealism to the proceedings. Time stood still, as if ensnared by the progression’s slow, winding nature. The mood had switched once again as had the time signature and tunings, to one more self-reflective, almost melancholic, as if exploring the boundaries between life and death.
It was with “Häxprocess” (from Heritage – 2011) that the crowd truly began to lose themselves. Once again Åkerfeldt remarked to the crowd that by the end of the night they will be enjoying themselves. The power behind this track was undeniable, with its swirling riffs and hypnotic rhythms. Åkerfeldt’s delivery, both clean and growled, was entrancing, his voice soaring through the melody with haunting beauty before descending into guttural growls as the song’s heavier passages took over. The stage lit up with bursts of crimson, mirroring the song’s dark, ritualistic energy. The crowd’s reaction was stirring, shouting along with the intense grooves, caught in the song’s unyielding grasp. The entire venue pulsating in time with the rhythm section, like the delicately beating heart in a surgeon’s hand, the music had come alive, urging the audience to surrender to its darker currents.
“In My Time of Need” (from Damnation – 2003) followed, and the sombre mood it conjured felt nothing short of heartbreaking. Åkerfeldt’s voice, soft and mournful, was the perfect vehicle for this haunting ballad, and the crowd responded with an almost reverential silence. The lighting was dim, the only illumination coming from a faint, ethereal light that bathed the musicians in ghostly hues. The delicate, almost fragile guitar work played off the steady beat of the drums, creating an atmosphere of quiet desperation.
“The Night and the Silent Water” (from Morningrise – 1996) then arose from the depths of memory, its melancholic beauty filling the venue like a storm cloud, threatening to break into something far more tumultuous. The bassline, deep and rolling, was felt more than heard, while the guitars, both clean and distorted, wove a pattern of doom and grace. The crowd now spellbound, were locked in the song’s ebb and flow, moving from sombre reflection to cathartic release.
The eerie “§3” the third from The Last Will and Testament (2024) followed, its dirge-like rhythm summoning something that felt almost primal, as if calling upon ancient spirits to bear witness to the band’s performance. The crowd responded as one, heads nodding in time, swept away by the song’s hypnotic quality. The lighting flickered in time with the rhythm, flashes of white and blue, adding an otherworldly quality to the proceedings.
Then came “Ghost of Perdition” (from Ghost Reveries – 2005), a thunderous, monumental track that seemed to shake the very foundation of the venue. The crowd roared as the band launched into the track’s brutal intro, Åkerfeldt’s growls cutting through the air like a jagged blade. As the song progressed, the band worked in perfect harmony, shifting seamlessly between moments of chaos and beauty. It was a moment of pure bliss, leaving the audience beaming. The lighting shifted once more, flickering between red and blue, casting long, eerie shadows over the stage as the song reached its crescendo.
With the crowd now wide awake, Åkerfeldt teased the crowd with a cover from the mighty Napalm Death, themselves from the West Midlands. This was a welcome change to the Sabbath or Zepplin covers played by so many visiting bands who wish to pay homage to the birth place of Heavy Metal. The song is “You Suffer” and it holds the world record for the shortest song ever recorded, all 1.316 seconds of it. It was released on Napalm Deaths debut album Scum in 1987. In a growl and half a heart beat it’s over, cheers and laughter ensue, as the band set about launching into the last song of the set.
And as the final strains of “A Story Never Told” the fourth and final track from The Last Will and Testament (2024), the only one not ‘Paragraphed’ ( § ), echoed through the hall, the crowd’s spirits sated but still yearning for more. The song, a sweeping epic, reached into the very heart of progressive metal, blending atmosphere, dynamics, and technical prowess with ease. The crowd, utterly enraptured, cheered, the energy dripping in the air.
And then, with no warning, the encore began.
The first notes of “Sorceress” (from Sorceress – 2016) rang out, and the venue seemed to, once more, come alive with renewed energy. The crowd cheering in unison, caught up in the song’s infectious rhythm, its haunting beauty heightened by the stunning visuals on stage. The lights were a whirlwind of colours, matching the song’s intense, layered textures.
The final encore, “Deliverance” (from Deliverance – 2002), was a fitting end to the evening. It thundered through the venue, a perfect, apocalyptic close to a night of musical mastery. The crowd seemed to surge forward, drawn into the song’s devastating power. With Åkerfeldt’s piercing growls and the band’s unrelenting delivery, Opeth had once again proven their ability to push the boundaries of metal, crafting an experience that was as cerebral as it was visceral. And as the final notes rang out, the band stepped into the shadows, leaving the audience in stunned silence, their souls undoubtedly altered by the journey they had just undertaken.
