Fleshgod Apocalypse - Opera (LP) - Copper & Black Marble Vinyl

Fleshgod Apocalypse has always treated death metal like a grand stage. Opera, released on August 23, 2024 through Nuclear Blast, leans into that idea with both hands, pulling their symphonic instincts to the front and sharpening the knives underneath. It is the band’s most overtly theatrical record since King, yet it never slips into costume drama. The stakes feel real. You hear it in the way the strings climb into the riffs, in how the choir cuts through the blast beats, and in the grain of Francesco Paoli’s voice, which carries the grit of survival after his 2021 accident. There is bravado, yes, but there is also fight.

The title is more than a flex. Opera embraces the Italian DNA that has always been in this band’s bones. The arrangements sit closer to Verdi than to film-score bombast, with pianist and orchestrator Francesco Ferrini threading piano and choral figures that feel written, not pasted. “Pendulum” sets the tone early. It surges on a relentless pulse, the orchestration mirroring that swing and then breaking away into a stately refrain. The guitars bite but leave space for the strings to finish phrases, which gives the song a strange, courtly poise. “Bloodclock” tightens the concept. Clockwork piano patterns tick under a storm of blast beats, then open onto a chorus that feels huge without sacrificing the knotty detail that tech-death fans crave.

If you have followed them since Oracles and Agony, the shift in balance is striking. The density is still there, but the mix gives air to the choir and to Ferrini’s piano, so you can actually sit inside the arrangements rather than have them smear together. Veleno hinted at this cleaner approach. Opera makes it a pillar. The rhythm section pounds, yet you can pick out the cellos, the contralto choir responses, and the way Paolo Rossi’s clean lines thread between Paoli’s roar and the soprano lines from longtime collaborator Veronica Bordacchini. That interplay sells the drama more than any lyrical conceit. It turns crescendos into arguments, then into reconciliations.

“A Great Unknown” is the sleeper. It starts like a curtain rise, strings alone, barely held together, then snaps into a martial stomp that would level a small hall. The chorus stays with you. It is not pop, but it is hummable on the walk home. That knack has always separated Fleshgod from peers who stop at maximalism. They write motifs that return for a reason. They also know when to hold back. Midway through the record there is a passage where the band drops to piano and voice, no rhythm section, just this fragile, burning pause. When the full band returns, it lands like daylight after a tunnel.

Lyrically, time runs through the album like a spine. The image of the pendulum, the blood clock, the unknown that swallows plans, it all feeds a meditation on decay and resolve. That theme fits a band that has outlasted trends and setbacks. It also fits their live reputation. These songs feel built for rooms where you can feel the floor shake, the kind of venues where a choir intro will hush a crowd before the first snare hit punches the air. If you caught them on any tour over the last decade, you can hear the setlist logic already. “Pendulum” and “Bloodclock” are future anchors, the ones that will light up the pit and still satisfy the folks who came for the piano and the grandeur.

The performances are razor tight, with guitar runs that split the difference between neoclassical flash and meat-and-potatoes riffing. The solos sing rather than shred for shred’s sake. The drum work is savage but musical, with cymbal accents that echo the strings, and footwork that keeps the low end feeling like a single instrument with the double basses. It is the sort of synergy you only get when a band taps its core identity and refuses to phone in a bar.

If you collect, Opera is also a record that begs for the turntable. The orchestral depth and those stacked vocals bloom on wax. You can file it right next to King and Veleno in your Fleshgod Apocalypse vinyl shelf. If you are hunting for Opera vinyl or want to buy Fleshgod Apocalypse records online, do it while this pressing is still easy to find. Fans who came in through the more melodic side will be happy, and the speed freaks get plenty of heat. I found myself replaying side B just to sit inside the choir entrances and that piano glow as the guitars surge. It is a rare thing for extreme metal to feel this plush and this lethal at the same time.

Opera does not reinvent the band. It refines them. It takes the pieces that always worked, honors the lineage in the name on the cover, and delivers a full evening’s worth of drama in under an hour. For anyone digging through a Melbourne record store bin or browsing vinyl records Australia late at night, this is the one that will make you stop scrolling and start imagining the needle drop. Fleshgod Apocalypse albums on vinyl are built for that ritual. This one earns the ritual with ease.