Opeth - My Arms, Your Hearse (2LP) - Transparent Violet Vinyl

By their third album in 1998, Opeth had sharpened their teeth. My Arms, Your Hearse takes the sprawling romance of Orchid and Morningrise and funnels it into something stormier and more focused. It’s still progressive death metal at heart, but the songs feel tighter, the atmosphere thicker, and the story at the centre of it all gives the record a strange, spectral pull. Mikael Åkerfeldt has said this one plays like a ghost story, and that checks out. The lyrics trace a narrator who dies, lingers, watches, and aches. Even the structure hints at hidden links, with each song’s final word feeding directly into the next track title, a neat clue that you’re meant to sit with it front to back.

Studio Fredman in Gothenburg gives the album its bones. You can hear producer Fredrik Nordström’s touch in the bite of the guitars and the roomy, natural drum sound. It also marks the first Opeth record with drummer Martin Lopez, who fits the band like he’d been there from day one. The real twist behind the curtain is on bass. New recruit Martin Mendez had joined the fold, but Åkerfeldt handled the bass parts in the studio, and that unified vision shows in the way the low end welds to the riffs. It’s heavy, but it moves.

“Prologue” eases the door open, all fog and melody, before “April Ethereal” thunderclaps the album to life. That track is Opeth finding their balance between violence and poise. One minute it’s tremolo swirl and Åkerfeldt’s cavernous growl, the next it’s a lithe acoustic figure that could sit on a 70s folk record. “When” pushes the drama even harder, with Peter Lindgren’s guitar dancing around harmonised leads that feel almost baroque. Then comes “Demon of the Fall”, the one that still brings venues to a boil. It’s a fan favourite for good reason. The verse riff is simple and cruel, the chorus lands like a guillotine, and the whispered clean passage in the middle sets the table for that final headlong sprint. You can hear why it has stayed a setlist fixture for decades.

There’s breath in the record too. “Credence” is the pivot point, a clean-sung lament that clears space without breaking the spell. No distortion, no death growls, just that melancholy Opeth do better than almost anyone. It makes the return to distortion on “Karma” feel earned. Lopez’s cymbals stitch the dynamic shifts together, and the song’s last few minutes tumble forward with a clarity that most bands at this speed can’t manage. The closing “Epilogue” is a gentle goodbye, a reverbed guitar and keys wrap-up that feels like dawn after a sleepless night.

What still surprises is how modern it sounds. The mix isn’t glossy, and it doesn’t need to be. The guitars have texture, the bass pulses rather than booms, and the vocals sit inside the music instead of on top of it. You can tell they tracked this in the same rooms where the Gothenburg scene defined itself, but Opeth aren’t chasing anyone. They’re bending folk, prog, and death metal into a personal grammar that would bloom fully on Still Life and Blackwater Park. My Arms, Your Hearse is where that language clicks.

Opeth’s catalogue is full of high-water marks, yet this one holds a special spot with fans. It’s often the record that converts sceptics who thought the band was all length and no hook. It helps that the story gives casual listeners a thread to follow, while the musicianship is intricate enough to reward return visits. And if you’re hunting for My Arms, Your Hearse vinyl, it’s a satisfying listen on the turntable. The soft-loud swings and the hushed passages in “Credence” breathe better with space, and the warmth suits the sepia mood of that forest cover. I’ve spotted copies tucked away in more than one Melbourne record store, and it’s a frequent request from folks looking for Opeth albums on vinyl.

For crate diggers and new fans alike, Opeth vinyl is a safe bet. You can buy Opeth records online if your local shop is out, and there are reissues floating around that do the album justice. If you’re browsing for vinyl records Australia wide and you see that ghostly silhouette on the sleeve, don’t second guess it. Take it home, kill the lights, and let the needle ride from “Prologue” to “Epilogue”. Even now, the chill of this record feels fresh.