Few artistic identities in modern heavy music are as indelible as that of Katatonia. For over three decades, the Swedish group has meticulously charted the contours of melancholy, evolving from a raw, primal entity into a vessel of sophisticated, progressive metal. Theirs is a known trajectory: the early, guttural catharsis of 1990s death-doom, epitomized by works like ‘Brave Murder Day,’ gave way to a pivotal transformation.

With 1998’s ‘Discouraged Ones,’ the harsh vocals receded, and the clean, mournful baritone of Jonas Renkse emerged as the band’s guiding light, setting a course that would define their sound for the next quarter-century.

Now, with ‘Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State’—their thirteenth studio album and first for Napalm Records —a new, unspoken context hangs in the air. This is the first Katatonia record to be presented as the vision of a singular creative custodian. Renkse, now the sole remaining original member and credited producer, stands as the definitive author of this world.

The result is not the radical reinvention one might expect from such a profound shift in creative gravity. Instead, this album is a powerful, assertive act of consolidation. It is the work of an artist reckoning with the entirety of his past while simultaneously laying a new, more robust foundation for the future.

The album’s title is its thesis: a blurring of the “nightmare” of legacy with the “waking state” of a new, singular reality. The sonic evidence is immediate. The album presents a weightier, more substantial sound and a clear pivot back towards guitar-centric instrumentation than its immediate predecessors, energized by new instrumentalists—guitarists Nico Elgstrand and Sebastian Svalland —who are directed by Renkse’s unmistakable, melancholic poise.

Act I: The New Guard at the Old Gates

The album’s opening act serves as a deliberate statement of intent, showcasing how these new instrumental forces are immediately put to service.

The opening track, ‘Thrice,’ is a brilliant bait-and-switch. It begins with an insistent, muscular guitar line and a forceful rhythmic current, signaling a return to muscularity. But just as the listener settles in, the song intentionally diffuses its own energy, refusing to follow a predictable song structure. It instead charts a broken, forward-moving path.

This is a cerebral piece, featuring a long instrumental passage with understated, almost primal drumming that values atmosphere over aggression. This is Renkse, the producer, demonstrating that the advanced musicianship of his new collaborators will be used for his atmospheric purposes, not for mere technical display. The song’s opening lyrical admission, a stark and clear claim of being the sole agent of division and change, is the album’s mission statement.

This re-calibration continues with ‘The Liquid Eye,’ a track that propels the album’s intensity forward with vivid, high-density guitar work. Here, the band re-interprets its foundational connection to death-doom through a modern, progressive lens. The composition feels straightforward, yet it conceals a sophisticated internal logic. The lyrics present a poetic confrontation with a finished chapter, painting a picture of expired worth and a dissolving agreement. It is the sound of an old contract being dissolved.

This triptych concludes with ‘Wind of no Change,’ a deliberate, funereal piece that introduces a new textural tool to the band’s arsenal. Where previous albums might have layered guitars to create dread, Renkse now employs a spectral, menacing choir, a layer of monastic vocals that conjures a powerful, gothic atmosphere to the proceedings. It is a masterful stroke, filling the sonic space with a new, spectral presence that merges perfectly with the subtle synthetic touches.

Act II: The Sovereignty of the Familiar

Following its declarative opening, the album’s mid-section settles into a confident demonstration of mastery. This is not repetition; it is perfection. These tracks represent the sound Katatonia has spent two decades solidifying, now amplified by a more robust instrumental foundation.

‘Lilac’ is the quintessential modern Katatonia template, executed with surgical precision. A song built on juxtaposition, it moves with fluid grace between moments of cold stillness in the verses and immense, layered choruses. It is built from refined guitar harmonies and ghostly synthesizers, but the new instrumental prowess is on full display in what is arguably the record’s most significant guitar solo. It is a track that confirms the band’s ongoing sonic signature, yet feels more muscular and defined.

Similarly, ‘Temporal’ maintains a perfect tension between vulnerability and strength. Its power lies in verses of quiet suffering that crest into a chorus defined not by aggression, but by sheer will. The composition feels as if it is shielding a last, precious ember. That “something precious” is the core Katatonia ethos. Renkse’s vocal, full of renewed resolve and backed by the new, resolute guitar lines, is the sound of an artistic vision proving its singular resilience.

This act’s centerpiece, however, is ‘Warden.’ It is a masterful Trojan horse, boasting a chorus so immediate and melodic it borders on pop sensibility, a rarity in their catalogue. It is a more measured, atmospheric turn that draws the listener in with an almost comforting melody. It is within this structure that Renkse embeds the album’s most direct, bleak, and personal lyrical statements.

The lyrical confession of abdicating all stewardship for others —delivered within this accessible chorus —is the album’s most profound and chilling admission. In the context of a thirty-year creative partnership dissolving, the line transcends its poetic ambiguity. It is a stark, public declaration of creative and personal independence, a binding obligation audibly released.

An Interlude: Echoes in the City of Glass

‘Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State’ does not exist in a vacuum. It is a logical, if assertive, step in the band’s modern canon. It retains the progressive song structures and the assured articulation that defined ‘City Burials’ and ‘Sky Void of Stars.’ Yet, it is also a significant course correction. The album deliberately pulls back on the reliance on electronic decoration that marked parts of its predecessors, choosing instead to re-center the sound on riff-based structures and a weightier guitar sound.

In this, it recalls the forceful guitar passages and dynamic heavy melodic interplay of the ‘The Great Cold Distance’ and ‘Dead End Kings’ eras. The production—overseen by Renkse and mixed by Adam Noble—is the key. It is lucid, wide, and deeply intimate, creating a cathartic, enveloping fog that allows the new progressive aptitude to provide weight and ballast without sacrificing the signature, fragile melancholy of Renkse’s vocal. It is, in short, a purposeful synthesis of the band’s last three major sonic identities.

Act III: The Abstract Descent

The album’s final act is its most experimental, where the title becomes literal and the “nightmare” construct takes over. ‘The Light Which I Bleed’ begins the abstract descent. It is both symphonically robust and rhythmically unstable, intentionally disrupting the listener’s comfort. The focus shifts from the tactile guitars of the album’s first half to a more spectral, keyboard-led environment. Renkse’s placid vocal floats over this unstable, dislocating foundation.

This leads to the album’s conceptual and emotional core: ‘Efter Solen.’ It is the album’s most experimental offering, and only the second track in the band’s history to feature lyrics entirely in his native Swedish. By reverting to his native tongue, Renkse removes the final layer of artifice, supported by instrumentation that is both minimal and impactful. This is not Katatonia, the international progressive rock entity; this is Jonas Renkse, the individual.

The choice of instrumentation here is a deliberate act of isolation. After spending an entire album establishing a new, powerful, guitar-focused band sound, Renkse abandons it for his most personal statement. He reverts to a sparse, electronic-forward sound driven by programmed percussion, a sound he could, in theory, create entirely on his own. This track is the true nightmare: a solitary, internal monologue. It is the sound of the sole survivor, alone with his thoughts.

The album closes with ‘In the Event of,’ the “waking state.” This is the resolution. A final, grand statement, it is a sweeping, immersive composition that brings the full band back after the isolation of ‘Efter Solen.’ It functions as a final synthesis, weaving the heavy guitars, the spectral electronics, and Renkse’s melancholic poise back together. It is not a happy ending, but a conclusion that is both beautiful and deeply sorrowful acceptance of the new, consolidated reality.

The Dream Fully Realized

‘Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State’ is a profound success, precisely because it is not the radical reinvention some may have anticipated from such a significant creative schism. It is, instead, a work of masterful and unflinching consolidation. The album’s ambition was never to discover a new sound, but to prove the old one’s singular resilience.

Jonas Renkse, as the sole custodian of a thirty-year legacy, has used this album to meticulously re-forge his edifice of gloom. He has integrated new, powerful instrumental forces not as replacements, but as the finest available materials with which to build his vision.

This album is the definitive statement that the “Katatonia sound”—its signature fragile melancholy, its pervasive gothic atmosphere, its masterful command of dynamics —is not, and perhaps never was, a democracy. It is the singular, melancholic voice of its remaining founder.

This is the sound of Renkse, alone, proving that this entire, complex, and beloved identity lives within him.