Opal
Happy Nightmare Baby

Kendra Smith and David Roback, leading figures of the 1980s Paisley Underground scene, knew what they were doing when they chose the name Opal for their creation. It was born in the home of the much-praised Greg Ginn and distributed in Europe by the excellent Geoff Travis. In fact, it would have been difficult to better represent their music in a nutshell. The opal, as many know, is a mysterious and splendid gem. Iridescent and multicolored, it seems to magically reflect the moods of the wearer, taking on, time and time again, all the colors of the rainbow. Similarly, the nine songs of this splendid debut emit intense and changeable flashes and sensations, sometimes sinister, "sickly," other times brighter and more colorful, but always perceived as if under the effect of a trip, ready to shift abruptly. We are in psychedelic territory, and it could not be otherwise given the origin of the couple's previous bands. However, I would avoid prefixing the adjective with "neo," which might sound like a diminishment for an album that would have made its flattering mark, I am convinced, even in the golden age of the sixties.

A fundamental element that gives "Happy Nightmare Baby" added value and sure recognizability is Kendra's deep and expressive voice, a restless woman with a strong personality, who was already the bassist for the "Dream Syndicate." The backbone of almost all the pieces is nonetheless entrusted to the wise and lysergic guitar of Roback, who had already proven and will prove with Rain Parade and Mazzy Star undeniable evidence of his talent. But here, as far as I am concerned, he reaches his peak, without excessive solos or smudges, managing to perfectly blend with the unsettling voice of Smith.
The first two tracks, "Rocket Machine" and "Magic Power", open the album as best as they could and alone are worth the classic ticket price: the first is a dark and almost claustrophobic psychedelic blues, with a piercing guitar that contrasts with the hypnotic pace of Kendra's bass, accompanying us through the obligatory transition from dream to nightmare; in the second, our artist takes on the guise of a female Jim Morrison, and the whole track appears as a strange mix between the Doors and early Floyd, including the Hammond, a sort of "riders" waiting for a "storm" that may never come. The more canonical blues reappears in the rousing ballad "She's a Diamond", with lysergic distortions, something David has always been generous with. Dreamlike atmospheres abound, with Roback's guitar again taking the lead with psychedelic arabesques in "Supernova", a track that exudes a decidedly oriental charm. The title-track is a seemingly sunny song, but it hides anxieties and shadows just beyond the flat surface, as the oxymoron already seems to suggest.
The finale is entrusted to a nearly nine-minute ride, the best track of the bunch in my humble opinion, previously released on a 12'' that had anticipated the album's release, "Soul Giver", a track of remarkable impact where the best qualities of the two partners are emphasized, a rock drenched thoroughly in acid.

Opal, despite the excellent results obtained, will emanate its multicolored reflections on this one occasion only. Already towards the end of the promotional tour, the sleek presence of Hope Sandoval would replace Kendra Smith: Mazzy Star was born, and the psychedelic music of the 1990s would have its new champions. But this, as they say, is another story.