Released: November 26, 2021
Worship sounds less like a return than a recalibration. Hypocrisy don’t approach this record with urgency or corrective intent. Instead, Worship moves deliberately, built on mass and repetition rather than velocity or surprise. The album doesn’t seek to overwhelm through complexity. It presses downward, repeatedly, until resistance gives way.
From its opening moments, the record establishes that posture. “Worship” advances at a measured pace, its riffs broad and unadorned, prioritizing weight over detail. The song doesn’t introduce ideas so much as reinforce a single one: forward motion through persistence. The guitars sit thick in the mix, leaving little air between phrases, while the drums strike with emphasis rather than flourish.
That emphasis carries into “Chemical Whore,” which leans harder into groove without loosening tension. The riffing here is direct and cyclical, repeating until it gains density through accumulation. Peter Tägtgren’s vocal delivery remains grounded and forceful, avoiding dramatics. His presence doesn’t dominate the songs; it reinforces their mass, functioning as another layer of pressure rather than a focal point.
Across Worship, Hypocrisy favor restraint over variation. “Greedy Bastards” and “Dead World” operate within tight structural limits, relying on repetition and pacing to generate force. The songs don’t escalate or pivot dramatically. They advance in straight lines, letting weight do the work. Any melodic elements that surface are brief and functional, never allowed to soften the impact.
Mid-album tracks deepen that approach rather than disrupt it. “Children of the Gray” slows the tempo further, stretching riffs until they begin to sag under their own gravity. The atmosphere here is dense and enclosed, built from sustained tones rather than layered ornamentation. The song doesn’t invite immersion — it enforces proximity.
Where earlier Hypocrisy releases often balanced aggression with melodic expansion, Worship narrows its focus. “Bug in the Net” and “Gods of the Underground” emphasize rhythm and placement, keeping structures compact and grounded. There’s no sense of reaching outward or upward. Everything moves laterally, reinforcing the album’s fixation on containment.
Production reinforces that intent. The guitars are thick and forward, favoring bluntness over clarity. The drums are forceful but dry, avoiding reverb or flourish that might widen the sound. The low end remains present and functional, anchoring the riffs without drawing attention to itself. The mix feels closed, intentional in its refusal to breathe.
Vocals throughout operate with similar discipline. Tägtgren delivers lines with authority but without excess, maintaining consistency across tracks. His performance avoids extremes, favoring presence over expression. The voice doesn’t guide the songs toward resolution — it maintains their pressure, reinforcing the album’s unyielding posture.
What Worship ultimately presents is consolidation. Hypocrisy strip away excess motion and reduce their sound to its most durable elements. This isn’t an album concerned with evolution or surprise. It’s concerned with sustainability — how long pressure can be applied without collapse.
By the time the record ends, nothing has opened up or broken loose. The album doesn’t resolve its tension or broaden its scope. It simply stops, having maintained its weight without interruption. Worship stands as a document of endurance — not triumphant, not expansive, but solid and unmoved.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia.
Artist information and music courtesy of the band.
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