Pagan Altar Lords Of Hypocrisy Reissue Review
Pagan Altar
Lords of Hypocrisy Reissue
Dying Victims Productions
2026
There are records that feel like relics, stones pulled from the earth still warm with the heat of the fire that forged them. Pagan Altar’s “Lords of Hypocrisy” is one of those records. Pagan Altar never needed hype, trends, or algorithms; their music traveled the old way, the honest way, through tape trading circles, late-night letters, and whispered recommendations between the few who understood what true Doom sounded like before the world caught on. For some of us, these songs were gospel long before anyone pressed a fresh vinyl reissue.
This new reissue from Dying Victims Productions feels less like a re-release and more like an act of preservation. There’s a candlelit warmth woven into these songs, the same glow that once made the original recordings feel as if they’d been carved inside an abandoned chapel on the outskirts of time. That unmistakable Pagan Altar aura, half occult mystique, half working-class grit, remains fully intact, perhaps even stronger now. The crackling magic of the early tapes is preserved, yet SAINT Terry Jones’ voice and Alan’s unmistakable guitar work have the room they deserve to stretch their limbs and breathe.
“Lords of Hypocrisy” remains one of the purest distillations of what real Doom, real, old-world, candle-lit Doom, was meant to be. Not the down-tuned modern monoliths, not the bong-water drenched derivatives, but something more arcane, more folkloric. Pagan Altar built their world on the dirt of churchyards and the fog of English evenings, conjuring a mood that feels equal parts Heavy Metal sermon and windswept pagan rite.
Tracks like “Satan’s Henchmen” and “Sentinels of Hate” carry that unmistakable Pagan Altar duality: riffs that march with a warrior’s purpose, yet melodies that feel mournful, ancient, almost doomed from the start. And then there’s Saint Terry Jones, narrative, expressive, pulling the listener into alleyways and ritual chambers with a storyteller’s cadence that no one has ever quite replicated. His voice is a time machine, his lyrics a collection of forgotten hymns passed through generations of outcasts. Though I never met the man, it feels as if I’ve known him since I was a small boy. Every time I pull a Pagan Altar record from the shelf and drop the needle down, a quiet ache settles in, the weight of Terry’s passing, the reminder of a voice that once felt immortal. In my home, he’s more than a memory; he’s a Saint in the truest sense. Saint Terry Jones, guardian of the gloom, patron of the faithful, forever enshrined in the music that outlived him.
The album’s title track still hits like scripture. It’s prophetic in that way only Pagan Altar could pull off, calling out corruption, hypocrisy, and the rot beneath civilization’s polished veneer, all while draped in riffs that sound carved from weathered stone. Listening now, it’s eerie how current it still feels. Maybe that’s the sign of true Metal craftsmanship: the themes never age because they were never tied to any one era.
But it’s the nostalgia, the spirit, the feeling of this album that keeps it close to my heart. When you drop the needle or hit play on this reissue, it’s as if you’re transported back to those early underground days, when you traded tapes not just for music, but for connection, discovery, identity. Pagan Altar weren’t just a band; they were an initiation into the underworld.
Dying Victims Productions has truly done right by reissuing this record. They’ve opened another doorway for new listeners to step through and given long-time worshipers the chance to clutch a piece of their past with both hands again. If you don’t already own this on vinyl, don’t hesitate, seriously, don’t. Releases like this vanish fast, and the secondhand market turns downright brutal the moment it goes out of print.
And while we’re talking about grabbing this album, do yourself a favor and dive into the band’s entire catalog. Pagan Altar never released a weak record, not one. Every album is essential, every chapter worth studying, spinning, and outright venerating. This is a band whose discography isn’t merely collected, it’s cherished.
All hail the almighty Pagan Altar. Long may their music reign, echoing through new generations just as powerfully as it did when we first traded tapes when we were kids…