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LP
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FTR 818LP
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Leeds is burning again, and the match is called Self Immolation Music. Their new LP, Strange Worship, isn't a record so much as a rite -- forty minutes of distortion, drone, and devotion from a band who don't so much play songs as build temples out of amplifier hum. Recorded inside an old converted police station, the walls still humming with ghosts of interrogation and authority, a low frequency vibration has been rattling the cells -- that's Self Immolation Music, summoning their new LP Strange Worship into existence like a feedback séance. Guitars roar like collapsing stars, basslines pulse like a migraine heartbeat, and drums hammer out the sort of trance you can't fake. This is not a record you listen to -- it's a record you enter. Forty minutes of holy distortion and electric devotion, channeled straight from the lineage of Spacemen 3, Loop, and the endless cosmic engines of Hawkwind. Where their last transmission (Infinity Trip) was a relentless surge into the void, Strange Worship is a ritual circle drawn in fuzz. The riffs don't just play -- they throb, they loop, they dissolve you. Imagine repetition as religion, feedback as incense, a mantra made of distortion. That's the sound of Strange Worship: heavy, hypnotic, and strangely beautiful in its ruin. Self Immolation Music don't deal in nostalgia or polite psych revival. They deal in immersion and Strange Worship is music for surrender. This is the deep end, the psychic throb, the sonic flame you can't look away from, a devotional noise meant to be felt in the gut and the teeth. Put it on loud and you'll understand: the worship is strange, but the faith is absolute. Strange Worship is not a product -- it's a possession. Approach with open ears, a steady pulse, and the willingness to lose yourself in the noise. Strange times call for strange worship.
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