Released on October 12, 1993, Hypocrisy’s second album — Osculum Obscenum — didn’t just follow the death metal rulebook. It tore out the pages, burned them, and replaced them with something darker, filthier, and far more atmospheric.
At a time when death metal was either becoming hyper-technical or drifting into more melodic territory, Hypocrisy chose a different path — one lined with blood, shadows, and the slow creep of something sinister lurking just beyond the blast beats.
If Penetralia was the band’s proof of concept, Osculum Obscenum was their declaration of war — a bold, ugly, blasphemous document that laid the foundation for the Hypocrisy sound to come. It’s the sound of a young band finding not just its aggression, but its identity.
This wasn’t a reinvention. It was a descent.
Between Bludgeon and Black Mass: A Band in Transition
Peter Tägtgren had already made waves with Penetralia — a brutal, American-influenced death metal debut that showcased his love for the Floridian style (think Morbid Angel, Deicide, early Death). But with Osculum Obscenum, something shifted. This wasn’t just another Euro-tribute to U.S. death metal — it was the beginning of something uniquely Swedish, uniquely Hypocrisy.
Gone is the high-gloss punch of the debut. In its place: grime, grit, and a genuine sense of evil. The guitars are thicker. The vocals are more unhinged. The drumming is less clinical, more ritualistic. It feels like the album was summoned rather than recorded.
There’s a real weight to this record — not just in the riffs, but in the intent. You can hear it in the song structures, which lean heavily into dynamics, and in the way the band plays with tempo and tone. Tägtgren, who would go on to become one of metal’s most versatile producers, is clearly experimenting here — not with studio tricks, but with atmosphere, mood, and menace.
Rituals in Riffs: The Sound of Rot and Wrath
The album wastes no time pulling you into the abyss. Opener “Pleasure of Molestation” is a hammer to the face — pure, unrelenting fury. But unlike some of their peers, Hypocrisy doesn’t just stack riffs for brutality’s sake. There’s a method to the madness. Every tempo shift, every guttural howl, every stop-start drum fill feels deliberate, calculated, and mean.
Tracks like “Exclamation of a Necrofag” and “Necronomicon” continue that onslaught, but what makes them so compelling is the contrast — slow, eerie passages give way to frantic blasts, only to fall back into doomier grooves. These aren’t one-note songs — they evolve. They drag you in, spin you around, and drop you into new, darker corners of the soundscape.
The title track, “Osculum Obscenum,” is a perfect example of the band’s growing confidence. It slows the pace but doubles down on atmosphere. The riffs here feel like they’re crumbling in real time, decaying as they’re played. There’s an occult vibe throughout — not in an aesthetic, “goat skulls and candles” kind of way, but in how the music feels like a ritual. You’re not listening. You’re being initiated.
And then there’s “Attachment to the Ancestor”, a track that stands as a clear bridge between Hypocrisy’s early brutality and the spacey, introspective vibe of later albums like The Final Chapter and Abducted. There’s a chilling melody woven into the chaos, a ghost of sorrow beneath the noise. It hints at the emotional complexity that would define the band’s best future work.
Even the Bathory cover, “Black Metal,” feels right at home. It’s raw, wild, and reverent — not just a nod to Quorthon, but a spiritual sibling to the rest of the record. It connects Hypocrisy’s death metal roots to something more primitive and blackened, reinforcing the idea that this album isn’t just about gore — it’s about spirit.
From Gore to Gravitas: Blasphemy with Purpose
On the surface, Osculum Obscenum reads like your typical early-‘90s death metal record — lots of blasphemy, sex, violence, and horror. But there’s more going on beneath the bloodstained surface.
Yes, the lyrics are filthy. Yes, the imagery is extreme. But the way Tägtgren delivers them — with that deep, cavernous snarl that feels barely human — gives them a strange weight. These aren’t just shock lyrics. They feel like desperate transmissions from some decaying temple, screamed into the void not for shock value, but because someone has to say them.
And while the album still lives in the world of gore and sacrilege, there are subtle signs of where Tägtgren’s songwriting would go. You can hear it in the pacing. You can feel it in the spaces between the notes. There’s atmosphere here — not just distortion, but intentional dread.
Raw but Controlled: The Power Behind the Performance
The playing on Osculum Obscenum is deceptively tight. It might not have the technical flash of later albums, but that’s not the point. This is about vibe, not virtuosity.
Tägtgren’s guitar work is heavy, dirty, and occasionally weird in the best way. He’s not afraid to let riffs ride a little too long, or to throw in discordant bends and off-kilter transitions that make everything feel unstable. There’s a madness to it — not random, but volatile.
Drummer Lars Szöke deserves more credit than he often gets. His blasts are chaotic but locked-in, and his slower grooves hit with real intent. The contrast between speed and space gives the album its unique shape — one minute you’re in a whirlwind of violence, the next you’re crawling through muck.
Vocally, Tägtgren is at his most feral here. His growls are soaked in reverb and bile, layered just enough to sound demonic but never too processed. It’s not about clarity — it’s about effect. He sounds possessed. You don’t understand every word, but you feel every syllable.
Production: Rot Over Polish
This album isn’t slick. It’s not meant to be. The production is grimy, thick, and absolutely drenched in atmosphere. Everything sounds like it’s been run through a layer of mold — guitars buzz like hornets, drums thud like coffins slamming shut, and the vocals sit somewhere between a sewer and a sacrificial altar.
And that lo-fi edge? It works.
Unlike later Hypocrisy albums, where the production would become more polished (especially once Tägtgren took full control behind the boards), this album thrives in its filth. The mix gives it character. It feels authentic — not “retro,” not trying to sound old-school. It just is.
Final Verdict: 9.0 / 10
Osculum Obscenum is more than just Hypocrisy’s “raw” second album. It’s the record where they truly started sounding like themselves. It’s dark, violent, atmospheric, and filled with the kind of conviction that makes early ‘90s death metal so powerful even decades later.
It’s not the most accessible Hypocrisy record, but that’s part of its charm. It doesn’t care if you like it. It doesn’t need to impress you. It’s content to rot in its own corner of hell, whispering secrets to anyone brave enough to listen closely.
For longtime fans, it’s a cornerstone. For new listeners, it’s a test — if you can survive Osculum Obscenum, you’ll understand what makes Hypocrisy different. It’s not about speed. It’s not about brutality. It’s about something darker.
And it still holds up. In fact, it might sound even better now — because in a world of over-produced metal, this kind of raw, unapologetic filth feels refreshing. Vital, even.
