Aleister Crowley

US 2011 press.
Crackly old recordings of the Great Beast himself muttering incantations, poems, and the occasional threat into the void. Not a “tune” in sight — just pure occult oddness, half fascinating, half ridiculous, fully unsettling. Feels less like listening to a record and more like accidentally unlocking a bookshelf in a bad dream. Essential if you like your vinyl weird, dusty, and possibly cursed.