Stop reading this you cunt, stop doing anything that you’ve deluded yourself into thinking is important and go out and debase yourself until you have enough money to buy World Music, the debut album by Goat. Sell your sex for money, make a fool of yourself in the street so people throw money in your hat, work thanklessly for a multinational corporation, anything that means you have disposable income enough to go straight to one of the fine digital or corporeal retailers currently kicking this metaphysically explosive piece of fuzz, walk defiantly in and demand a single copy of the new album by Goat. Seriously, fuck you for reading this and go do it. If you haven’t yet, you better damn well hope your flatmate/spouse/parents/gimp has because if I find out you read another word without at least ordering the sucker, I’m going to find you and punch you so hard…
I’m guessing you’re now receiving the simultaneous oiled temple-massage and full-on sweat-show freakout imbued by World Music so I may continue. Let me tell you first where I was as I ripped open the package that landed on my doormat this morning; I was expecting the Goat album that fell out to change my life in really quite a profound way. The two EPs (Goatman, and the Sun the Moon EP which carried me across the country on holiday) had teed up what was in many ways the most exciting music release of the year. I was expecting greater vistas of the same fuzz-funk afrobeat voodoo incantation pseudo-religious high-octane freakout that was found on those two EPs, but deeper, more thorough and possibly better than being the weirdest and best dance album of all time, I expected it to be transcendent, to do that special thing that all great music has done for all real fans, transport you spiritually to a higher plane of understanding, the thing music shares with drugs. The three tracks showcased of the albums nine (Goatman, Goathead and Let it Bleed) all painted a vivid sign saying this album will change everything. It was clear, after repeatedly gorging myself on their totally different sonic genius that these dudes were where it’s at and had a clear view of what ails us. So many bands aim for localness, as if by occasionally dropping in some bluegrass banjo into yer sludge metal album you’ll sound like you rose outta the swamp and you’ll be more authentic. Naaaaaw! You’ll sound like gimmick-central. Goat pull in the opposite direction; the story goes that they hail from the Swedish village of Korpolombolo, in days gone past a haunting ground of Voodoo rituals burned out by the crusaders and cursed by the surviving mystics; the story of Goat is the kind of drummed-up bullshit fans tend to buy into, but their bullshit story makes them all the better, because they aren’t trying to be local, they’re trying to sound global. The sounds I had heard painted the sort of genre and time spanning band that we really ought to launch into space, that summed up the entirety of human existence in their grooves. This was what I was expecting when I opened my album up and set it to spinning for the first time. I must say, all my expectations were exceeded by an album which has wholeheartedly trumped Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell’s Don’t Hear It… Fear It to the title of Best Thing I’ve Heard This Year Thusfar.
|Goat, summoning ancient spirits.|
Goat tap thoroughly, protractedly and convincingly into what I love most about music, universality; all the best music doesn’t need a degree to understand, its genius and appeal isn’t complex or wracked with meaning. It has a beat and is inherently catchy and danceable and full of life and vigour, so it is with World Music throughout. These guys are mining a vein of solid funk alllll the way through the centre of the earth, it’s thick, it’s characterful, it’s pungent, it’s visceral, it’s rock and roll in pure distilled form like Scotch spirit and just as able to get you moving! The nine cuts on this album represent nine bastions of hero-worship around which we can all gather and prove to all the greedheads, downers, dopers and elected fiends across the globe that high-grade mung worship is a noble and fulfilling activity and the only way we can save our doomed souls. Souls are something the Voodoo conjurers of Goat seem to know a lot about, ‘specially the shrieking she-Shaman on the vox; her vocals are pure percussion, less about the vocals and more about the gesticulation, the soaring sweeping crowd chant meant to be evoked by the sultry rhythms coming out of this girl. Somewhere out there there’s a kaleidoscope of references from across the globe and beyond, but the chanting mysterious and sensuous head spirit in this unruly ghost ship is leading the ritual with power, she owns the record so much she could take out a mortgage on it; the whole thing is hers to command, and she does, chanting along with the rattle and shake of the music, one can imagine a Jex Thoth figure holding forth lit incense or writhing as a possessed sensuous creature of ages. The other instrumentation is no better, dog piled together instruments from different continents and times all jammed together and jamming furiously on top of one another in an overwhelming tidal wave of uniquely global sound.
|Goat will see you at Roadburn 2013|
I feel like World Music has been with me forever. Not only have I been greedily re-spinning the two previous records with reckless feckless wonderment for months in an insane act to try to make this release date come all the sooner, but it feels like this record has been percolating in my subconscious for years. It feels like this music, it’s global nature, the oneness of their message, the righteousness of the delivery, the fact that all this genius is going to go largely unnoticed when it could and rightly should shake the earth tectonically, everything is giving voice to ideas I always had but didn’t know how to express properly. It seems recently that world events have spiralled and become so nervous and wrong that events hardly imaginable even ten years ago are now an everyday occurrence. Love, companionship, pleasure and joy, happiness and positivity, healthiness both bodily and spiritually have been eroded by corporations with more rights than people and the merciless pursuit of profit at all costs, and in response to this, as there is any response to authority, there are outlaws and to them we endlessly salute. Goat represent something wholly new to the old outlaws, to the ways of old and evil. The world needs a music that feels so train-stoppingly resolutely now to be the opposite of and lock horns with everything we want to change. We need our heroes, every last one we can muster, and Goat sure do rally the call. Not only are they totally different, and seem to have appeared in a lightning flash with no history and no ties to anything resembling normality, but they are also single-mindedly dedicated to what they do like Guy Fawkes, prepared to go in with a bomb in each hand and blow up Parliament.
It occurs to me I’ve been getting disgustingly politik-y of late and I like it at least as little as you. It detracts from the music, constantly reminding you that we live in a psychotically grim corporate apocalypse where human beings are made to feel like secondary entities to the hivelike colonies of mindless drones we call corporations, so let that be the last we say about it. Goat are nowhere near chrome and glass, they’re out in the cold Swedish woods, an outlaw cult living off the land and whatever Pagan mythology they can cannibalise into their own sacred tribal sound. A vast cult, scores of members, organ workouts, guitar freakouts, vocal wig-outs of the most joyous kind. The intanginble sense of knowing that you are alive in this corner of time in the world. A vast great human potpourri, a be-in where you can be proud of your essential essence, whatever it may be, just be with us, exist with us in harmony. There are brightly burning nighttime pyres and whispers of demonic incantations and facepaint and beautiful moments all around and worship of sun and moon and stars and nature and life and rituals at all hours, shadows in the cave, naked bodies diving into isolated pools, communing with nature, clothes made from plants that rustle and crackle and click, a breathtakingly beautiful smiling young woman holds out her wrist so you can see the frog calmly sitting on it, her face animated by wonderment and enlightenment, drums filter through the trees, the pyre is beginning again, the dances in the cave must go on… We are all one, dude.
Written under duress by Steven.
Notes for Goat heads (and indeed Goatheads) – Goat are hitting the UK and Sweden in October, so if you are in London you can catch them at the Lexington on October 19th with fellow Rocket Recordings-signed Gnod and Teeth of the Sea for what is sure to be an unmissable evening (and one I’ll surely miss… damn lack of money). All other Goat related announcements (including ones they haven’t made yet) can be found on their blog. You can order the corporeal album here at Cargo Records, the guys handling corporeal distro for Rocket Recordings (no word on digital downloads yet, but it’ll sure be coming). A little birdie at Rocket Recordings tells me Goat will be doing a full proper tour next year, so keep ‘em peeled. Check out Rocket Recordings also, for more Goat tour and release nonsense and also because they’re a fundamentally righteous cadre.