If there’s one thing Goat haven’t done in the six years since last album Requiem was released, it’s become any easier to pigeonhole. The mysterious Swedes still sound less Swedish than any other Swedish band ever, twisting plundered sonics from every part of the world apart from their own into wild, ritualistic shapes.
Chukua Pesa sounds like the sort of thing Robert Plant might have brought back with him from a successful field trip to the Malian desert. Under No Nation struts like Fela Kuti before flipping blithely into free-jazz skronk via Blondie.
Do The Dance is Burundi Black meets Adam Ant meets Daisy Chainsaw meets Tom Tom Club. Goatmilk is Curtis Mayfield produced by Lee Perry until it’s something else altogether; eventually it’s Jethro Tull playing Afro-jazz.
- "Those sultry licks get weirder and weirder, until they resemble the sound of a UFO taking off." Masked metal weirdos Imperial Triumphant go straight on new album Goldstar
- “Some bands would think such an unlikely chart-topping feat would require them to lurch into a new chapter. Instead, Mogwai retreat to their discomfort zone”: The Bad Fire is reassuringly blurry
Apegoat is possibly made from bees. And Blow The Horns manages all of the above until Thin Lizzy-ish twin guitars arrive to herald the fade. It’s as confusing as hell, but it’s also thrilling, occasionally daft, and deliriously, gloriously imaginative. Goat’s best album.
