Goat - World Music

Udar švedske munje u vatru za ritualno samospaljivanje cijelog čovječanstva naguranog u sobu napravljenu od dokumentaraca National Geographicsa.

Ahhhh, the mysterious Goat from Korpolombolo in Sweden!
Yes, if there was a proper buzz band for 2012 it's these cultists and we're not talking what the bloody BBC would have you believe is exciting - this is the sound of the underground lighting a pyre for these dark, troubled times and then having a massive ritualistic gathering around it. The sound of squalling psych riffs blended with scratchy, heavy art-rock and celebratory chanting.
Amongst this delicious spread of songs you'll spot distinct shades of black mass-era Rolling Stones, Can-esque krautrock, fleeting glimpses of ominous Scandinavian folk and countless rugged 'n' funky African-inspired rhythms. This last element especially nails the album's floor-filling tribal-style backbone and elevates it to somewhere very unique and groovy indeed!
In lesser hands the genre-splicing nature of this stunning album could have resulted in quite a directionless mess but thankfully 'World Music' is an out-of-the-blue underground rock masterpiece and stamps deliriously all over the current stale climate in big furry Viking boots - there's not been one record this year that's united the office quite like 'World Music' has managed and it genuinely leaves me welling up with emotion, such is the transcendental power and uniting spirit of the thing!
So yeah, once again I've craftily whipped a CD from under the marauding sensors of our music-devouring ReviewBot3000 machine (whose fizzgog-branded motto is, "If it ain't bolted to the floor I will review it, properly, and with no punctuation errors!") and brought it home so I can play it mega-loud for about the 20th time and feel utterly amazing again. 'World Music' gets consistently better with each airing, see, it's like a psychotropic drug and there's not many records made these days that have that raw energy and durability.
Everything is perfectly in place here from well-segued samples and the odd field recording to the breathless running order. It's hit after flipping hit with this band, they've concocted an alarmingly poppy creation filled with nine all-too brief excursions into a voodoo world where Swedish psychedelia meets belting Afro-rock and parties like there's no tomorrow. Please, like with all your favourite albums, play it ridiculously loud, then, undoubtedly, re-rewind and crank it up again till dawn and beyond. Goat are worth falling out with your neighbours for. -
www.normanrecords.com/

Bit of a mad one, this - hailing from Gothenburg by way of an accursed village in the extreme north of Sweden, Goat have hatched one of the year's most delirious, delicious psych-rock records, fusing Afro-rock voodoo, spiralling outernational scales and spiked Krautrock with pineal vision. In the process they've gained the full approval of everyone from the BBC to Classic Rock Magazine - basically it's an acid casualty's wet dream. Ecstatic vocals are laced to fuzzed-up and funky communal rock guitars, bleating sax and folk melodies sourced from far beyond, but arguably the defining element is the driving, swingeing rhythm section which propels their lysergic melts deep between your lug'oles where they explode with joy and worldly love. All you longhairs are in for a treat. - boomkat

Close your eyes while World Music spins and it’s easy enough to piece together a scene for yourself. Think ritual drumming; the soft, rhythmic thump of unclad feet; ancient rites chanted in an unfamiliar tongue and rapt faces lit by the flicker of ceremonial fires while condensation drips lazily from jade-green palm fronds.
Where, now, do you think you might find yourself? Haiti? New Orleans? Saint Sebastian? Matool? Nope, instead all this voodoo-inspired wonder hails from decidedly un-tropical Sweden, courtesy of mischievous newcomers Goat.
While they might be many miles from William Seabrook’s Magic Island and their shtick – which includes an ancient curse and one member claiming he’s the 11th son of a voodoo priest – requires more than a pinch of salt to get onboard with, there’s at least one pivotal factor that certainly doesn’t fail to convince and that’s the music itself.
Channelling a more joyous energy than many others might if given the same source material (Fabio Frizzi or Steve Moore, say), Goat’s music is enigmatic and fittingly potent given the religion they’ve used as inspiration. Startling and possessed with a steady grasp of how different elements can gel and offset each other, the vertiginous mix means they’re perhaps the only band on the planet who can simultaneously bring to mind Can, Fela Kuti, Liquid Liquid and Moby Grape.
Basslines hulk and lurk, goading you pushily towards the dancefloor while psychotropic guitar parts conjure impossible colours and chanted, voice-as-instrument ululations score a deep path through your subconscious despite only one word in 50 ever actually making sense. Dip in at any point and you’re bound to hit gold, whether you light upon the cartwheel riffing of opener Diarabi, the glorious, organ-dappled funk of Disco Fever or the primal rattle and grunt of the beautiful but far-too-short Run to Your Mama.
You’ll soon find, however, that being a casual bystander simply isn’t an option: it’s all too captivating, too delirious and too gosh-darn wonderful for you not to join the fray. So surrender your mind, body and soul to the Goat and one of the year’s best albums so far. - Alex Deller