As in curried?
Nope, as in the enigmatic Swedish masked psychedelic collective. No one can be sure exactly how many people are in Goat at any one time but they definitely stand out in a crowd. As long as the crowd isn’t made up of people in ancestral costumes and masks.
Let me guess, it's all a bit 'world music'?
Funnily enough, that was the name of their debut album. They comb the globe unearthing obscure rhythms and beats. The result: exuberant, wandering anthems saturated in hope, songs so freaking joyous it’s impossible to not feel happier after a listen. Third album ‘Requiem’ has more of a folk bent, it’s less psychedelic but the tribal beats and chants haven’t disappeared. Think revered ’60s band Love, untethered tantric riffs, epic outros and copious pan flute.
What's with the masks, are they a bit shy?
Anonymity is key for this band. They don’t do face-to-mask interviews, but prefer to email journalists with their answers, which are soaked in folklore and tales of commune life. A number of Goat members hail from the remote Arctic community of Korpilombolo, or so the story goes.
Okaaay. Any other myths?
Yes. Previous incarnations of Goat have been playing since 1898 and their songs are translated into English after being passed down via a centuries-old witch doctor.
Does this mean they don't play live?
Hell no. They are well worth catching live, not just to watch their besequined cloaks spin, but also so you can see (at last count) two singers, three guitarists and several percussionists in a funktrance. Just try to stop yourself joining their wild cosmic whole-body-shaking reverie.
Requiem is out now. Goat play The Coronet on Oct 18.