Delving beneath the mystery and mantras of Goat: “Grow a beard. Read Baudelaire. Wear a mask.”
Who are they, and what are they to me? After listening to Goat for over a decade, and now having interviewed them, I’m still no closer to answering those questions. Their mystery goes way beyond their masks. They linger somewhere between cloaked Shaman preaching indefinable practices and a psychedelic orchestra of no fixed vocabulary. Just singular beasts, out there in some Swedish forest on the edge of Shangr-La, taking it easy for all of us sinners and occasionally popping up out of nowhere with another dose of colourful rapture to swirl into our dismal daily lives.
Their latest album, Medicine, sees their whirlwind of sounds subdue down to a mellowed breeze, carrying a different kind of magic—a groovy tea party of swamped psychedelia. “I guess we felt we needed to explore new ideas? It was not something We planned its just the path that seemed most natural. Things change. It would be ridiculous to try and make another World Music,” Fluffan, the group’s suitably enigmatic chosen representative, tells me.
However, things get far more familiar thereafter. “Medicine is heavily influenced by psychedelics and the use of these medicines in different forms. Not only does the title celebrate the use of plants as medicine throughout the world but also the Shamanic traditions that have kept the use of these plants alive in a musical, spiritual, natural and a supernatural context,” he says.
This is part of the puzzle of Goat, the spiritualism of this Midsommar ilk can often be perturbing, however, their energy embalms the whole enterprise with a boon of sincerity, whisking you back to a primordial rave as opposed to a gift shop selling crystals for £30 a pop with a complimentary aura of seedy snobbery. As Fluffan explains, it is more about a general sense of healing, evidenced by the fact that a large swathe of fans flock to their gigs after office jobs for a beer and a dose of otherworldly exultation with not a single tuft of heather or a Buddhist tattoo in sight.
As he adds: “The title Medicine also refers to, music, meditation, making love, partying, dancing, living and dying or anything that we humans partake in that is healing for us.” Nevertheless, we’d also be lying if psychedelics didn’t have a hand in it somewhere. As he explains: “These plants are no quick fix by any means but in the right setting, right dosage and with the right support, they can be seen as a gateway.”
“For many people, this can be the first step towards a deeper spiritual connection, both within themselves and with the world around them. Because we can access and heal parts within ourselves that we were often not even aware of in the first place. We wake up with a deeper sense of connection and love for ourselves and the world. And then we,” he says, this time in reference to the band as well as the royal we, “start acting accordingly.”
So, what is accordingly in the mythological world of Goat? It turns out to be quite simple actually: “Just try not to be an asshole. That’s basically it. Be nice to people. Look into what it is that you are most unwilling to feel and start from there. Don’t point your finger at other people and judge. But try and see in what way you are like them. Don’t get caught up in established ‘belief systems’. Do not settle for a solid identity, keep trying to push through. Try to go deeper and look further to quote Kesey.”
The Kesey in question is, of course, Ken, the American author who pretty much inspired the whole counterculture movement. He ditched the usual desk-rooted tradition of a writer and looked to capture America’s expanding culture on the wing. It was subsequently when the collision of art and society in motion occurred that we now call pop culture. And for all the mysticism of Goat, there is a backbone of good old rock ‘n’ roll, and, indeed, any other musical influence that speaks culture’s life-affirming capacity.
Thus, don’t let the masks fool you. They’re about community, dishing out the following life advice: “There are so many wise and profound beings to learn from. Just find your path and stick to it but don’t think you can figure it all out by yourself. Dance, love, laugh. Grow a beard. Read Baudelaire. Wear a mask. Start a band and pretend you know things.”
In fact, the masks are even in jeopardy these days. “You’ve said in the past, ‘anonymity makes our lives hell’ – so, what fuels the drive to maintain it?” I ask. “[Laughs] We have said that? It’s a great statement and obviously a very true one,” Fluffan replies. “There is no turning back at this point. We have turned our backs on society. It’s all masks and robes from here on out,” he jokes. “Covid-19 was kind of a weird blessing in that sense. Suddenly everyone was wearing a mask and robes… And who knows maybe our next album will be Goat’s… Unmasked!”
However, jokes aside (the masks are staying, surely?), the band are now five studio albums into their journey, and they’re abiding by their own espousals not to fall into a fixed belief system. The sound of their music makes it clear that they are a collective in the true sense, welcoming different energies and sounds rather than conflating influences; there is no death by committee here, whatever separatist forest fringe the masked clan of masterful musicians reside in, it operates socialistically.
“Thank you,” the humble Fluffan says in response to this appraisal, gladdened by the notion that the band’s intent translates. “I can honestly say that I have hardly thought about this. The way we write or how to go about it, I mean, since so many people are involved, it’s rather easy to experiment with sounds and influences. People, myself included, tend not to want their favourite bands to change ever. At the same time, I would say it’s absolutely necessary to change both as a human being and as a musician.”
“Music is a weird art form in that way,” he continues. “Maybe the weirdest. Because fans always want to hear the old songs, the classics, and most of the time they don’t want to hear the new stuff or the latest album. And the band are so fed up with the old songs that they can’t wait to do the new ones but no one wants to hear them and so its just a downward spiral of sorts.”
“I am much the same,” he says. “If I went and saw Slayer, for example, I would just want to hear everything up until Seasons in The Abyss. The later stuff I am not so familiar with. But imagine people wanting Spielberg to direct E.T over and over again. It’s a bit like that with music. ‘Come on ! Do E.T again!’ Imagine Rolling Stones performing ‘Paint It Black’ in 2023. It’s a bit like that… Imagine performing the same song for 60 years — pretty intense.”
However, with Goat, that doesn’t quite seem the same. They exist as more of a wavering entity. You’re a fan of the Goat oeuvre as much as you are of the music. And that is part of the beautiful, unique unknown-identity that they have crafted that once again thrives on Medicine. Perhaps it’s rooted in the fact that their sound may have changed naturally while the process has remained the same. “We just have to let go of any idea of what Goat is or should be or sound like. Adjust the masks and plug in the fuzz,” he says regarding the moments when the band convene.
The final mantra of Goat: “As a collective, and as individuals, we have to keep evolving. Destination forward. Otherwise you get stuck in a form and that is not very creative or fun. There is no point in trying to make the same album over and over again.” So, fittingly, Medicine is largely unlike anything you’ve ever heard.
