COMMUNE

The colorful voodoo cult mystery band from the Scandinavian hinterlands has emerged from their woodland sanctum with another lively sampling of psychedelic / funkadelic / enigmatic dance music, after making a prismatic splash with their 2012 debut album "World Music". The names and faces of the individual players are still disguised behind an excess of eye-catching bal-masqué camouflage, but they can't hide the vitality of the music itself, no less invigorating the second time around.

For their sophomore trip the group dialed back the contagious Afro-Beat party vibe of "World Music", relying instead more on their trademark, throwback Psych-Rock grooves and riffing, cued by the transcendental call of a Tibetan gong at the top and bottom of the album. Ringing guitars and a driving rhythm inaugurate the opening ritual "Talk to God", but we're not invoking Yahweh here: the music of Goat celebrates the elemental cosmology of older, more profane deities, the ones who enjoyed coming down from the clouds to boogie with the congregation, begetting a few half-human demi-gods along the way.

The song gives the album an irresistible kickoff, matched by the equally hypnotic (and even louder) "Gathering of Ancient Tribes", the two tracks positioned like dynamic bookends in a secret library of forbidden knowledge. In between are several shorter, less essential cuts, including two additions in the ongoing cycle (I almost wrote 'psychle..!) of self-titled melodies: "Goatchild" and "Goatslaves", like the earlier entries ("Goathead", "Goatlord" et al) almost minimalist in their unpolished pursuit of the almighty groove.

The album isn't beyond criticism. Several cuts (the totemic plod of "Words", for example) are little more than filler. And the self-conscious (male) backing vocals in "Goatchild" undermine the orgiastic intensity of the band's usual distaff singers: a pair of brightly painted dryads in ceremonial headdress. The album also sounds like it was rushed into production in order to maintain a steady career momentum, employing little studio wizardry beyond a cosmic surplus of studio reverb.

If true, the silver lining was an undiminished plateau of musical energy, and a thrilling spontaneity to the performances, best heard in the boilerplate Middle Eastern chords of "Hide From the Sun", and in the raw Krautrock trance of "Bondye" (aka Bon Dieu: the benevolent creator god of Haitian Voudo). By then the adrenalin rush is well-advanced, and when the twin priestesses begin shouting the mantra "into the fire!" at the ecstatic climax of "Ancient Tribes" you too might be tempted to shed your inhibitions, your clothing, and what's left of your earthly sanity to be reborn in the communal flames.

Spinning lessons one-on-one, Sweden style

There are some quite original facets to this sophomore release by Goat that literally leap into your ears. The humble traveller will right from the get-go be facing female vocals of the different kind. Shouting like a deranged teenager or a very young Renate Knaup, this girl spits out words - deliberately taunting you with every cute syllable. That same mischievous and playful feel seeps right through to everyone else involved - conjuring up an unbridled and youthful energy to Goat's sound that fits oh so beautifully well.

......and then you hear the guitar and it's unusual expression. It's a style of playing most commonly known as Tuareg blues (or Tishoumaren), the Moroccan flair. You sense it in the way the fingers rrrrrroll spiralling across the strings, like a genuine rock harp, much in the same way that John Weizierl used to riff during the early years of Amon Düül ll. Think Wolf City for reference. What this 'spiralling' effect has on the surrounding music is that it makes it twirl - like a meditating Sufi preacher making his way into the back of his mind by spinning his body at ferocious speeds.

Accompanying all of this is a rhythm section that is as comfortable playing in the style of old school rock n roll bands as they are doing funk and something akin to space disco coming from the insides of a tee-pee. Aside from the bass and drums you additionally get a furious percussion element to the mix. They rustle up the all important jungle vibe of this group. Instead of hiding in the back like normal congas and bongos tend to do, these guys have opted for the more in-your-face-approach ultimately planting a deep earthy note within the music. It feels raw and untamed because of this. Coupled together with the mosaic see-sawing guitars you wind up with a music that is tribal and wild at heart.

These cats never show their faces. They wear big ornamented masks at their concerts, which in turn are like these raging hypnotic Navajo parties with psychedelic light shows and strange colourful voodoo rituals. In fact, the band claims to hail from Korpilombolo, situated in the northern part of Sweden - up where the lingo starts sounding remarkably Finnish. According to the band, the city has had a history with black magic and voodoo ever since a presumably unknown witch doctor lived there.

This is most likely just old wives' tales, but it all ends up adding to the strange and altogether enigmatic reputation Goat has garnered. Now I know I've already succeeded in painting a picture of a drugged out psychedelic band that attaches exotic and abnormal fittings to their sound, yet the final product is about as easy to get into as a pair of old slippers. I kid you not. That is if you can handle the female shoutsinging.......yep I shouldn't have said that. No one wants shoutsinging on an otherwise exciting and infectiously funky record. It works though. It isn't avantguarde or purposely "difficult". It's zany, energetic and perfectly in tune with the spinning guitar patterns that constantly remind me of the Sufi preacher twirling around in the desert to the gentle tunes of the Arabian Funkadelic. Oh yes there's a real boom to this baby!

With a bellowing reverb adorning the production Commune removes itself ever so slightly from it's predecessor, though only a tiny bit. It still feels as if the whole thing was recorded live in the studio during an inspired séance.

It's an album you can dance to - especially during those funky boogie sections of 'Words' and the Krautrock tinged 'Bondye' that entices you deep into it's celestial groove.You can even sing along to it. The words and melodies all seem to slip so easily off the tongue, that you, at times, wonder if you're listening to revamped and entirely beefed-up nursery rhymes.