Goat Girl’s 2018 self-titled debut album was an intense but brief affair; nineteen tracks forming a whistle-stop tour through the devolution of their home, that bloody London, with only one track clocking in at over three minutes.
For the delayed (no prizes for guessing why) second, the quartet have expanded their horizons both sonically and lyrically.
A reshuffle of the pack in 2019 not only saw Holly Mullineaux replace Naima Redina-Bock on bass, but also a broadening of responsibilities: while their debut was primarily written by lead vocalist and guitarist Lottie Pendlebury, natural evolution has led to a more democratic approach in terms of songwriting, the duties spread over the four members.
Sadly, and despite being a year old, the subject matters taken to task (mental health, anxiety, misogyny, all still served with a dose of political outrage) are just as pertinent, arguably more so, as we live through what are hopefully the bleakest of modern times.
The atmospheric, ethereal opening Pest (trimmed from its original title Pest From The West) is a thoughtful riposte to the now-regular Beast From The East snow warnings, following through on the idea that western culture views anything else as problematic whilst doing little to help global matters via the metaphor of physical disruption.
That said, it’s hard to think of little else when a young female voice sings, ‘I have no shame when I say; step the fuck away’, which should give you some indication of the levels of thought that have gone into the album.
Likewise, on surface level the shining, swollen synths of current, annoyingly-catchy single Badibaba is naught but a pop single until the lyrics are scrutinised (‘feels like we’re an infection’) and revealed to cover humanity’s effect on our planet. It’s a clever trick that they come back to often.
P.T.S.Tea may seem like a play on words, and indeed has a light-hearted, almost nursery rhyme feel, but is actually a true story of being scolded carelessly by a hot drink which subsequently led to the band cancelling dates. To reveal much more would be akin to spoiling a movie, except to say Goat Girl are now in that rare breed of contemporary musicians whose lyrics make you question your own behaviour.
More remarkable however is their sonic evolution: roping in their old friend Dan Carey on production duties, it seems like no instrument or no aesthetic was out of bounds during the recording sessions, with a whole cornucopia of sounds forming the record.
The wiry guitar and emotive keys on Sad Cowboy bring to mind Caribou soundtracking a spaghetti western (fittingly), while the shifty, nervous world music on Jazz (In The Supermarket) gives way, at points, to psychedelic splashes of electronica. As an instrumental, it’s curiously placed at track three (who does that?), but demonstrates their confidence in breaking up proceedings so early.
Anxiety Feels puts complex subject matter over a Lauren Hill-style arrangement, while the wonky Closing In evolves from moody to all-out party in the space of three-and-a-half minutes.
It’s as exciting a revolution as we’ve had from any band in recent years, although it’s perhaps over-long. With a runtime of nearly an hour, some of the later tracks do blend into one another, though most have stand-out features, such as the mature strings and shuffling, Think Tank-era Blur percussion on A-Men.
But ultimately, with their ethereal slacker voices, Goat Girl have created a dreamy masterclass in contemporary observation, disguised as carefree nonchalance.
Equal parts unsettling and unwavering, On All Fours’ greatest strength is that it never feels like it’s trying too hard but demands attention regardless.