Goat Girl: Self-titled debut album review

Here it is. Finally. The debut album from south London up-and-comers, Goat Girl, is here at last. It feels an absolute age since they released Country Sleaze in the autumn of 2016, but the quartet has only gotten stronger, releasing singles Crow Cries and Cracker Drool along the way. They teamed up with producer Dan Carey (The Kills, Bat for Lashes, Franz Ferdinand) to record a song a day in order to get the untreated, unrefined moment of conception on record.

The self-titled debut effort combines the band’s classic jangly country guitars with gothic vibes, akin to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, alongside audible punk influences, like the Slits. This strange but altogether tasty concoction stops the band from being filed away as a bog-standard guitar band, destined to be forgotten, but rather marks them out as one of the most unique young bands in the country.

The hypnotic, swaggering vocals of lead singer, Clottie Cream, ooze confidence. The whole album has a distinct feel of comfort from the band.  For example, the track Creep deals with public perverts, not with anger, but a rather more nonchalant attitude, as Clottie calmly tells the creep ‘I really want to smash your head in’. I Don’t Care Pt. 1 and I Don’t Care Pt. 2 serve as further purveyors of the no-fucks-given ethic. The album was recorded straight to tape, allowing for the band to be unhindered by the struggle for perfection, resulting in a free and natural sound.

While the main body of tracks consists mostly of works two minutes long, the songs flow seamlessly into one another and not in a boring way. The album is interspersed with short interludes, enough to grab your attention but not so many that they completely overrun the project. An updated version of Goat Girl classic, Country Sleaze, makes an appearance on the tracklist alongside centrepiece, The Man, and latest single Throw Me A Bone.

This album is an ode to the urban youth; it epitomises those disaffected with the bleak times and the concrete jungles in which they are pinned. The collection of songs seems to enclose one in a grimy snow globe of dark back alleys and gritty bars, transporting the listener into Goat Girl’s twisted underworld. The nineteen track, forty minute long debut dematerialises as suddenly as it appears, making you look instantly for the loop button.


Words by Oliver Hopkins.


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