In a world slowly forgetting how to freak out, Graveyard and Goat come swaggering out of Gothenburg like time-travelers from a sweat-soaked Fillmore stage, hand in hand with the gods of fuzz and funk. Their new 7", a psychedelic séance pressed lovingly onto purple marble wax for Record Store Day, is more than just a record—it’s a transmission from another plane, beamed in through battered Orange amps and sun-split wah pedals.
Side A, Ship of Fools, is Graveyard letting their freak flag fly higher than ever, busting out of their bluesy shell to ride a tidal wave of molten groove. This ain’t no tight-laced doom dirge—it’s a freewheeling face-melter that finds Graveyard diving into Goat’s kaleidoscopic cauldron. Guitars cascade like lava down a mountainside while the rhythm section pulses like a shaman’s heartbeat. It’s equal parts stadium swagger and sweat-drenched soul, a glorious Frankenstein of ‘70s rock excess and post-modern psych weirdness.
Flip the wax and Light As A Feather flutters in—not gently, but with all the giddy euphoria of a barefoot stomp in a moonlit meadow. Goat are in full flower-child form here, channeling the cosmic boogie of Funkadelic with the celestial hum of Ash Ra Tempel. There are no verses, no choruses—just a spiraling ascent into some harmonic otherworld where gospel vocals soar and a sun-scorched solo melts everything it touches. It's the sound of the Age of Aquarius reissued with extra gain.
Born from late-night jam sessions and sealed with decades of mutual reverence, this collab doesn’t just merge two bands—it reinvents them. It’s the rare kind of split that feels like a revelation rather than a novelty. You’ll be floating before the needle even hits the runout.
-Helge Neumann
Comments