THE GOATS: “No Goats No Glory” (Columbia)

I saw this bunch of Philadelphia funk-rap merchants at last year’s Reading Festival and was not particularly impressed by a crowded stage full of hyperactive rappers all vying to get a piece of the action, all desperately trying to make an impact. Well, on record, it should be easier, in theory, to get a firmer handle on the band but I’m just as puzzled as to what they’re about with this, their second album. Evidently they are missing the contribution of founder member Oatie Kato whose departure has robbed The Goats of that creative edge needed to make the fusion of metal, funk and hip hop work.

If this was achieved on their debut Tricks of The Shade, it was because that album succeeded in doing what all good rap must do: it must risk showing its ass, it must risk going too far . . . and The Goats did go too far on that album, launching a series of sonic sound missiles at conservative America and its institutions; easy targets maybe but not everyone manages to score direct hits.

However on No Goats No Glory, Swayzack and co. appear to be aiming at nobody in particular. Sure, they take pot shots at American radio play-listing policies (‘Butchers Countdown’) and ultra right-wing fringe groups (‘Revolution ’94’ alludes to the PMRC) but the result is more of a flesh wound than a mortal strike.

Just putting the word ‘fuck’ into the chorus doesn’t necessarily make you radical or subversive: it comes across here as a last ditch attempt by the band to inject some strain of excitement into an otherwise unremarkable album. Tracks like ‘Lincoln Drive’ meander along aimlessly, ending up down a cul-de-sac out of which there is no apparent escape. There are moments when they appear to find their way again, as on ‘Philly Blunts’, whose wicked wah wah guitar temporarily leaves you with the feeling that you’ve accidentally stumbled on the new Fatima Mansions album and there are the odd interesting rhyming couplets concerning Ice Cube and Devo (I kid you not!) but, on the whole it’s fairly uninspired stuff and the eclectic mix of styles on the album – usually a healthy thing – here leaves the band sounding directionless and in dire need of a road map.

The best advice I can give to someone who’s on the verge of buying one of the new releases on offer is to head straight for the section titled ‘Neil Young’.

• Nicholas G. Kelly