The Art of Getting Killed: Geese Can Actually Fly
by Owen Neaman
Last year, in the wake of Geese frontman Cameron Winter’s debut album Heavy Metal, it was pretty hard for me to picture what “up from here” would mean to a songwriter like him. The album proved to be a critically lauded tour de force that fleetingly eclipsed the mediocre guitar-slinging sad boys on Spotify’s Fresh Finds playlists (I gleefully hoped the record would make the Noah Kahans of the world shit their pants).
However, the other part of me thought about the pressure that Winter would probably face if he chose to remain in Geese; his situation seemed analogous to that of Adrienne Lenker and Big Thief. Winter’s mournful art-pop, however, seemed light years away from Geese’s cool, summery indie rock (see 2023’s 3D Country), whereas the solo songs of Lenker and Big Thief seem congruent in their sad and spare songcraft (Lenker even covered a Big Thief song on her newest solo record). Not that 3D Country is a mediocre album, but it was hard picturing Winter returning to Geese’s classic rock cocoon after Heavy Metal’s metamorphosis.
Fortunately, the very first track of their new LP, Getting Killed makes it patently clear that this is definitely not the same band. “THERE’S A BOMB IN MY CAR,” Winter screams on album opener “Trinidad”. Indeed, the mix sounds like a car crash of guitars that makes you check if one of your headphones has blown out. The listener is immobilized, firmly strapped down to what might be the band’s first true display of musical anarchy. Winter gloriously corrupts Getting Killed with the trappings of his solo album, but instead of totally overpowering his band, he opts to do something far more difficult; find a balance between the soothing, summery Geese sound and his own sound from Heavy Metal. The old Geese isn’t completely gone: after shocking the listener with the defibrillating opener, the band reels into several familiar sounding numbers. The beachy shuffle of “Cobra” is as lush as anything on 3D Country, apart from the melancholic lyrics “You should be shame’s only daughter / whatever he’s got in his hand / you can get on your own.” The steady, mountain-climbing plod of “Husbands” also shows that the group aren’t done being a jam band— silky, bluesy guitar licks from Emily Green, rustling percussion accompanied by gorgeous, choir-like harmonies sound like a Deadhead daydream in your neighborhood church.
On that note, Getting Killed dips its toes into religious themes just as much as it plays with vulgarity, as is exemplified by its lead single “Taxes”, where Winter declares that he “should burn in hell,” before singing a self-scathing, unrepentant mantra atop what sounds like a marching caravan of acoustic guitars and congas: “If you want me to pay my taxes/You better come over with a crucifix/You’re gonna have to nail me down.” The mounting instrumental suddenly cracks into an ethereal, descending guitar line, as if Winter has accepted his own fallibility and fate, but has resolved to move forward even if his damnation to hell is inevitable. It’s an adamant statement of self-acceptance from a songwriter not known for such things, and fits perfectly with Geese’s divisive, yet determined journey in a new musical direction. When he sings “And I will break my heart from now on,” the listener knows it’s not a manifestation, but a command.
Even in the album’s moments of despair, Getting Killed feels uniquely triumphant. The title track opens with propulsive groove from drummer Max Bassin and bassist Dominic DiGesu, a jubilant gospel choir, and the dirt-speckled honk of Green and Winter’s electric guitars. If it weren’t for the crystalline production and perfectly balanced arrangements, the song’s instrumental could literally pass for anything off The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street. It’s no-frills rock and roll, that is nevertheless miraculously and refreshingly original rock and roll, probably because their singer has no interest in playing rock star. Winter’s self-deprecating attitude and extremely distinct voice might be partly responsible for this, but it’s also Geese’s incredible knack for brilliant, unconventional-yet-addictive song structures that have given them wings. The title track only has one chorus before a jammy second section of the song, and songs like “Au Pays Du Cocaine” and “100 Horses” show that the band's sorrowful ballads and pulsing rockers are more like odysseys than songs. While undoubtedly rooted in a rootsy rock aesthetic, Winter’s songcraft lands closer to that of latter-day Fiona Apple than that of Mick Jagger.
Impressively, most of the songs on the album are relatively short, but certain songs drag on what is otherwise a superbly paced album. “Half Real” and “Bow Down” would fit fine on an album like 3D Country, but feel like underdeveloped worlds that I would want the band to develop rather than drop into an album as cohesive as Getting Killed. The band have certainly found the perfect balance of charisma and introspection, but have yet to make the transitions between their more disparate songs less jarring.
That being said, the transitions from “Taxes” into closing number “Long Island City Here I Come” is dazzling. After “Taxes” slowly burns out, a simmering pulse of piano and percussion soundtracks Winter’s racing thoughts about (what seems to be a cheating ex-partner). Joan of Arc, Charlemagne, and Joshua are naturally name-checked as if Winter’s on a first-name basis with them. The beat picks up to a jog, then a sprint as the band evokes a thousand-yard dash across the Queensborough Bridge, to wherever they call home, as if booking it to safety. The resolution never seems to come, as the music gets louder and faster, but Winter never seems to run out of breath. It’s a remarkable depiction of overstimulation, crowned by what might be Cameron Winter’s most incredible vocal performance. After he belts the coda, the band doesn’t slow down: they go into a frenzy of blood-curdling bass and relentless thwacking drums. Their goal might as well be giving the listener a panic attack after an album of meditation, and you’re forced to take a breath after the final note is played. The album builds a psyche during its runtime, one filled with hopes, loves, and dreads, and effectively kills itself in the final track. Geese have proved to be more than a tight rock and roll band—they’re breathing, kicking, screaming if they feel like it. Getting Killed is more than a proof of talent and skill; it’s a proof of life.
