In a musical landscape where many bands tend to blend together, it’s refreshing to hear a vocalist whose voice instantly defines their band. That’s the case with Geese, whose frontman, Cameron Winter, sounds unmistakably like himself. Winter evokes an early echo of Patti Smith — lanky, sardonic, poetically dark, and effortlessly bridging punk energy with a modern sensibility that speaks directly to his generation.
The buzz surrounding Geese has quickly outgrown the small venues booked for their fall tour. Those lucky enough to catch the Brooklyn band at Crescent Ballroom on November 1, 2025, know they won’t be unleashing their clashing brand of wiry post-punk twang in 700-capacity rooms for much longer. For now, they’re still grinding it out — traveling by van, playing cities 300 miles apart on back-to-back nights — but these sweaty, hard-earned shows are likely nearing their end. While no amount of hype may ever anoint them as the next Strokes, Geese have carved out a clear identity through three well-received albums and a sharp sense of self-aware humor. Their latest record, Getting Killed, seems to have struck the strongest chord yet.
“Who won the game?” quipped a sarcastic Cameron Winter as Geese took the stage five minutes late — their 9:15 start pushed back just as the LA Dodgers clinched a thrilling Game 7 of the World Series in the 11th inning at 9:20. When the crowd shouted back, “The Dodgers!”, Winter shot back with a grin, “No shit — you think we weren’t watching?” You might not expect a group of wiry twenty-somethings to be glued to a baseball game before their set, but Geese certainly seems to enjoy fucking with people when they can.
Opening with “Husbands,” Geese greeted the crowd with a track that perfectly encapsulates their sound — wiry guitars, taut rhythms, and vocals that can jolt you out of comfort the moment you settle in. While the band hasn’t tinkered much with their setlist structure on the Getting Killed tour, all eleven songs from the new album made the cut. Normally, a set heavy with new material might spell disappointment for longtime fans, but not here; Getting Killed is Geese’s Doolittle, and each song was greeted with sing-along as if they’ve been played for decades.
When Geese did migrate (forgive the band puns — there’ll be more), to older material like “2122,” they channeled a frantic New York energy — a whirlwind of tight rhythms and multi-part freak-outs that wouldn’t sound out of place at a King Gizzard show. A sly Stooges tease near the end nodded to yet another lanky, punk icon of the ’70s. Guitarist Emily Green’s dynamic tone shifts and inventive flourishes carried the band to some thrilling heights.
The one-two honk (yeah, couldn’t help myself) of “4D Country” could easily pass for a Ween tune — derranged, soulful, and just the right amount of WTF aspect — while “Cowboy Nudes” proves that even a band as strange as Geese can deliver something downright anthemic.
The pulsing groove of “Bow Down” might be the closest thing to a dance track in Geese’s catalog, blending a Talking Heads–style art-funk sensibility with a classic rock churn. And once again, Winter’s knack for connection shone through — imagine a sold-out venue singing the word “taxes” in unison.
Encore set closers are usually saved for the songs that brought a band to prominence in the first place, but the cryptically dark “Trinidad” breaks that rule. The track sounds like Alan Vega losing his mind “Frankie”-style on Suicide’s debut — all twisted lyrics laced with horror imagery and Winter’s chilling screams. Its jagged 13/8 rhythm served as an ideal overture for a night of middle finger/ off-kilter rock.
