It's the Vinyl Countdown: #2 "Getting Killed" by Geese
Is there room on this bandwagon? Should I get on board?
Is there room on this bandwagon? I ask because I have now placed one foot firmly on this step and I am hovering. I think I see a spare seat. It’s fine if there is no room. No drama. I can always trot along behind, popping my head up from time-to-time to see what’s going on. I’m not, you know, a Geese tragic. Not that it’s tragic to be fanatical about Geese. My apologies.
Shall I just hover off the back here and we’ll see how this goes?
Today we’re going to talk about the musical stylings of Geese and their 2025 LP, “Getting Killed.”
You’re probably rolling your eyes and looking me up and down right about now. I feel your pity. I know, I know, I’m late to the party. Well, one, it’s not my party. I’m an old head and this is new music, and two, stick around. I might not be about to say what you think I’m about to say.
Form a flying V behind me and let’s take off!
I approached this album the way you should never approach anything: With intense, seething resentment.
“Ugh! I’ve got to listen to this fucking shit, now? I don’t have time for flash-in-the-pans or fly-by-nights. I just don’t have the mental bandwidth for this!”
But I couldn’t get away from them. They seemed to come from NOWHERE. My feed went from never having met a Geese to giant honking mega-Geese in what felt like a matter of days.
"Geese" this and "Geese" that. Let me tell ya, my thumb was never triggered faster than when it heard even a nano-second of “Taxes” or caught even a glimpse of Cameron Winter’s sleepy shrug eyes peering out from behind his docile bangs.
In fact, I was so stubborn about it, I made it my mission to, like NFTs, never learn a single thing about them. “They’ll fade away,” thought I. “And think of all that real estate I’m saving in my brain! Don't tell me I've 'just gotta listen to Geese, you’d love them.' You're not the boss of me!”
And so, I hated them. Preemptively.
I got chased by geese in a county park once. Just like then, Geese wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m not sure I can pinpoint when but, at some point, I started to soften my position. Not because I liked a song—I still had never heard more than a couple of seconds of any of this record—but because I thought I was being… what’s the word? Ridiculous. Ridiculously narrow minded.
With my pride and prejudiced tail between my legs, I relented. On November 21st, 2025, I got on Bandcamp and ordered the vinyl. I didn’t taste test on streaming. I didn't search anything out about it on YouTube. I just committed my wallet to the ride.
Unfortunately, the record shipped very late and I wanted time to give it its due before I could include it in my brackets for The Vinyl Countdown. So I downloaded my purchased digital files and late one night, got into bed, put my headphones on, turned out the light, and hit play on Geese.
How did that go? Dear reader, I played "Trinidad" four times in a row. Straight out of the gate. It is the first song on the record, and I played it four times in a row. I was excited now. If all the songs were like Trinidad, this was about to be a five-star experience!
I spent the rest of the listening session saying to myself “why aren’t there more songs like Trinidad?” I was confused pretty much right up until we got to the final song, "Long Island City Here I Come," and just like Track 1, I played that one multiple times. Then I took off my headphones and went to sleep, my ears ringing.
I’ve since listened many, many times to this record. The bookends—Trinidad and LICHIC—are brilliant. Everything in between? I confess, I struggled for quite a while. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, there was just something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I couldn’t connect with it.
I couldn’t connect, but I couldn’t stop listening to it either. My reaction to it was so curious to me.
Time has passed and here we are. And now I’m going to try put my feelings about it into words. My final thoughts, right at the start. Before we even get into the songs. Here goes.
What a mess.
What a glorious, youth-infused, hot-mess. I don’t mean mess as in disjointed or not good—they are obviously good—I mean mess as in like a Rochester garbage plate.
There are time signature changes all over the shop. There's a blending of sounds and beats and then his voice stabbing in here and there, sometimes in ways you don’t expect. This band—even this album—is made up of all these sounds and arrangements and movements that sound like they shouldn’t go together, but they do go together and it’s strangely delicious.
Compelling. I am compelled.
The vibe is chaotic. Verges on a complete dog’s breakfast at times. But even while they careen at the edge of madness, it somehow maintains a semblance of complete (albeit barely) control. The mess makes sense.
Wild and free and impassioned and raw and angry and subdued and confused and quiet and mystified and the yawned sigh and sudden scream of it all.
It’s exciting. It’s… unpredictable.
And THAT’s why “Getting Killed” made my final five.
I fought against it every step of the way.
Damn you, Geese! Damn me for liking you!
Now, before we get into it, fair warning: when you start reading my random thoughts on the songs you might get the impression that I’m not enjoying the experience. It will make you question why I put them at #2 on the list. It might make you think that I'm only doing it to join the cool kids in the climate-controlled section of the bandwagon.
Pfft! Look at me. [She says, smoothing out her comedy jumper]. Do I look like I care about cool kids?
I’ll put it like this. Geese are everything that makes me excited for the future of music. There’s energy, and youth, and exuberance, and playing with the form, and LOUD noises. There’s forward momentum—a driving force with no brakes. There is no looking back here. There is only the 'here I come' of it.
I’ve grown to very much enjoy Geese and the potential of what their journey might look like. If they don’t fold under the weight of this sudden adulation that seems to be have been thrust upon them with this record.
And if it’s not clear by now—I feel like I am sort of dodging the question—I do like this record. A lot. I do enjoy listening to it. A lot.
I’m just saying that it took a while to get there and I’m not sure what that says about me. I couldn’t let it go. I'm not sure what that says about this record. Eh. But what can you do when you’re chased by Geese?!
Where I stood on this at the start is miles away from where I stand at the finish. I don’t think they’re the saviors of our souls or rock and roll or indie or alt or whatever, because I just don’t think about shit like that.
I don’t participate in any scene. The only scene I care about is held in the vinyl of my living room.
*sigh*
I still wish it were an entire album of Trinidads. I want to thrash about in a young body that heals quickly with a heart that hurts too much and with a confidence I don’t know what to do with. This record gives me hope. This band gives me hope. The youthful playfulness. The confidence of it. Which I hope is not destroyed or sucked from their bodies. I hope they are not being fattened up solely for their precious Foie Gras to be harvested by others.
In all honest, it’s not what they’re doing right now that excites me. It’s what they might they do. If they survive this wave, this hype, the bandwagon being driven out of control. If they survive and thrive, what will come next? What will they become?
What potential lies in the bone and marrow of youth? The try anything of it. The elixir of exuberance slathered on their bodies and instruments. I called it a hot mess at the start, and I apologize if that offends the fans. This is one of the highest compliments I can give, trust me. They seem to be building their own roads. Finding direction. Stomping all over and breaking a few brains in the process.
From the explosive anxiety and desperation of the bomb in the car at the start, to the eff everything because here I come swagger at the end, this album contains the energy and spirit I want to carry with me, right on into the new year.
Speaking of mess, let’s read some lyrics and let Cameron Winters mess with our minds, because boy-howdy, this kid is, at times, the definition of pure, top-shelf vague post-er. I don’t know what he’s been stuffing into his brain, life or source-material, but the strong bed of music the band puts beneath him gives him something firm to bounce all over.
Admittedly, I don’t know what he’s on about half the time (you'll see) and I make no claims as to the interpretations that are about to follow. I’m just out here, floating a boat on the river of my own shit takes. Responding.
Grab a paddle. This is the fun part.
Sometimes, in the wildest of times, in the freakiest and most teeter-totter of the Jaysus, Mary and Joseph shit-uations, I crack open this ol’ hoary chestnut of a saying: “How can I soar like an eagle when I’m surrounded by turkeys.”
I don’t know what turkeys did to catch a stray like that, but if you think of the bomb in the car as being the stand in for my turkey, same same.
“There’s a bomb in my car.”
Albeit more elevated. Turkeys can only reach a height of 100 feet, and we’ve all seen Fly Away Home, so…[shrugs]. But I digress.
“There’s a bomb in my car.”
How can any of us get anywhere when there’s a big ol’ bomb in the car? Here we are, just plugging away and trying and trying SO HARD to get through this life traffic. And suddenly, BOOM! Something blows up the dream.
The herky-jerkiness of it. Sinewy and raw. The impassioned juxtaposition of the soft try of it with the hard realization that the game it rigged. How can he get anywhere with explosive ordinance in the back seat?
“There’s a bomb in my car.”
Which is to say, this one hits. On multiple levels.
The time changes, the soft and loud, the sleepy and the full awake. The explosion of the turkeys grounding his eagle. (Too far?) The horns honking in traffic. The taps and syncopation. The subtleties of it. On and on and on.
It’s… wait for it… disarming.
“When that light turns red, I'm driving away”
With the bomb? Driving it into someone else’s life perhaps?
What is the bomb?
For the character in the song, it could be anything, but metaphorically, I’m saying it is whatever it is in your life that’s upsetting your flow. Stopping you from making any progress. Someone else's problem becoming your problem.
Ah, who cares what it means METAPHORICALLY, because PHYSICALLY I bet dollars to donuts the PIT GOES OFF at the ‘there’s a bomb in my car’ part.
Like I said in the intro, I listened to this multiple times before I moved on to the next song. It was just so teeth gritty, and I was excited.
“If the rest of the record is like this,” I thought, “I am bandwagon-bound. I am hogtied and Geeseified! Hallelujah. Honk honk!”
The smash cut was sudden with Side A, Track 2: “Cobra” From the rough and energic to the smooth and seductive. Percussive taps and a charming, sleepy delivery. Swaying palm tree guitar plucks. The whole thing is an audio representation of the 'cobra dancing in the basket as the charmer plays', kinda deal.
I get it.
We’re drawn in with an Elvis-like delivery of the word ‘baby’ and what follows is a snakey, wiggly song. No strike that. It’s a seductive little dance.
Is he the snake charmer? Or is it the cobra that’s doing all the charming? Is the snake the seductress?
If I’m reading this correctly, he and the cobra are having a little dance and that’s his favorite part—the part he wants to last forever—but despite knowing the danger, he reaches out and grabs the cobra at the end and now he has a danger noodle in his hand. Is that right?
What’s with this shaming and blaming shit? You grabbed the danger. Dude, that’s on you. I mean, what are you saying to her? You like the dance but please, don’t be too seductive or I might catch you and I won't know what to do with you then? Like the dog that caught the car.
Who’s the guy you're talking about in the middle of the song there? Was she with someone else and you charmed her away and now you’re like… oh, wait. I only liked the charming part of the dance.
I fear I am reading this wrong.
Dance the danger, expect the danger, buddy.
There is the line about 'you can make the cobras dance but not me', so maybe it’s jealousy.
There’s a cobra in my hand
She’s calling back again
There’s a cobra in my hand
Calling me
I fought hardest against this song, and I think it’s because it came straight after the epic glory of Trinidad. Although, I suppose we did go from a “bomb in my car” to a “cobra in my hand.” Will the next song be about a “knife in my toaster.”
I apologize. That was unnecessary snark.
The thing about the snake charmers with the snakes in their hands is that they do get bitten from time to time and that was just me having a snap because I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Not yet.
The temptation to grab the snake. I see the danger there and it's not just the danger of getting bitten.
What if we fall in love with danger?
Side A, Track 3: “Husbands.” I’ll come right out and say it. No, Cameron. I don’t know what you mean. That said, I do love the off-beat pulse of this one. Percussive and dragging. Simple guitars. A little twingly-twangly constant in the back room. It’s an odd beat. With one of the laziest—and I mean that as a style, not an attitude—vocal deliveries. The half-asleep of it. The barely cracked mouth of it. (And going to say this a lot).
And then he opens his mouth and breathes it out and enunciates and some Mick Jagger flavor inhabits him as he sing:
But my loneliness is gone
All my loneliness is gone
It’s a draining song. A fall in a heap on the carpet song. Not the lyrics, the pull of it. The sound. The emotional note of it.
But what the hell is it about? Saints? Martyrs? Whatever it is, some of it is melancholic overload. A sweet syrup to wade through. I ain’t mad about it.
This is one of those full-on vague posts of a song.
OK, I might be a bit mad about that. But going back to where I said he’s messing with our minds—we don’t need to find meaning in everything. There are lines that hit, but this is not a test. We don’t need to ace it.
Music | Response. Note your response, move on.
Will your husbands all die.
War widows maybe?
I’ll repeat what I say,
But I’ll never explain.
Ok.
And if my loneliness should stay
Well, some are holiest that way
For the most part, I’m having a response more to the musicality of it—the confusion of it—than the lyrics. I can listen to it without overthinking it.
Will you know what I mean?
Will you know what I mean?
Will you know what I mean?
Will you know what I mean?
Do you know what I mean?
Trinidad was an obvious get.
Husbands, not so much.
Moving on, with one foot hovering on the step of the bandwagon at this point. Not as confidently as it was on Trinidad.
Side A, Track 4: “Getting Killed”
What an odd song. Again, it’s the music that’s the most intriguing part of it, but at some point, I think the wailing of Cameron Winter over the top of it must be classified as an instrument. In its own right. In its own category. Not because of any note-hitting ability, but because of how he uses it so… weirdly at times.
Is that why people go nuts over this?
Odd beats. And him wailing words that I’m not really listening to. He’s glissading over them, down the mountain toward the chorus. Yelling and a'hollerin'. He’s Mick Jagger’ing again.
And now he’s squeezing his own voice box like a dog toy.
Getting out of this gumbo? Is that what he says?
Maybe I should look at the lyrics.
For some reason, reading the lyrics makes me like this song way more. What a glorious amble through a stream of consciousness something-er-other. It’s amusing, lyrically.
“I, I can't even taste my own tears
They fall into an even sadder bastard's eyes”
Ok, Cameron, you’re turning me around.
He's not saying gumbo. He’s just dragging out the word ‘gumball.’
“Yeah, I am taking off my pants
I’m getting out of this gumball machine”
If one were to go out on a limb with this one, one might think this song is about being in this specific hyped-to hell band. About being destroyed by the hype machine. Like a gumball machine where it’s pure luck what gets chosen—by the world, by the algorithm. About reading descriptions of yourself and not buying into it. About how to respond to things—how to keep doing your thing, I guess—even as you’re getting killed.
I'm getting killеd by a pretty good life
Getting killеd by a pretty good life
I have been fucking destroyed by this city tonight
I'm getting killed by a pretty good life
Did I mention I really like the musicianship on this one? They’re twiddling about and noodling and there’s a sort of euphoria to the whole thing. Reading the lyrics has only raised it higher on the ladder of my esteem.
I'm sorry I called it odd at the start. That’s a feature, not a bug.
Ok, I’m back on board with Side A, Track 5: “Islands of Men.” Fantastic. Love. Thumbs up. This is fucking great.
From the gentle block taps, increasing in speed to ramp us up, and into the total ambling grind and sheer swagger of it. Dig.
Again, it's with another loose flow of a vocal delivery that hits high and low and lulls you into a false sense of security before building, building and finally just blowing your brain up.
The vibe is a walk through the park, through the mall, through doubt and onto total confidence. Looking for an island. A refuge.
“You can’t keep running away
From what is real and what is fake”
What’s it about? I don’t know. The islands of men might simply be her search for the right man. Is he the right man? Or is he afraid to be open? He likes his isolation. Is a commentary on how men isolated themselves?
Maybe.
But no man is an island!
They are in this song, John Donne.
I enjoy the false summit of this song. We get pulled to what we think is the top, and then it keeps going. Like a mountain on an island, you gotta get up on top to see what’s on the horizon. To see what else is out there.
During this false summit, the narrator mumbles—or bubbles—away. Because having just said we’ve gone to the top of a mountain in feel, his vocals are swimming about in the sea. It’s a mouth full of water gurgle as we swim into some muttering and then the last minute the song goes off a bit, like an alarm or a school bell ringing.
It’s delightful. And PS: you can’t run away. You can’t be an island. You can’t hide in an ocean of isolation. Not in this world.
What’s this song about?
Who cares. It’s great. I’m warming up my bandwagon cushion for the ride ahead.
Side B, Track 1: “100 Horses.”
Another weird beat with a whole lot going on, and all at the same time. Are we talking about war horses? Is the war an actual war or just the war of life?
The feel of these 100 horses is not a Patti Smith Horses gallop but a more subdued, relaxed canter. A canter that precedes the battle and the clash of when those horses are gonna meet the enemy. I don't know. [shrugs]
All people
All people must smile
In times of war
And later:
All people
In times of war
Must go now to the circus
It’s all a circus. Propaganda. Grin and bear it. We are forced to go along with it and submit to the performance of it. Times are tough in this war, but you just got to get through it. Smile.
All people must go dancing
Out on the dancing floors
When I hear of people ‘dancing’ I think of that ugly image of being hung. The dead man’s dance. I don’t think that’s got anything to do with it—maybe—but the dance is the participation. You have to go to the circus. You have to do the dance. The submission dance.
It’s an easy gait of a song. It lopes along and in that respect it feels gentle, but there are dark undertones. Honestly, the whole song feels like one long run-on sentence and everyone’s trying to corral this thing. The tinkering of pianos. The hooves of percussion. The sudden pull on the reigns of it.
The horses stop. Sudden.
Will you die nervous? What if there is no afterlife? Or will you die scared? What if there is an afterlife and you're about to find out you’re on the wrong side when you get there?
On the wrong side of this war.
Giddy up!
Side B, Track 3: “Au Pays Du Cocaine”
I’d call this vocal delivery “low effort”, but I’m sure it takes a lot of control to let it slouch like that. It’s a one-eye-flickering-shut kinda deal. That half asleep vibe that comes from sitting in a dark room, a dark bar, with dark thoughts.
Something about cocaine? I don’t speak French and I will not be looking up translations or interpretations of this title or song, although I’m sure people have opinions. I refuse. I will just launch into some thoughts. Feel free to educate me. Go ahead. Geese-splain to me!
Like a sailor in a big green boat
Like a sailor in a big green coat
Whatever the rest of the song is about, I like this imagery. The color probably means something. (Goggles: sailors color superstitions). Ah. Green is bad luck. I think I knew that?
I guess he has bad luck. Or is bad luck?
Regardless of what it all means, this is his first mention of sailors and boats. He picks it up in the next song, so I’m not sure if these two songs are designed to be linked, or if that’s a coincidence.
I enjoy this song. It’s nice. Initially it felt relaxing and at ease. But having now absorbed the lyrics, it’s just… a bit desperate and sad, really. Is the cocaine to pep him up and get him out of this funk and sadness? It’s fine, he says. He’s alright.
Um, obviously not.
He’s not alright.
He’s super needy and pleading. He’s out to sea. She left and he’s begging for her to come back. I do find it interesting that he admits he’s not going to change—his compromise will be to allow her to just pretend he’s not there. He just wants to be with her, in her presence, and she's the one who’s going to have to change. At minimum, her mind.
I don’t think she should come back.
Wallow in the breakup, protagonist. (If that's what this is about). Accept it. I know you can be free, but you might have to figure out what you need to change in yourself for the next one.
Good song. Blessings.
And here we are back with the sailor in Side B, Track 4: “Bow Down.” But not for long. And instead of being the sailor, this time he is the boat. Plot twist!
I was a sailor
I was a sailor, and now I'm a boat
I was a car
I was a car, and now I'm the road
Sometimes you’re the hammer, sometimes you’re the nail. I got it. And sometimes you’ve just got to bow down and accept the situation. To be in love one minute and in hell the next.
Man, this one is juicy. Lyrically, I think it’s one of the stand outs on the album.
You don't know what it's like
She said, "He with least money has the most to sell, sell, sell"
And she said, "I've met angels so deep undercover
That they'd sit on Solomon's throne
He’s just stringing words out and we’re being pulled along like a pull toy. I am being pulled along. Along and into the bandwagon. What is music if not giving in to the trip, the journey, the experience?
He's right, I don’t know what it’s like. All I know is that I can feel the want of it. This band is stretching to find the edges of... whatever. Not the past, the future.
I love the musicianship. I love how they’re all in this together.
We all start in a room. We all play with string and fiddle with knobs and switches and seeing what we can bounce off each other. I mean, metaphorically for most of us, but literally for a band working their way through building a body of work. We all jam together and bow down to whatever happens, good and bad.
Will Geese survive the hot and cold of this moment? (And I’m late to the party, so that moment has probably already passed. Are they surviving?)
For a moment this year, Side B, Track 5: “Taxes.” was everywhere, all at once. And the tax Geese paid for that was my instant dismissal and absolute avoidance of learning anything about them for a while. I could not stand the sudden Geese-saturation of my world.
Sorry. I was an idiot. Just being onery. They didn’t deserve it.
Lyrically, this song is a judgement song. Musically, it’s a hymn. And I’m not just saying that because of the biblical references. The hell. The nails and crucifix. I mean, think about it: tithing is taxation of sorts. For funding your soul.
If I’m interpreting it correctly (which I'm not, of course), it’s also about guilt. About how long a person should have to pay the tax on that. About the fairness of that audit.
What is redemption? At what point will the protagonist own up to his role in... whatever has happened... and pay the tax on that?
In this world, you take the ride, you pay the fare.
If you want me to pay my taxes
If you want me to pay my taxes
You'd better come over with a crucifix
You're gonna have to nail me down
Yeah, I don’t think he’s there yet. He’s done some shitty things, but he’s gonna heal himself, thank you very much. He doesn’t need your blessing.
I will break my own heart from now on
He’s not ready. But also, I guess the ‘break my own heart from now on’ could be replaying the relationship, over and over again.
What a brat. Pay your taxes. Take your licks. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and OWN YOUR SHIT. I mean… I know this stuff is hard to get over, but at some point. You know.
Sorry. Projecting.
Side B, Track 6: “Long Island City Home”
This is the best song on the record. For the longest time, I thought the best song was Trinidad, but that ended up just being the gateway.
Full on bandwagon, here I come, here I come.
They saved the biggest driving momentum of a song for last, to kick you out the door of this record with maximum velocity.
We are chased by geese. They are snapping at our heels now.
There's piano ripping from one end to the other and the protagonist launching himself into the abyss. And words. So many words!
The song is great. The words are great. It’s just… great.
We are heading to the top of the mountain. We are bursting through walls. We are throwing ourselves at life. We are Joan of Arc, heading into battle.
I am so HYPED right now.
Lines leap out. And this is the second time I’ve heard someone bring up Charlemagne this week. (Although Jason Isbell was talking about Kid Charlemagne, the song. Digress.)
I’m just going to put this here:
I knew a man
He sat behind a desk that was a million feet wide
But he laid down his hammer and he died
I knew a man
Big and fat, born without arms or legs
Born to jump in the air and clap
He said, "Hang me from a yo-yo or a rope
And I'll be hanging by my neck all the same
So too shall I reach Long Island City, one of these days
I mean, come on. This song was my reward. For sticking it out.
Here I come, here I come
here I come, here I come
I am watching you, younglings. I see you burning. I see you raging. I see you.
There. And with that last gushing song reaction, we made it to the end.
Truth is, I’m an old lady. I’m not supposed to like new music. This is the music of a generation I am not a part of and I feel like a fraud even talking about it. But in listening to Geese—the whole grand experiment and focused mess of it—my faith is restored. The kids are all right, as cliched as that sounds and I am loathe to say it.
This is not my music—this is your music and from where I sit, this makes the night not seem so dark. The world does not seem so unforgiving.
My opinion matters not and you never asked for it, but let me just say this: As long as they keep exploring the outer edges of what they’re doing, I think we’re in for a wild time. That’s assuming, you know, that they don’t collapse under the pressure.
And fear not, old heads, just get on and enjoy the ride. You may not be ready for Geese—like I wasn’t for a while, until I was—but here they come anyway.
Release the Geese! Let’s see where they go.
[sings]
"All we are saaaaying…
is give Geese a chance.”
Prefer to send me a non-public comment? Click this button below
Listen to the album
Extra Credit
Interviews, Stories, and Reviews
Did ‘Getting Killed’ Save Indie Rock? - The Hoya
Pitchfork Review
Premature Evaluation: Geese "Getting Killed" - Stereogum
Geese: "Getting Killed" Never Sounded So Good - Atwood Magazine
Geese have somehow managed to make a very weird album wonderfully accessible"- Everything is Noise
Behind a Paywall, so I couldn't read it, but maybe you can
"Will Geese Redeem Noisy, Lawless Rock and Roll?" - The New Yorker
A poem
I mentioned John Donne in reference to the track "Islands of Men". Here's the reference:
No man is an island
No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
- From MEDITATION XVII: "Devotions upon Emergent Occasions" by John Donne