Getting Killed by Geese

Since September, Thom Yorke’s disciple, Cameron Winter, and his bandmates, Emily Green, Dominic DiGesu, and Max Bassin, have lived in my mind, haunting my dreams with their shambolic bedlams, thrilling instrumentals, and emphatic rhythms. Their sound, a mixture of punk’s chaos and rock’s nonsense-lyricism, is brilliant. Upon the release of their newest album, Getting Killed, I, along with millions of other listeners, have become disciples preaching the sanctity of Geese’s ethereal, uniform chaos. In comparison to 3D Country, Getting Killed scavenges the remains of its predecessor, repurposing the carcass as a house for newer, more confident sounds; thus, arising from this frankenstein product is a sonic autopsy unlike any other. 

In their opener, “Trinidad,” the quartet mesmerizes melomaniacs with disorienting guitar chords, resembling, in my opinion, a paranoid schizophrenic's take on free jazz. As the echoes of desperation ring in the mind of fans, hallucinations of fever-drenched mirages begin to spew out of speakers, only to be broken up by Winter’s cry, “There’s a bomb in my car.” “Trinidad” teeters on the line between brilliance and madness – it’s almost intoxicating. Following this fever dream, Geese transitions to “Cobra,” a lighter, more optimistic song. As the piano dances around Winter’s hopeful sentiments, the track radiates a bittersweet warmth. While only being the second song on Getting Killed, “Cobra” serves as a great introduction to a string of masterful compositions – the first of which being, “Husbands,” where the beat transports listeners to a time when archaic tribes, stained with the legacy of their enemy, perform rituals, chanting “Will it wash your hair clean / When your husbands all die? / Will you know what I mean?” Building off of this intensity, “Getting Killed” paints a picture of an apocalyptic hellscape, where the only thought among the wasteland’s desolation is Winter’s wail, “I can’t even taste my own tears / They fall into an even sadder bastard’s eyes.” Layered over the vocals of a soulful Ukrainian choir, the title track beautifully blends Winter’s warble with the heavenly voices of those carrying generations of sorrow and strength. With this, these first four songs are nothing short of incredible – each one being better than the last.

The second half of Getting Killed features Green’s virtuoso, Bassin’s thunderous drumming, and DiGesu’s dexterity – all of which unite to create an opus of harmony, such as “Islands of Men” and “100 Horses.” While the former’s elysian rhythms are intoxicating, the latter sucker punches listeners with the poison of existentialism and explosive percussions – where, Bassin’s insistent beat builds to a warning: “There is only dance music in times of war.” In contrast, “Au Pays du Cocaine” channels the intensity of previous tracks in order to serenade fans with what sounds like a Freudian childhood lullaby filtered through a haze of buried desire and abandonment. With lyrics like “Baby, you can change and still choose me” the New Yorkers frame devotion as a plea of desperation. I’m obsessed. Shortly after “Au Pays du Cocaine,” Geese dazzles listeners with “Taxes,” an idiosyncratic song filled with frustration, tragicomedy, and hellfire vocals. This poetic protest criticizes the failing American medical system, which is laid bare in the devastating plea, “Doctor heal yourself, I will break my own heart from now on.” This song is killer (pun intended). 

In sum, Geese are a beastly representation of prowess in the music industry. There is no way to encapsulate the genius behind the New Yorker’s sound – it’s remarkable. Still, even with their exceptional skill, I recognize that the band’s sound isn’t for everyone. In fact, their acid trip of an album was an unhinged freak show that I wasn’t vibing with in the early stages of its release; however, one of the beautiful things about Getting Killed is the ambush of irresistible tracks that grow in allure and richness. At one point or another, each song was my favorite, a testament to the album’s depth and unpredictability. The group, despite just having a few years of   experience, has the spirit of a comically grave quipster trying to find their place in the world. In their ability to lace tragedy with humor, gusto, and absurdity, Geese reimagines music into a playground of catharsis. Thus, whether it be JPEGMAFIA’s screams on “Trinidad” or the whiplash of instruments in “Bow Down,” Winter, Green, DiGesu and Bassin are overflowing with talent, producing an arrangement of euphonious anarchy. 

Album rating: 9.5/10