Partisan/PIAS

Just over two years removed from the band's breakthrough record 3D Country, and Nine months removed from frontman Cameron Winter's debut solo record Heavy Metal, the Gen Z Zeitgeist re-emerges with one of the finest album the 20's has to offer so far. The third studio album from New York's Geese is certainly their best to date, and one of the best that 2025 holds inside of it's soon-to-be-time-capsuled essence. With the album artwork featuring an angelic-like figure with pistol and trumpet in hand directed at your noggin, as you/they/Geese do, the insides of said artwork were always bound for interesting results.

The untethered, loose-on-the-side-of-manic, side of Jim Morrison sits all over intro track "Trinidad". The lyrics of:

'My son is in bed. My daughter's are dead. My wife's in the shed. My husband's burning lead. The rest are force fed or else baked into bread and nothings been said for four-and-a-half days. When that light turns red I'm driving away.'

are heavily reminiscent of The Doors debut album's closing track "The End". This will not be the first or last time that you see this observation made. The semi-psycho-serial-killer type schtick which is leaned into radiates an insanity rarely heard. Do not drive around and listen to "Trinidad" with windows down and system up.

THERE'S A BOMB IN MY CAR.

Second track "Cobra" opens up the more serene side of the band. A sweetness prevails. Within the first two tracks we're shown the opposite ends of the Geese spectrum - edgy and intentionally over the too, to earthly and of modest proportions.

'Whatever he's got in His hand, you can get it on your own.

You can make the cobras dance, but not me.'

Getting Killed is, in my opinion, necessary music. Someone's got to make it to keep competition fresh. It has all the antics of accessible output to some degree - patience is a virtue - and boat loads of more creative tricks to liven the zany load. A healthy balance of quirk and quaint keep Getting Killed at ease and odds. It feels fresh; it's on the right side of weird. The weird is evened out by the intent of the musicianship - this lot can play! They're not awkward for any reason other than that you can guarantee they are people of specifics. Things are done how they are supposed to be done. Fulfilled to a standard.

Winter's waving, bordering on quivering, shivering vocals add a nervous edge to every word sang. It's on the edge of something 'other'; on the fringe of forever.

'I'll repeat what I say, but I'll never explain.'

The guitars and their sauntering-sombre-chirps on the left side of "Husbands" are gorgeous, stunning. The bits that oddly bump about on the right and center are like the three blind mice clambering over a drum-set. You may be stomped flat, but at least the pain is over. The day-to-day torture of existence has met its maker. Beauty.

'Falling apart. Falling apart. Falling apart. Falling apart. Falling apart. Falling apart.’

Held together by loose ends. Stuck up by blue tac. Moulded by hands of poor taste. I have been fucking destroyed by the city tonight. Internally distraught. Pumped full of dead-end possessions.

"Islands of Men" is the one of the longest track on the album at just under six minutes in length - only the outro sits at a longer length. It features something of a reset, a restart, around the 3'30" mark. A more undefined approach to the song is adopted after said reset - the track loosens up with water-y vocal effects and galloping basslines which fly-over rainbow-like.

'Will you stop running away from what is real and what is fake?'.

The feeling in your bones that nothing will get better. Memory no longer serves you; it serves itself. It feeds on the vacuum inside your head; soaks up what it means to be a living being. Reverse-memory. Evaporative thoughts; evaporative being.

'Get rid of the bad times, and get rid of the good times too.'

Ghost in the shell. Lobotomised and bamboozled at the hands of your own doing. Haemorrhaging feeling. Gushing gusto. Turning in to nothing more than a speck of useless dust. One of many infinite handfuls.

"100 Horses" was used as the soundtrack to their tour announcement via Instagram. It fits the tour, explore, move forth vibe of a nationwide jaunt. The band would/will march across the United States during October and November, and across Europe in March of 2026.

The only track that my ears relatively reject is "Bow Down". It's not bad, but definitely feels clunky and forced compared to the rest. It has this heaviness to it which feels like a emotional burden rather than an emotional weight.

"Taxes" was the catalyst that set off the initial chain of Getting Killed reactions back in July. The Baggy essence that the track resides in is joyously absurd. A certain fresh breeze emanates out of the track. It lives in many a genre; it fulfils an even further amount of Cosmic endeavours. This is music of another realm.

DOCTOR. DOCTOR. HEAL YOURSELF.

Getting Killed ends on "Long Island City Here I Come”, the longest track on the record.

'If you can talk to Him, you can talk to me too.'

Get in asshole, let's drive.

Geese - Getting Killed

Bruiser & Bicycle - Deep Country