Geese Sound Like the Future (Even If They're Not)

ARTS | MUSIC | ANAMATA / THE FUTURE

Written by Jed Scott (he/him) | @jed__scott | Contributing Writer

Illustration by Kiki Hall (she/her) | Contributing Artist

Rock is DEAD! Or at least, that's what your uncle has been spouting ever since he gave up on Rolling Stone magazine. Plenty of amazing rock bands have been striding through the door, pushing new and interesting ideas to the public: Viagra Boys, Model/Actriz, Tropical Fuck Storm, Maruja, Jeff Rosenstock, and Fontaines D.C. (all bands that should be on any rock fan's radar at this point). But alas, it's rare to find any rock group this decade busting through to the mainstream - at least ones that don't shill out for the nostalgic, bloodthirsty masses bands like Greta Van Fleet and Måneskin are so eager to please. 

But are Geese here to restore faith in rock? No, not the bird, but the four-piece group hailing from NYC that has every music publication dropping to its knees and lauding them as the "saviours" of the genre.

If you were perusing the 2026 Laneway lineup and thought to yourself, "Who the fuck are Geese... and why are they named Geese?" Well, I won't be able to answer the latter, but I'll do my best to answer the former. Given their high-profile placement on the already formidable Laneway lineup for next year, as well as the roaring critical success of their third studio album, Getting Killed, let's talk about the band that's supposedly saving rock & roll. Geese is composed of Emily Green (guitar), Dominic DiGesu (bass), Max Bassin (drums), and is fronted by the mythological Cameron Winter, a name that has become gospel within indie circles ever since he dropped his debut solo album, Heavy Metal, last December. 

I, along with a swarm of online music nerds, have worshipped Heavy Metal like our lives depend on it. Even Nick Cave stamped his approval on the young songwriter, describing him as "a glorious, emotive voice with brilliant, blistering words" – high praise from a legend. Cameron's solo album may have been what has propelled Geese into a ferocious entity this past year, but the band has witnessed a meteoric rise ever since the release of their debut, Projector (2021). Though the praise they reaped from that album seemed to focus more on what bands Geese reminded people of than on the actual music (seriously, the Rolling Stone review lists around ten bands in the first two sentences). Regardless, Projector displayed massive potential for the band, as songs like "Disco" and "Fantasies/Survival" showed that the band wasn't just another schlubby New York rock rehash.

Their follow-up to Projector was 3D Country (2023), an album that fired on all cylinders. The album is a flashy, gloriously indulgent rock record that saw the chemistry between the group strengthen tenfold. Tracks like "2122" and "Mysterious Love" are kaleidoscopic, vivid barnburners that proved the band's ambitions could be backed by incredible writing and performances. It was an excellent follow-up - one of that year's best records - but it also mounted even more pressure on Geese to carry rock's dying flame. Now we've arrived at Getting Killed (2025), their latest record. With the amount of expectation and fanfare surrounding the new release, it felt like the lead-up to Getting Killed was the moment Geese would be launched into the stratosphere of critical acclaim and popularity - the new sound of rock that would resurrect this otherwise decrepit, arthritic genre. "Gen Z's first great American rock band," decries GQ magazine, "the rare group in 2025 that reorients our attention toward rock's future, away from its past." And yes, Getting Killed feels like that kind of record – a landmark album that will go on to define an entire generation. It's a marvellously assembled, boundary-pushing album that toggles the line between loose, wild experimentation and deeply human catharsis.

"Trinidad," the album's opener, seems to be the greatest indicator of the band's obsession with shattering expectations. "THERE'S A BOMB IN MY CAR," shrieks an unhinged Winter on the chorus, crazed and devilishly unwavering. Then there's the preceding "Cobra," one of Geese's most melodious cuts to date, and a song I'd recommend to anyone trying to get into the band. "Half Real" and "Au Pays du Cocaine," two more highlights, yearn with desperation and longing – emotions that miraculously fit within the purposefully clunky production courtesy of Kenneth Blume (a.k.a. Kenny Beats). Personally, though, Getting Killed's crowning achievement is "Taxes." It's a song that feels bigger than the band - a song that could well outlive the group, given its euphoric release and lyrics that beg to be vociferously shouted when performed live. If you can't already tell, I like the album. I could go on singing Getting Killed's praises, but I don't want to bore you. Instead, I want to pose a question: what now?

Geese have brought back an urgency to rock music, regardless of whether they were even attempting to do so. Does this mean we're now due for another resurgence in rock? Will Geese haul us toward the next chapter of the genre, exiting all of the dead weight behind and busting down the door for other innovative bands to flood the mainstream? As much as I would love to entertain that fantasy, it's also never going to happen. Rock, as I see it, will stay "dead" for the foreseeable future. As much as I praise Geese, they aren't the future of rock. Music consumption is far too fragmented and shifty to ever allow a band like Geese to create such a seismic impact as bands like The Strokes did in their heyday. Crowning Geese as this liberating entity will only lead to disappointment - and I think the band, the music media, and the fan base know this. Cameron put it bluntly in Geese's feature for Paste magazine, asserting:

"Everyone's the next coming of fucking something else at this point, because rock music is out of ideas that don't involve diffusing into other genres."

He's right. But maybe that's not such a bad thing. Geese will never have to endure the same intense scrutiny and dissection that our pop stars face right now. They won't have to worry about living up to the intense commercial pressures of being the next "big thing." The sooner we burn this idealistic bridge, the better.

Gen Z hasn't seen a rock band like Geese before, so for me and others, this feels like uncharted territory. However, to people who witnessed the rise of Nirvana in the '90s or The Strokes in the '00s, they know that such a level of apotheosis never benefits the art, nor the artists. I'm aware that this sentiment regarding Geese probably doesn't resonate with anyone who isn't a fan of them (yet); however, I ask you to apply the same thinking to any musician or group you idolise. Yes, their music might be transformative or pivotal to your cultural worldview, but they're not your saviour. Part of me writing that is in an attempt to avoid drowning in all the Geese hysteria, but I also believe many people need to hear that right now. Chappell Roan comes to mind; an artist so idolised so quickly that the bubble is surely to burst just as fast. It's a fact we consumers need to dismantle, for the benefit of everyone.

As overloaded as I may have made Geese seem, they're quite the opposite. They're just a great, forward-thinking rock band, period. If you somehow managed to shell out the cash for a Laneway ticket, I hope you don't miss out on seeing this incredible band.

Listen to Geese. Listen to Getting Killed. And may rock & roll never be saved.