Two of the most unlikely bands to come out of nowhere and capture the rock world’s attention could not be more different. Angine de Poitrine play microtonal fuzzed-out groove music to hordes of people who have never heard of Harry Partch, whereas Brooklyn’s Geese play it a bit straighter even as they veer into wild tangents rarely associated with bands that reach No. 96 on the Billboard 200 chart and appear on Saturday Night Live.
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Getting Killed, Geese’s third record, ratcheted up the tension until the whole thing seemed ready to snap, and sent the band hurtling into a new orbit. Almost exactly a year ago, they played The Paradise Rock Club, which fits about 1,000 people and was only their second Boston appearance (they played Northeastern University the year before). This year? Two sold-out nights at Roadrunner, which fits 3,500 people. I chatted briefly with an enthusiastic fan before the show who foresees arenas in Geese’s future and was glad to catch them on the way up.
On a tour dubbed Getting Killed Again, it’s hardly surprising that the band focused on the record that launched them into the stratosphere. A few choice cuts from its predecessor, 3D Country, made the set, along with “Killing My Borrowed Time,” which appeared on the companion 10” 4D Country. Need a copy of that record for your collection? You’re gonna need some exceedingly deep pockets.
With consecutive shows and likely some overlap in the audiences, Geese wisely mixed up the sequencing and song selection to make each night a unique experience. It was a refreshing change from hearing the exact same setlist night after night. The jittery “100 Horses” has a groove that starts and stops with unexpected pacing, the rubbery bass and punctuated drums sounding like a toy wagon tumbling down a staircase before locking into a more straightforward rhythm.
Two songs later, leader Cameron Winter introduced another song with wartime references, “Crusades,” claiming it was about Boston and the War of 1812. The band was bathed in green light for the song’s duration. Given their Brooklyn roots, they get a lot of Strokes and Television references (possibly depending on one’s age) tossed their way, but “Cowboy Nudes” shows an E Street Band card up their sleeves, with Max Bassin’s percussive, frenetic rack-tom work suggesting that The Boss’s second record might be getting some play on Geese’s tour bus sound system.
The Television analogy is not because of Winter’s and Emily Green’s guitar interplay; while certainly solid, it doesn’t ascend to the heights that Lloyd and Verlaine achieved. Winter’s meandering vocals are where the parallel comes into sharper focus, but while Verlaine’s delivery was a bit monotone, Winter’s voice travels great distances in search of the note he’s looking for, like the excessive tendencies of a national anthem singer at a sporting event.
Another similarity Winter shares with Verlaine is the poetic quality of the lyrics, and strains of Dylan were present on the aforementioned “Killing My Borrowed Time” as well. In fact, I’ll state that the band’s lyrics are its hidden strength, giving enough hints but keeping open alternative readings as to what the song is actually about. “Hey, I’ll cut your throat/How little your money’s worth/Like a bird into a jet plane/I’m bringing you back to earth” is some really evocative writing. The imagery is both threatening and surreal, a good example of Winter’s ability to suggest several meanings without settling on any one of them.
The band ended the set with the halting start of “Trinidad,” eschewing the normal walk-off/wait for applause/play the encore gambit. The explosive song lacked the strings and brass of the studio recording, but touring member Sam Revaz added relevant sonic flourishes behind his keyboard. I first saw Geese at Newport Folk Festival in 2025, and Bassin had a pin on his overalls asking the question, “WHO THE FUCK IS GEESE?” A year later, that question seems almost quaint.
A band’s choice of opening acts can reveal as much about its musical ambitions as the headlining set. Geese have assembled an especially adventurous roster for this tour. Noted string mangler Bill Orcutt, the ethereal otherworldliness of Juliana Barfield and the wide-ranging experimental hip-hop of billy woods got the call in other cities, and Welsh solo acoustic guitarist Gwenifer Raymond joined in for the last nine shows of the American tour.
Geese draw a pretty young crowd, and I’m sure Roadrunner went through multiple Sharpies as the door staff marked big Xs on the backs of hands entering the venue. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be well versed in the sort of world that John Fahey created, where artists like Glenn Jones, Jack Rose, and William Tyler took up residence. Open tunings, full resonance, and cascading finger-picked lines with no singing aren’t exactly an easy sell to a large audience with no investment in your set, but Raymond got a rousing reception. She attacks the strings with a vengeance, as though she’s settling a personal grudge against every wire on the guitar. “Hell For Certain” is a good entry point for the unfamiliar, a tour de force that is miles away from any campfire song.
