At a packed Halloween night show in San Diego, fast-rising indie rock group Geese delivered the commanding, precise performance of a band mid-ascent.

Stream: “Au Pays du Cocaine” – Geese

On Halloween night, darkness has fallen at the Quartyard, and costumed fairies and cowboys in 3D glasses cluster near the entrance.

A nun sprints past me with a lit cigarette held at arm’s length, his habit flapping like a cape behind him. I try to count the sailors in their big green coats, but give up after twenty-six.

Three teenage-looking boys nearby are making predictions: “No but bro, what do you think they’ll open with? ‘Cowboy Nudes’?” They rattle off track titles and debate like Talmudic scholars. All three seem to be in definite agreement that “Trinidad” will close the show. A friendly goose hands me a fan-made Geese zine. Inside, a laminated zero dollar bill replaces Washington’s countenance with Cameron Winter’s. Another fan presses stickers into my hand. “Take one and pass it on,” he says.

This is what Geese inspires – a cult-like devotion that’s remarkable for a band only a few years old. Their tour dates keep selling out, with resale going for up to triple face value in certain cities despite efforts. They’re the hottest ticket of fall. Fronted by Cameron Winter, with Emily Green on guitar, Dominic DiGesu on bass, and Max Bassin on drums, they’re a young band making music that’s genuinely great. Winter’s solo record Heavy Metal (a strange and brilliant album that drew hordes of cigarette-wielding adherents) added fuel to the Geese fire last year, but it’s their newest record Getting Killed that’s got everyone’s attention right now. It’s a rare unqualified showpiece.

Geese: ‘Getting Killed’ Never Sounded So Good

:: REVIEW ::

Tonight’s venue is small and was clearly booked before the band knew how big they’d be right now: Their management has already upgraded to larger venues for some shows next year, so I’m very glad to be seeing them on a small stage. The long merch line snakes through the venue and there’s an ambient excitement in the air. A gray-haired fan sidles over to chat, pointing at my media pass. He waxes nostalgic about old credentials he’s still got somewhere from Nirvana and Red Hot Chili Peppers shows back in his music biz days and tells me about how much he and his wife love Geese. He jokes that he’s probably the oldest person here. He might be right, but his presence here (alongside the college kids and thirty-somethings) says something about where Geese are right now, pulling lifers and newcomers with equal intensity.

While we wait, someone near the stage strips off their t-shirt to reveal SOY BOMB scrawled in black across his chest. A contingent in red DEVO hats has a spot claimed near the soundboard. When the opener, Dove Ellis, takes the stage with a saxophonist, his vocal intensity reminds me of Jeff Buckley. It’s Ellis’ first night on tour with Geese, and he’s fantastic, which is good because it’s a very important time and place to be fantastic.

Geese's Halloween 2025 Show © Lewis Evans — Geese’s Halloween 2025 Show © Lewis Evans

When the house lights drop, a buzzing tide of sailors and clowns erupts. The band comes out dressed discreetly, uncostumed except for a fun hat on DiGesu, and goes straight into “Husbands.” Green’s guitar produces a bright, slicing tone, and though she has a pretty lowkey presence on the stage, it’s clear she’s in complete control when she lets notes ring out and cuts them dead with her palm. Bassin’s drums are driving and anxious, and DiGesu’s bass anchors everything else. Winter’s vocals are deliberate and droning: “I’ll repeat what I say, but I’ll never explain.” As he sings throughout the night, he toys with the studio melodies, bending phrases and stretching syllables so no one can quite sing along, even though that doesn’t stop them from trying.

For musicians still in their early twenties, Geese play with battle-hardened precision. They don’t talk much between songs, which is okay because their focus speaks for them. They move through the setlist with the wary restraint of a band that knows they’ll be studied. After all, their fans include the likes of Patti Smith, Cillian Murphy, and Julian Casablancas: people whose opinions will calcify into history.

The show continues as the band ministers to the crowd’s demands, playing beloved tracks from 3D Country and Getting Killed. By the samsaric “2122,” the pit is a mess of sagging sweaty wigs and melted face paint. There’s someone body-surfing nearby me, and six or seven inflated goose balloons bob up and down above the crowd. When the band launches into a three-song run from the Stooges’ Fun House, some of the audience hesitates, perhaps unsure if these are Geese arcana or covers.

They return to their own material, and when they hit “Au Pays du Cocaine,” the audience cries the words back so loudly I can hardly hear the band. Between songs, Winter pulls down the sunglasses he’s been wearing all night for a second and quips, “That’s a gift.” Someone tosses a damp stuffed animal to him and he smiles. A fan gives Green a custom guitar pedal, which she uses right away. When the band finally steps off stage, the encore chants start immediately: “Ten more songs! Ten more songs!”

Of course, they come back out and in the spirit of Halloween, Winter puts on a clown nose as the band launches into an unflashy cover of “I’m Waiting for the Man.” A Velvet Underground deep cut isn’t necessarily a crowd-pleasing singalong, but the band has never been one to pander. It’s just right for an unmistakably New York band.

And sure enough, the boys from earlier are right. “Trinidad” closes their show for the night, and everyone loses their mind.

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