Getting Killed, the fourth album for indie rock outfit Geese, doesn’t quite channel the spirit its title seems to promise. Though the cover depicts an angel aiming a gun at the listener, the record itself is more wistful than violent, more focused on moving through life than accepting death. Christian imagery abounds: the Angel Gabriel’s horn, emblazoned on the artwork, announces Judgement Day; “Taxes” compares lead vocalist Cameron Winter’s fate to that of Christ of the Cross; “Bow Down” sees the band explicitly confronted with the imperative to kneel before the divine. These motifs serve less as a real expression of faith and more as a reminder of where faith finds us—at the end of the road, on our knees, ready to serve. Getting Killed is ultimately a meditation on submission—to God, to love, or to the rhythms of everyday life.
That last point comes out cleanest on the album’s title track, whose final verse repeats plainly, “I’m getting killed by a pretty good life.” Getting Killed is full of slow, chugging guitar riffs and instrumentals that seem to linger just a bit too long, each repeated motif conjuring up the image of a life lived without purpose. “Husbands” hammers this theme home, as Winter groans alone through the verses before a gaggle of voices burst forth in the chorus. Its lyrics express a certain masochistic pleasure in being forced to bear the world’s weight—its steady, chugging instrumental only underscores life as an endless burden. Occasionally, the symbolic tedium of the album’s instrumentals lapses into actual tedium. “Islands of Men,” though sporting a beautiful driving riff, overstays its welcome and blunts the force of an otherwise sharp project. On the whole, however, Getting Killed manages to strike a balance between giving time to its various musings and keeping things moving when need be.
The ghost of Heavy Metal, Winter’s debut solo project, hangs heavy over the record. Winter’s individual work eschews much of the instrumental complexity and “experimental” elements of Geese’s previous album, 3D Country, for a more comfortable indie sound that dives straight for the heartstrings. Tracks like “Love Takes Miles” and “Nausicaä (Love Will Be),” which brought Winter and Geese into the indie mainstream (that’s not an oxymoron), are soft, simple piano ballads that don’t threaten the listener with anything too unconventional. Geese clearly draws heavily from the ethos of Winter’s solo project, while still managing to work in many of the unorthodox sonic elements that have always made them stand out in a crowded Brooklyn indie scene.
In the place of 3D Country’s playful energy is a more plaintive air, which works best on the album’s many love songs. “Au Pays du Cocaine” (literally, “In Cocaine Country”) feels like it could have been an outtake from the Heavy Metal sessions—its minimalist drum line and occasional guitar serve only to underscore Winter’s impassioned wailing as he begs his partner to stay even as circumstances change. While it’s not their most complex or interesting experiment, it’s easily the most heartbreaking track in all of Geese’s discography. Songs like this one are where Winter’s vocals work best—his moans are full and wistful, and the cracks in his voice betray a real, lasting pain. But not every expression of love on the album is so pathetic—“Cobra” finds our narrator standing a little more upright, asking his lover to “let me dance away / forever” while also acknowledging just how much he needs them in his life. The chorus lightly taunts its addressee—“you can make the cobras dance / but not me, babe.” Winter’s love is an ambiguous force, an act that involves both asserting your own individuality and giving yourself over to someone else.
Getting Killed marks a clear step back from 3D Country in terms of the energy that Geese brings to the table. Tracks like “2122” or “Cowboy Nudes” on the earlier project were in–your–face jams supported by fun, rip–roaring guitar riffs and silly gang vocals. Getting Killed is far more subtle, demanding that the listener tune in to its invariant guitar lines and melancholic lyrics to extract the project’s full value. There are only a few key points where Geese’s frenzied energy bursts out to the surface, like the harried screams of opener “Trinidad” and the runaway guitar lines of “Bow Down.” Even on the album’s softer, more repetitive tracks, though, the band does an admirable job of keeping the song alive by feeding listeners a slow trickle of new elements every time their focus seems likely to lapse. “Taxes,” for example, introduces a sudden piano line at its halfway point, infusing the song with a bizarre burst of Third Eye Blind without taking things too far off the rails.
The album breaks apart entirely on the six–minute closer “Long Island City Here I Come,” a track that crackles with divine energy while never letting it burst all the way through the surface. The track witnesses Winter speak to Joan of Arc, meditate on death, and boldly analogize himself to “Charlemagne in Vietnam.” The pianos shuffle and build—drums pound as if heralding a military march—Winter’s voice wavers, cracks and soars as he narrates his own ascension. This is Geese at their peak, proving that the frenetic energy and emotional pull that make their music so powerful aren’t mutually exclusive forces.
The track also serves to put a bow on the album’s central question—how much of your life is really yours to live? Up until now, the band themselves seemed to vacillate on this. “Taxes” expresses a will to live outside the lines, while tracks like “Half Real” reveal a longing to rid oneself of the burden of making one’s own choices. “Long Island City,” however, sees Winter with a new fire behind the eyes, as he boldly proclaims “Nobody knows where they’re going / except me.” He asserts himself with a new ferocity: “Like Joshua kicked the king out of Jericho,” he adds for thematic consistency, “I’m going to kick your ass up and down this street.” Winter positions himself against the Christian imagery he’s channeled for the last ten tracks, refusing to give himself up for God, money, or any other idol. Though Long Island City—a clear byword for the afterlife—is where Winter is bound to end up, how he gets there is entirely up to him. At the heart of Getting Killed is a refusal to lay down your arms and bow down—for now, at least.
Getting Killed sees Geese at their most mature, synthesizing the soft and emotional tone of Heavy Metal with the experimental, genre–bending energy of 3D Country. At the same time, however, it feels less approachable than either of those projects. It requires a bit more investment than its predecessors—it’s not as bold as 3D Country, nor as palatable as Winter’s greatest solo hits. It’s also a far narrower project than their previous albums, which swung across genres while still maintaining a bare minimum of cohesion. While Winter’s vocal style varied from song to song on 3D Country, from classic rock growling to a pseudo–bluesy drawl, he now feels locked into the “indie wailer” character he honed in on with Heavy Metal. His voice is still distinctive and charged with emotion, but it doesn’t have the same range and expressiveness it did on past projects.
That narrowing, however, is a consequence of the new sense of unity the band seems to carry. Getting Killed is easily more cohesive than anything Geese has put out before, and it maintains that thematic cohesion while allowing the band’s talented instrumentalists to branch out and keep every track sounding fresh. The project as a whole reflects a half–finished exploration of artistic identity, one that offers listeners more questions than answers. It’s a step forward, for sure—but what direction Geese is moving still remains unclear.
