Comes on clear vinyl LP.
Getting Killed is where Geese finally stop asking permission. The Brooklyn outfit’s third full-length is less an evolution than a controlled demolition — 42 minutes of art-rock hysteria, glam decay, and post-punk theatricality that feels like it’s about to burst into flames at any second.
Frontman Cameron Winter remains one of the most thrillingly unhinged vocalists of his generation. On opener “Dead Letter Season”, he croons like a lounge singer who’s been awake for three days straight, before detonating into a serrated howl that splits the mix in half. The band — Max Bassin (drums), Gus Green (guitar), Dom DiGesu (guitar), and Foster Hudson (bass) — lock into a groove that sounds like early-’70s Stones filtered through downtown art-school paranoia.
The record was produced by Dan Carey (known for sculpting chaos into shape with bands like Squid and Fontaines D.C.), and you can hear his fingerprints in the album’s jagged negative space. The drums punch like cardboard boxes collapsing in slow motion; guitars smear and shimmer; tape saturation is used like an instrument. Rather than polish the edges, Carey leans into the band’s volatility. Tracks like “Getting Killed” and “Teeth in the Sun” feel as though they were captured in a single, manic take — and maybe they were.
Geese have always flirted with classic-rock maximalism, but here they weaponize it. “Silver Cigarette Choir” swells into a glam-gospel crescendo, with stacked harmonies that feel almost liturgical. On “Hotel at the End of the World”, Winter delivers one of his most theatrical performances yet, somewhere between Lou Reed’s detached snarl and Mick Jagger’s camp swagger. The piano, recorded with what sounds like a deliberately overdriven preamp chain, gives the track a smoky, almost Exile on Main St. murk.
A mid-album left turn, “Plastic Knife Ballet”, strips things down to a motorik beat and wiry guitar line, nodding to Neu! and early Talking Heads, before exploding into a chorus that sounds like the band’s amps are short-circuiting. It’s the kind of track that feels destined to become a live favorite — chaotic, unpredictable, slightly dangerous.
