On September 27, 2025, I found myself against a metal fence in the parking lot of Brooklyn’s The Lot Radio, a slab of concrete next to a climbing gym with a rooftop promenade. Skipping the first half of a festival at Forest Hills Stadium I was supposed to review, I went to celebrate the exciting release of the third album by a great local band I liked for a couple years. I knew change was coming for them; faces I’ve never seen before hung from tree branches. Kids from out of town hopped on a train to writhe in the front row. The usual zine crowds were there distributing their art, but for the first time, people were buying programs by the stack. Others scaled the gaudy climbing gym just to get a better view.

A year went by for both me and the Brooklyn band, and now I’m finally on time for a show at Forest Hills, and Geese are about to perform the second and final night of a sold-out two-date run at the Queens stadium.

Geese’s Getting Killed…Again tour would be even bigger than the first run — one that began in Greenpoint and spun around the world twice, even fitting in a festival headline in March and some sensational moments in between — and the last night of their hometown return would be livestreamed on YouTube. Beautifully, however, even as venues had to adjust to the inundation of newer and more passionate fans, the band would somehow stay the same, at least professionally speaking.

With a tight setlist sticking mainly to the new album, a little space for improvisation and deep cut switches, minimal banter, and almost no stage design aside from soft, fuzzy backlights that give each member a saintly glow, the Getting Killed performances have become a ritual for all involved.

Break into madness at “Getting Killed.” Clutch onto one’s chest at “Half Real” and “Au Pays du Cocaine.” Throw bodies around at “100 Horses” and stutter through the breakneck babbling of “2122.” Tear up and feel every word in the brokenhearted anthem of “Taxes,” then deafen the frightened old man a shoulder over with the demonic screech, “THERE’S A BOMB IN MY CAR!” and pray everyone lands on their feet. The movements are wired into the crowd’s bones.

That’s not to say the Forest Hills show wasn’t a spectacle. On the contrary, Geese’s final night in New York City dazzled beyond belief, and it reasserted what makes them such a peculiar and refreshing rock band.

The night began with the flashing of red and blue lights, a drone, and haphazard shaking of tambourines and percussion. With a rumbling momentum, front man Cameron Winter began the freak of nature that is “Long Island City Here I Come,” the seemingly endless finale of Getting Killed that spins out of thought and order as the four musicians barrel towards their homecoming. Guitarist Emily Green brought a new life into the gritty crowdpleasers like “Bow Down” and “100 Horses” by playing with a certain scratchiness that gave the tracks a dash of a metallic, hardcore seasoning. Drummer Max Bassin ran the whole show from his station, drilling through each number with infinite power, and bassist Dominic DiGesu celebrated his moment in the fan favorite centerpiece “2122,” a song that’s an ode to the boom of the sound system.

When The Needle Drop team voted Getting Killed as the best album of 2025, I had specifically mentioned the gentle balance between mania and delicacy Cameron Winter holds within his vocals and lyrics. I'll admit now that I had the Lot Radio performance in mind; it wasn't my first-ever Geese show, but after the success of his debut solo album Heavy Metal and a return to easy-going art rock with his lifelong friends, Winter gained a second wind of confidence as a performer.

Admittedly, the young singer-songwriter always sounded like a drunken old man, a Vegas-resident Elvis impersonator, a haunted choir boy, and a sleazy rock star from the 70s all at once, often shifting between them all before the chorus even kicks in ("Domoto"). That is precisely what sets Geese apart from their contemporaries in the indie rock world. Recorded, he's fun to sing along to and imitate, with people often listening again and again just to discover new ticks he threw in there just to give the track more texture. Live, however, whatever is happening up there is utterly arresting. It can't be followed by anyone, mostly because its owner counts his own tempo and ad-libs nonsense a fair amount. Gravelly at some points, frail at others, loud at all times, the versatility of Winter's voice might still be a difficult sound to digest, but it's compelling when projected over a grandiose stadium's speakers.

Shades of the small band I sometimes miss come back in the performance of older material like "Gravity Blues," "Crusades," and "Space Race," but overall, Geese's exponential rise in fame this past year, culminating in a sold-out stadium show in their hometown, is just the pay-off for years of pushing rock's boundaries while still staying light and exciting.

Just observing the crowd in front of me at Forest Hills, I see a hopeful future for rock music where everyone’s hands are in the air, but all our phones are tucked safely in our pockets, not letting us get distracted from the music all around us. I see harmless fun, strong community, a guaranteed rocking out, and, most importantly, a show that demands one's full and enthusiastic attention. I see a movement beyond this band that reignited audiences’ interest in the heavy, out-there, and alternative — one that includes both local and international juggernauts in the indie rock and punk world.

Though the moment of Getting Killed is almost over, the past year of Geese's forward momentum is going to carry on.