Right now it’s 1/29/2026 in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Alex Pretti was murdered on Saturday, and on Sunday I joined an ICE watch zoom training. Tonight, an old friend of mine will give me a refresher on gun safety. This is a terrible introduction to a Cameron Winter show review but just hold on. Most of my time now is spent thinking about what skills I must acquire for the revolution, and then learning them. There’s no need for tinfoil; you know what’s happening. Does paper beat bullet? All I have is a pen. And as much as I love my Zebra Sarasa Clip 0.5mm, I’m not sure it’s mightier than an AR-15.
Camera back on Cameron. It was a brisk day in Chicago on December 17th, 2025. He was set to play at Rockefeller Chapel, so my friend and I took a flight down to see him. As we hopped on local transit, we could guess with 100% accuracy who else was headed to our destination. What are we called, new hipster white people? I’m surprised I did not find my doppelganger (where are you?!).
Reports from Geese Nation’s discord server (Geesecord) said the first fans got in line in the morning. More showed up in the afternoon. By the time we got there a half hour before doors, the line was down the block. Out in the cold to see a man and a piano.
Inside, sconces line the walls and the chapel’s ceiling stretches to a deep point, with iron lanterns hanging down. I told Geesecord I was wearing a bright green sweater and stood up, hoping someone would see me among the dark pews and I could make a new pal. And it worked! We met up by the entrance after the show. Being part of an online community and getting to meet those people in real life is truly one of the internet’s greatest blessings. Now I have another friend in Texas!
I’ve been fortunate enough to see Geese perform twice, and was therefore super excited to see the kind of energy Cameron Winter would bring to a solo set. He switches the lyrics sometimes and you’re almost guaranteed to get a different melody than the studio recording. This is why Geese Nation has an archivist (s/o Emily!) and also why a live show is vital for a fan to see! I can only assume Cameron’s stage presence was lovely this time as well. Since I was in the middle with many heads to dodge in front of me, only one of my eyes was able to see him at any given time. Thank God I have two.
The whole thing was beautiful start to finish, but there’s only one part I replay again and again in my mind.
At the end of $0, after the God is Real part, he finishes the lyrics and it’s just the piano. The audience was captive the whole time. But now, we held our breath, quiet as the ceiling. The lanterns looked warmer and somehow even the air was soft, like how it feels to stay inside and watch the snow fall. A tear fell down to my neck. And as he hit the final chord, sniffling began around me. Applause broke out and many of us pulled out tissues to wipe our eyes and laugh. “I’m cryin’ right now haha,” someone said behind me.
Cameron debuted a new song called “It’s Being Waited For,” which has a great line about a milkman. For the encore he played my personal favorite, “If You Turn Back Now.” Almost half of the songs were unreleased and yes, the next album is going to rule.
He left the stage to a standing ovation. I left the concert feeling lighter and a little dizzy. Almost two months have passed since then. ICE has ransacked my city and murdered my neighbors, and the illusion of safety has been shattered once again. But whenever the need arises, I can close my eyes and return to that moment when I cried at church with other Cameron Winter fans. And for a moment I remember peace.
Maybe next time I’ll get to see him with both eyes at the same time. Until then, the live recordings will tide me over.
“It was the perfect day to get killed by Geese,” I say.
My roommate keeps mincing garlic. “That would totally happen to you, to be honest.” Eventually they realize I’m talking about a band, and not a horrible day of bird violence. And it leaves me introspective. So I let the swinging door do its thing behind me and return to my room. We live in an old Victorian mansion that’s been cut up into apartments. Four of us share the kitchen, but we live across a hallway from each other. I hadn’t met them until I moved in.
It’s September 25th, 2025, the day before the release of Geese’s 3rd official album, Getting Killed. I’ve just come from the listening party at Electric Fetus where I stood under a speaker with a pen, the lyrics all printed out and my two bandmates reading along over my shoulders.
“Which song are we on?” Josh had asked. Title track. “What’s with all the feet?” I think it’s a Jesus thing. Don’t worry about it.
Does the music feel crisp and positive, or am I just hearing it through a sky-blue lens? Maybe the marketing team kicked so much ass that they pre-wired my brain to think it sounds like a clear day. Or maybe that was Kenneth Blume. Or maybe that was the point. The lyrics are very Man Vs. Everything as the narrator flops from frying pan to fire. And on top of that, the guitar, bass, and drums keep his heart beating. But with charm!
My room used to be some kind of dining hall or solarium, I can’t remember. It’s divided in two sections by a double-sided fireplace that “probably works” but I’m not going to find out. The sunny half of the room looks like something you’d find in Nancy Drew. Wood-paneled walls, wrought-iron sconces (they all work!) and large windows that creak all the way up to the fancy relief ceiling, where decades of artisan plaster sometimes chip off onto the floor when I sleep. The other half of the room is in the dark.
I moved back to Minneapolis six months ago and these damn boxes are still yucking up the place. I haven’t had time to pare down. There’s an entire corner with paintings soaked in dust, too tall for their bins to close. Mouthfuls of empty canvas, and drawers stuffed with acrylic paint I only touch on moving days. Markers, pencils, watercolor palettes, charcoal sticks and pastels. Everything’s leaning. My art degree rests flat on top of the bookshelf. You can change and still choose me.
Do I really look like I would both enter and lose a battle to a gaggle of geese? American geese? I’m getting out of this gumball machine. The album’s imagery tugs at my love for adventure. Islands & water, movement & stagnancy, feet & horses, death & taxes, love & war, loneliness, religious iconography. Maria. The Virgin Mary? There’s duality in just about everything on a backdrop of clean and spacious sound. How the hell am I supposed to analyze something that’s vague enough to allow for an entire rainfall of interpretations? Cameron Winter repeats more than usual on this album and I wonder what he really means.
I’ll repeat what I say But I’ll never explain So you don’t have to waste your time
Well shit. Shut it down, boys. We’re giving up.
You don’t have to waste your time Hiking up a hundred hills You don’t have to, but I will
So he’ll put in the effort to understand himself? Good for him. Unless he means that it’s futile for even him to understand himself, and will still try anyway. In which case, good for him.
Will it wash your hair clean When your husbands all die Will you know what I mean Will you know what I mean
Dolce. Perhaps the narrator’s talking to spouses left behind as their husbands head to war. The choir-style vocals might suggest many people are asking this question, or that one person asks the question in a way that takes up all his space. Will you know what I mean?
The girls didn’t laugh at my joke. “Oh. Eva. No.” They thought the stupid thing I said was serious. Dumbest thing I could think of too, no way they’d miss it. Those pitying frowns. Yuck. Let me dance away forever. I haven’t seen them in years.
I’m on the way to IKEA for some prettier boxes and the check engine light is on again. I crank up “Trinidad.” There’s a bomb in my car! Hold on now, so the speaker is the bomb in the song (all that screaming, he’s going off bro!), he’s also the car that’ll blow up and also the road whose path is already paved and chosen, horses running him into the ground no matter which island he ends up on. Our narrator is both the road runner and the coyote. Is he chasing his own tail in a perpetual attempt to understand himself? Or is he trying to discover what home means?
My son is in bed / My daughters are dead / My wife’s in the shed / My husband’s burning lead / The rest are force fed or else baked into bread / And nothing’s been said for four and a half days / When that light turns red I’m driving away
We start the album with volcanic anticipation. The bomb doesn’t go off. And the next song is Cobra. But Eva, you must answer the most burning question of Trinidad! What does the title mean? The important thing here is that it’s an island far away from Long Island City, where the album ends. Maybe it’s the Holy Trinity, maybe it’s an inside joke from a late night on Geoguessr. The real question is: Who perpetrated all that violence? Who baked them into bread? The narrator never comes clean, he simply states how things are. So is he really the bomb of the song, or is he a victim trying to escape? No matter how many times I enter this IKEA, I cannot remember how to leave.
You can make the cobras dance / But not me. There’s a short story that goes something like “Why are you surprised by the bite? You knew I was a snake when you picked me up.” Coulda sworn I saw a chalk outline music video for “Cobra” that was the full length of the song one morning. Maybe it was too early to be more than Half Real but I thought it was the official music video. It had no plot, just the same few shots of the band lying in a parking lot getting chalk-outlined over and over. Made no damn sense and pissed me off. Then it made me laugh and I thought it was brilliant, then it pissed me off again. No thesis in sight.
Is the whole album sarcastic? Is it bitter? It has so much dichotomy spilling out of its mouth and yet I must decipher the ingredients based on taste alone. This album is for real Mama Bird-ing me. Maybe I should give up and write a think piece about the futility of trying to understand the heart of another person. About absurdism or whatever the hell Camus was on about. I will never explain. Damn Sisyphus essay! I toss the new storage boxes in the car. I wonder how much stuff I can get rid of.
I finally let go of my 600+ day streak on Duolingo. And last night was my final show with the old band. Next week, I’ll haul my drums to my new band’s practice spot. It’s Josh, Nick and me. We still need a name. The new boxes are easy to assemble, but the six-tiered shelving unit still looks daunting. There’s kitchen stuff I’ll need for my next place and winter coats I’ll take out soon. So much stuff I need later and can’t shed right now.
There’s a horse on my back And I may be stomped flat But my loneliness is gone All my loneliness is gone
If that were true, he wouldn’t have said it like that. Hit his chest like that. It’s been a few years since that psychiatrist asked if I was dating anyone. A sad little laugh escaped me. No, I gave up on that. “Is that okay with you?” No.
I turn on the vacuum and think about the Pink Moon Hike this April. The Landscape Arboretum holds them every full moon. I followed the pink tea lights that lined the pathway around the whole lake. It must’ve taken a week to set up. The other people were shadows in the grass, happy and chatting and glowing and I may be stomped flat. Got back in my car and sank over the steering wheel. There are promises you make to yourself in these times. But my loneliness is gone.
My leg catches for the third time on the same box, no matter where I put the damn thing. Everything is in my way and everything is where I put it. I just need the rest of this room to look as put-together as the bookshelf corner. Things I studied in neat little sections: poetry, Mandarin, Japanese. A different shelf has an abstract I painted called Dance that was inspired by Heaven Official’s Blessing. There was always a hope to be understood in everything I learned. Yearning is cadmium red.
General Smith told me / I would never smile again / He said that I would never smile again, but not to worry / For all people must stop smiling once they get what they’ve been begging for
So he got what he was begging for. I wonder what it was. A dog begging for boiling water on the stove is a real Monkey’s Paw situation. Sometimes you don’t know the reality of what you ask for.
How much does being understood really matter anymore? Emerson said something about this. “Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.” Perhaps I won’t come to a conclusion.
The last tenant was here for ten years, and it looks like it’s been about that long since any of the twenty-two curtains were cleaned. They’re screwed into the window frames, so I can’t just chuck them in the laundry and call it a day. I settle for brushing their teeth with the vacuum. Spring cleaning in October.
I’m getting killed by a pretty good life. That was a Modest Mouse song, too. Maybe Cameron meant it in the same way. “The Good Times are Killing Me.” I hope Getting Killed isn’t about addiction. Nobody likes how that story ends. Ben died from a brain aneurysm and not an overdose, but that’s the kind of thing made more possible by alcoholism. He wanted to visit me in Japan. Today’s his anniversary. It’s been a full year since I was in Kyoto trying not to cry into my Doutor coffee, and later losing it on the steps outside a Vietnamese restaurant. But you can’t write an analysis based on hope.
Like Charlamagne in Vietnam. To my knowledge, the Holy Roman Emperor spelled his name “Charlemagne” and never went to Vietnam. I couldn’t find out if Charlamagne tha God went to Vietnam either. However, I did find the main character in Defiant Comics’ 1994 series Charlemagne. Charles Smith. General Smith told me I would never smile again. The main character left home to find his brother who went MIA in the Vietnam War.
My local comic book shop only has issues #2 and #5 and tells me to call around to the other ones. Am I really gonna hunt down some random comic series just to understand an album that might not even be making a reference to it in the first place? Ben would’ve laughed. I have no idea where I’m going / here I come.
So basically, Charles gets to Vietnam and takes a random bus not knowing where he’s going. He stops smiling when he gets what he was begging for. Lots of the story takes place in NYC and there’s even a villain named Bottom, if that does anything for you.
There are lots of ways to “get killed”. In tarot, the Death card represents change. Heartbreak, burnout, quitting, letting go, changing as a person, changing your perspective. Tarot is full of symbolism, and there are four symbols on all the promo: trumpet, sword, gun, crucifix. Only the gun and the crucifix make their way into the lyrics. The other two are alluded to.
Maria cried out to me, “You can either leave / Or you can stop playing that cowbell with your gun’” / So I say watch out Long Island City, here I come.
If only one thing can be true and he chooses to leave, then he will continue to play that cowbell with his gun. As a drummer, I have it on good authority when I tell you this is an inefficient and dangerous way to play the cowbell. You’ll just have to trust me on this. The bullet could ricochet, the sound of the gun far outdoes the sound of the cowbell, the cowbell is destroyed, and you could injure your bassoonist. There’s really no point to it. So our guy is making things hard for himself, which seems to be the only thing he knows how to do. He insists upon it!
I had a TA in my Introduction to Logic class who started one lesson with “As soon as you learn about ambiguity, you’ll see it everywhere. I’m sorry.” Could the sword on the posters be a double-edged sword? With all the double meanings, that would fit. Even if that’s not the case, nobody would question a sword because they’re super cool 100% of the time. They’re evergreen, baby!
You look green / Like you’ve been / To see islands of men Thought you’d find / What it means / Peace of mind You can’t keep / Womankind / In your dreams You can’t keep / Running away / From what is real / And what is fake
Green with sickness or green with envy? If the person is unable to dream about womankind on the islands of men, then perhaps the recipient of the conversation has more thinking to do. He sings in a gentle way here, like he’s talking to a friend. Maybe he means that womankind can’t stay only in your dreams, you must make it a reality. Transitioning, or discovering you’re not into women.
Nick says it’s too dark in my living room. There are two old-timey sconces and four lamps. It’s not a big room. This should be enough light. The new square one is so bright that it’s uncomfortable to face directly if you’re trying to read or watch TV. Somehow, it is still too dark.
There are so many interpretations of Getting Killed. Through a lens of war, the narrator and his loved one(s) go through mental turmoil and head back home, forever changed. Through a romantic lens, he suffers immensely as he gives his heart freely to those who keep crushing him. Taken from a queer perspective, the speaker could be struggling with sexuality and gender, or talking to someone he loves who is going through a time of significant questioning. Go through the Geese subreddit and you’ll find a dozen more perspectives.
If all these meanings can be supported with evidence from the lyrics, what’s the point of trying to analyze them in the first place? My varied interpretations have a few things in common.
There’s perpetual turmoil within the narrator and the one he’s speaking to.
Death appears as change. Either by killing the parts of himself that hold him down, or allowing them to die so he can face what comes next.
Despite the bullshit, the narrator keeps trying. He courageously struggles through his journey without knowing the end or if what he hopes for is what’s best for him. Is he a dog begging for boiling water? Do you know what it’s like to bow down down down to Maria’s dead bones?
The album begins in a chaotic nightmare. The narrator escapes the car bomb and travels from island to island in a directionless way, moving for moving’s sake. And while so many things happen over the course of 11 songs, he is forced to die over and over until he realizes he has the momentum and the will to set sail on a new journey. Like Charlamagne on the midnight bus / I have no idea where I’m going / Here I come.
I’m supposed to be looking for a coffee table at this consignment store. My eyes land on the perfect thing. A wide table rests in the middle of the furniture section. And on top of that, there’s a footstool. It’s super soft and emerald green, and it’s in the shape of a mushroom! The top comes off and the “stem” is hollowed out for storage. Back home, I place the footstool on the baby pink rug in front of the couch. Ah! That’s it! I wondered how a place with such lovely wooden paneling could feel so cold and sterile. It was simply a lack of whimsy! A few boxes remain, but my shelves look neater and cleaner, and the whole place is warming up. There’s still no coffee table and it’s still too dark in here. But I know what to do next.
The amount of scarves this song has me pulling from its sleeves makes me feel like a clown about to cry at a party. Just when I think I’m done, there’s more. Here’s the official audio, and the video (video’s audio is slightly different).
Caveats before we begin:
This is my own interpretation of the work. While I proudly belong to Geese Nation, I am not actually affiliated with the band :[ and cannot claim my arguments to be the truth or what they intended.
That said. I am 100% right about everything.
Taxes I should burn in hell I should burn in hell But I don’t deserve this Nobody deserves this
If you want me to pay my taxes If you want me to pay my taxes You’d better come over with a crucifix You’re gonna have to nail me down.
Doctor, doctor! heal yourself Doctor, doctor! heal yourself And I will break my own heart I will break my own heart from now on.
This is not Cameron Winter’s usual stream-of-consciousness style of writing like we see with Geese’s 3D Country and his recent solo album, Heavy Metal. This time, “Taxes” reads like a premeditated poem layered with double meanings and purpose. Here, we have a writer who made a deliberate switch in writing style as a way to lead by example. The band plays with form both in the doubling of lyrics and the change in the middle and in doing so reveals the truth about our own patterns. We do not consume to satisfy ourselves, but to prevent others from surviving, using conformity as a means to unjustly absolve ourselves of guilt. That is the key. The characters in “Taxes” act upon others. Geese tells us to examine this choice with unwavering empathy, and convinces us to follow a moral code. Though, it’s not enough to simply recognize we’re hurting others, but to feel the same pain as we have caused.
The amount of doubling is noteworthy in how it both emphasizes each idea and presents choices. Max Bassin said in an interview, “We really loved the switch that the song does right in the middle…It’s one song and then it’s another song.” In terms of form alone, we have two songs, six couplets with repetition, and light versus dark. The single cover art has a bright blue sky in contrast to the dark video. The album art has a trumpet and a gun. A classic dichotomy. Don’t be bad. Be good instead! But how can you decide what’s good in a world that always changes?
In Japanese, there’s a concept that instructor Cure Dolly called “self move/other move“. This is more than a grammar point I need to know for the JLPT. Here we have makeru, to be defeated (self move) and makasu, to defeat (other move). In “Taxes,” each character is other-moving, placing their actions on others. “Doctor, heal yourself” and “I will break my own heart from now on” mean that both characters must go from other-move to self-move.
There are three characters in this song, and all of them suck in their own special way. The speaker breaks hearts despite knowing it’s wrong. The tax collector (whose identity is debatable) takes from the speaker without permission. The doctor tries to fix other people’s problems rather than address their own. Acting as a herald, the speaker calls all three of them out on their bullshit because he himself is faced with an empathy so painful it rivals the depths of hell. All three of them have the ability to change the direction of their behavior from others to the self. Not as a way to stand among their peers in conformity of what might today be considered morally good, but to be fully aware of themselves.
“Physician, Heal Thyself,” is a proverb that basically means to deal with your own problems before you try to fix others, like the flight attendants say. The doctor, who famously heals others, is told to heal themselves. If we follow the logical pattern, we can also assume the speaker usually breaks other people’s hearts and will break his own from now on. And I don’t believe we have an egotistical Cameron calling himself a hotshot heartbreaker. Rather, we have a speaker who has either discovered empathy for the first time or has been broken by the same harm as he’s inflicted. There is no apology, only a recognition of self and a resolve to change.
Lyrically, this last verse is doing the most challenging work of the song. It introduces a logical pattern, commands all characters to ‘other-move,’ and gives us more background about the speaker. So what do we know about him? Do we know why he should burn in hell? Why and how does he break hearts? Is this person designed to cause harm and can only control where it’s aimed? We don’t know a damn thing, turns out. I’m guessing Cameron would like it that way.
Literal or metaphorical, the song changes color depending on your interpretation of the word “taxes,” but it keeps the same flavor. Taken literally, the tax collector’s identity is likely the US government. It’s July 2025 and many people are concerned that our taxes are funding the genocide in Gaza. “Taxes” could certainly be a protest song, as there is much to criticize about how our government does or doesn’t spend our money. Metaphorically, the tax collector is an entity that takes from the speaker without his consent. Taxes could be money, it could be dignity, love, any number of things. RIP Henry David Thoreau, you would’ve loved Geese.
We’re all poets here, but ultimately the song still slaps whether we’re being literal or metaphorical. The collector has plenty of things to fix in their own house before coming after our speaker, who will fight to the death rather than lose whatever he’s holding onto. In the third verse, he’s holding onto his heart so nobody but him can break it. So why isn’t this a love song?
Geese’s last album 3D Country and Cameron Winter’s solo album Heavy Metal both deal with themes of loneliness and romantic love. This time, we as listeners are certainly allowed to take this song as a romantic lament. And as a standalone song, that could work. However, the nature of the video alone screams social commentary. That plus the album’s title, Getting Killed, and the album cover of Emily Green with both a herald’s trumpet and gun pointed at the viewer prevent me from calling this a love anthem. More importantly, I trust that the writer who brought us “Love Takes Miles” would not fold a love song beneath this many unrelated references. Instead, these elements suggest judgement and rebirth.
In the official music video, Geese references Francisco Goya’s Saturn Devouring His Son. Goya made a series of paintings in his home directly on the walls between 1820-1823. No canvas, no titles or notes. Experts believe this painting is probably about the time Saturn didn’t want his children to overthrow him, so he ate them. As The Replacements would say, “he might be a father, but he sure ain’t a dad.” Also, what was that prop made out of?
Regardless, if we liken a concert-goer to Saturn, we can argue that the crazed audience acts upon their own selfish desires and consumes each other to prevent others from climbing the ladder first. Kill or be killed. But must we be cannibalized first before knowing it’s wrong to eat the homies?
The video begins as if shot on an audience member’s phone. You see their POV as they weave through the crowd and get closer to the stage. It looks like a chill, intimate concert that would make you feel safe and respected, as the audience easily allows the viewer to the front despite their lateness to the show. But when Geese hits the final note in the 2nd verse, “down,” the sound and energy expand, and the audience becomes chaotic and violent. What a word to change things, eh? Like a command – Down with civility baby, we’re eating feet!
deep blue sky = higher altitude? = Emily’s far above usa cyanometer measures the blueness of the skyGetting Killed album cover, queen of multitaskingScreenshot of their website
In the official tour promo & their current website’s design, there’s a gun, crucifix, sword, and a trumpet. The four of which sound like the makings of a great D&D campaign (Geesecast episode 4. Please). On the single’s cover art, Emily Green towers above us in a pure white robe on a bright day, sword of judgement in hand. Her stance is open, but she is turned away from us, hair draped over her face as if she doesn’t want to look at us. Is she pushing us away or beckoning us to join her in the deep blue sky? Since they recently posted a short on YouTube with the caption “found the light,” I’m gonna say we are being beckoned to die and join them in heaven. But let’s just say they’re talking about finding the light within, like in a metaphorical sense while we’re still alive and they don’t truly mean anything more sinister (omg am I in a cult). What do they really mean?
Let’s turn to Ralph Waldo Emerson. (As an aside, he and Thoreau were both alive when Goya made the Black Paintings) Here’s an excerpt from “Self Reliance” (honestly the whole essay is such a banger it was hard to choose just one excerpt). Essentially: Absolve you to yourself regardless of what society deems good or evil, because the definitions of those words change. In “Nina + Field of Cops,” Cameron sings, “My name is gonna sound old to you, but names are donuts on the sea, names are peanuts in the trees, names bid you to beg for trash.” These two excerpts hold either end of the same jump rope. Choose what is right in your heart no matter who surrounds you. (don’t be a dick about it though)
And at 2:48 we have someone who “found the light.” This person alone – apart from the band on stage – stands still among the violence, tears dripping down their face. Neither as a victim or perpetrator, but someone who chose to separate themselves from the mob through nonviolence. The Geese Way. To gaze above the mess like Cameron, Emily, and Dominic (Max is busy getting killed with a drumstick, which checks out) and absolve themselves in a way that allows for inner peace.
Through the video and use of references, and by making a lyrical and sonic choice that crafts this song into doubles, Geese leads the way to the bright light. First we gotta kill our past selves, along with the parts that yearn to destroy others who are already ahead of us or rising there. Which hopefully is not an everyday experience for you but I digress. Then, we gotta accept the truth of what’s left. Chin up! There’s always another song to change into.
Cheers, Eva
P.S. Some have called this “rapture vibes”. To thee I say: Ye who knows more about Jesus may write thine own essay. I didn’t even know “Physician, Heal Thyself” was a thing until my friend Emmett told me. Thanks, Emmett!
