Brace yourselves, freaks, punks, and pop-culture anarchists—because Mr. KanHey is here to disrupt the musical matrix. And this time, the tremors are coming courtesy of Geese: Brooklyn’s favorite art-rock delinquents, the musical mongrels with more moves than a warehouse rave and more grit than a Lower East Side back alley. That’s right—Geese have officially announced their biggest headlining tour yet, ominously (or gloriously?) dubbed the “Fall Getting Killed” trek. And baby, autumn ain’t ready for this level of sonic carnage.
Now, let me make something dazzlingly clear. You don’t stroll into a Geese show looking for safe melodies and sentimental choruses that wrap around you like a cable-knit sweater. Oh no. You go to a Geese show the same way you walk into an underground fashion show during a thunderstorm—half-expectant, half-terrified, fully alive. Their music? It’s as if Television drunkenly made out with The Stooges under a flickering neon sign while LCD Soundsystem spun the aftermath onto magnetic tape.
And the announcement? It’s not merely a “tour” in the cookie-cutter sense. This is Geese going full kamikaze on the concept of performance. This is a high-octane cultural detonation scheduled to rupture eardrums and rewire brains across North America. Think of it as a tour, yes—but also a punk-tinged exorcism masquerading as a rock show, rolling like post-apocalyptic performance art in a tour van.
But wait—because the geese are not just honking about dates and cities, darlings. There’s more. Word on the subway-graffiti-lined streets is that they’re gearing up to drop details about their next album. Soon. Soon like the drumbeat before a riot. Details are still underground—left to ferment in some Bushwick basement no doubt—but sources whisper it’ll be a “spiritual detour into the wreckage of modern youth.” Translation? Expect sonic mutiny. Expect existential side-eye. Expect the unexpected.
This isn’t just a band progressing. This is a movement gestating. The last time Geese dropped an LP, they flirted with post-punk chaos and indie introspection like they were passing through a smokey speakeasy. But evolution is a cruel mistress, and Geese don’t just evolve—they mutate. And the upcoming era promises to take us all further down the rabbit hole toward whatever punk rock’s reborn version of enlightenment looks like.
Fashion-forward, irony-soaked hipsters take note: Geese is no longer that buzz-band you caught last minute between oat-milk lattes. They are a manifesto now. A headlining, high-volume declaration of musical insurgency—and if you’re not on board, you’re already yesterday’s algorithm.
So dust off your thrift-store combat boots, smear on that eyeliner like you mean it, and prepare to enter the church of chaos. The pews are dive bars. The sermons come with distortion pedals. And this fall, the altar calls for your full, unfiltered attention.
Dare to be different—or fade into oblivion.
Onward to the beautiful wreckage.
– Mr. KanHey
