In Paris, Geese kick off their European tour with what already feels like a victory lap

On the opening night of their European tour, Geese leave a devoted crowd at the Bataclan enraptured, reeling and clinging to every word.

Before Geese even appear on stage, the atmosphere at Paris’ Bataclan is thick with anticipation. It is an unseasonably balmy night, and the band’s most devoted fans fill the venue early, clad in merch and armed with digital cameras. Since releasing their acclaimed breakthrough album, Getting Killed, six months ago, Geese’s reputation has transcended the group themselves. But beyond the memes, The Strokes comparisons and accusations of overhype, at their core, Geese write genuinely compelling rock songs. Live, they shift unpredictably from insouciant slacker grunge to extended, improvised jazz grooves. When sung along to by the crowd, hits like Taxes take on anthemic new heights, but nothing about Geese’s live show is formulaic. 

Dressed in black and haloed by a shifting blue light that silhouettes his famous shaggy mop of hair, frontman Cameron Winter dominates the stage without ever seeming to try. “I’ll repeat what I say, but I’ll never explain,” he drawls on Husbands, the show’s opening track. Songs are stretched out and slowed down. Drummer Max Bassin gives a deft performance, hand-drumming bongos or leaning into violent percussive bursts that lend the night a feeling of spontaneity. “Ça s’appelle jazz,” Winter drawls while playing a scale on his guitar, “I read that in a textbook.” 

With title track Getting Killed, the first of many mosh pits opens up and, from there, the show zigzags between raucous and tender. Au Pays du Cocaine is delivered with raw, plaintive intensity, while Long Island City Here I Come builds to a beer-sloshing crescendo with crowd-surfing and the smell of cigarettes wafting with sweat. 

Winter’s lyrics strike a surreal balance between unsettling nihilism, absurd humour and deeply felt emotion. They sprawl from the yearning ache at the core of Au Pays du Cocaine to the chaotic explosion of Trinidad. There’s a touch of irony when Winter yells, “I am getting killed by a pretty good life,” but haven’t we all felt that way when we think about our problems against everything else going on in the world? 

Tracks from their breakout record dominate the setlist, but 3D Country hits Cowboy Nudes and 2122 (combined with a jam to Pink Floyd’s Interstellar Overdrive) get an equally rapturous reception. On the unconventional love song Half Real, Winter stretches his voice like it’s an instrument, drawing it into warbly drawls or falsetto shrieks, slowed to the pace of a stoned afternoon spent falling in love. Elsewhere, the opening of Cobra is stripped back, letting guitarist Emily Green’s chords evoke the timeless elation of The Beatles’ Here Comes the Sun.

Such comparisons do not feel out of place for a band who are often mentioned in the same breath as Nirvana and The Strokes. And yet these parallels sometimes feel unfair and impossible to live up to, making them an easy target for older rock purists who struggle to believe a band can be both genuinely talented and popular with kids on TikTok. But seeing Geese live – at this particular crest in their success – you can’t help but feel that you are witnessing an important piece of rock history unfold. 

So, what’s next? This tour feels like just the beginning of Geese’s enduring success. It’s unlikely we will ever get to see them in such intimate venues again. The last time they performed for fans in Europe, they were ten days out from releasing Getting Killed and they played two nights at London’s 150-cap venue, The George Tavern. Since then, the end-of-year lists, SNL slots and Tiny Desk performances have followed. Tickets for this tour sold out months in advance, with resale prices soaring to up to $1,000 in the US. In February, they added a second Paris date after the 950-cap show at La Cigale, which was met with overwhelming demand.

To close the Bataclan set, Winter screams the final lines of Trinidad and then leaves the stage abruptly, but the sense of magic at having seen a band at this specific moment in their career remains. The crowd trails back out into the night, knowing they have witnessed something they will be talking about for years.