By now, even if you have been trapped under a rock preventing contemporary musical awareness, you have definitely heard of the band Geese. Geese is a self-proclaimed “rock’n’roll” band with equally arresting and puzzling lyrics and dynamic range with their catalog being made up mostly of a radio un-friendly sound. Their success became undeniable when they performed as musical guests on Saturday Night Live this season, and recently drew a massive crowd at Coachella. For many reasons, their rise to fame feels notably different from the latest slew of music mega stars.
While Geese is a refreshing voice in music, and has recently achieved mainstream recognition, the conversation surrounding the fame itself is larger than their musical impact. Fans are focusing more on whether their overnight fame is based on merit or can be attributed to manufactured hype. For those involved in the indie rock music scene, authenticity is everything — so in this question, their merit hangs in the balance.
Geese fandom can be characterized by two primary values: individuality and expertise. They are well-loved by those who know a good instrumentalist when they hear it — unique and creative deliveries on strong songwriting that isn’t necessarily reinventing the wheel. If anything, Geese is an unapologetic revitalization of rock stardom in the social media age. The New Yorker’s piece, “Will Geese Redeem Noisy, Lawless Rock and Roll?” spoke of frontman Cameron Winter’s detached affect, dry humor and his affinity for wearing sunglasses during interviews. This esoteric energy isn’t limited to their public persona, it is one of the most notable features of their lyricism and sound. In this way, Geese is reminiscent of other disaffected rock acts like Steely Dan, putting up the most seasoned session players to accompany their unabashedly hopeless lyrics. Both of these bands’ personas invite snobbery, like when Winter described the second track of their album Getting Killed, “Cobra,” as a song “even an idiot could understand” on BBC Radio 1.
Geese has been hailed as Gen Z’s first great rock band. That feels especially apt at the very least because of their pure Gen Z-ness. While still obviously nostalgic for previous generations of the genre, Geese by no means rejects modernity, compiling modern production techniques with wildly genre-diverse inspirations. And they are no stranger to Gen Z-flavored irony — Coachella saw them perform a fan-favorite, a cover of “Baby” by Justin Bieber. Their version has only been published on their YouTube channel, accompanied by AI-generated images of Bieber doing various out-of-character activities. Their talent is obvious, although their incredible success often pushes people, young and old, to question whether or not it’s blown out of proportion. As a Geese fan myself, I too am left to question what makes them different in the grand scheme of things.
In the age of algorithm-driven content, front-to-back pop albums thrive, with dance-y feels cuttable by club DJs adhering to the Top 40, and identifiable “moments” that make for good TikTok trends. In this media environment, a rock band that doesn’t fit this mold is expected to struggle for footing. WIRED reports that a social media marketing company, Chaotic Good, astroturfed a fair amount of the internet hype around the band. The company runs user-generated content campaigns for labels, and has been connected to Geese as far back as their debut album, “Projector.” This information hit hard for many Geese fans, as they appeal to those interested in counter-culture and independent musicians. However, this same standard for authenticity is not held for most pop musicians. Possessiveness over subculture is natural in an internet-based media landscape where all communities can be shoved under a spotlight in an instant.But the ideal of a “natural” growth trajectory is mostly a myth. It would be naive to say that any musical act would be able to support themselves or reach an audience while working in a vacuum beyond capitalism. The music industry has always tipped the scales in the ecosystem of popularity, whether by bribing radio DJs to play artists from their labels or by utilizing streaming farms to bump up plays on Spotify. These criticisms of the status quo are essential for creating change, but seem to be wielded on an individual scale, act by act, rather than of the system itself. Ultimately, the preoccupation with Geese’s “authenticity” tells us much more about our own preoccupations than it illuminates their art.
