KILLING BORROWED TIME

Will Geese redeem noisy, lawless rock and roll?

- BY AMANDA PETRUSICH

Geese is a dramatic outfit, prone to meandering digressions and feral bleating.

On a recent Friday night, the indie-rock band Geese—which formed in New York City in 2016, when its members were still a couple of years short of the legal driving age—played the final date of its North American tour. The show, at the Brooklyn Paramount, a baroque nineteen-twenties movie house turned concert hall, was a jubilant homecoming. (Even Mr. Met was in attendance, paying respects, perhaps, after the band’s bassist, Dominic DiGesu, told a reporter, “If there are going to be billionaires in the world, the Mets are the only thing worth funding, in my opinion.”)

In the months since Geese released its third studio album, “Getting Killed,” the band has been rhapsodically heralded as the redeemer of a certain kind of noisy, lawless rock and roll. Critics love making such breathless declarations, and fans love to scoff at them. But isn’t controlled hysteria sort of the point? Geese itself is a dramatic outfit, prone to bursts of noise, meandering digressions, and feral bleating. Responding to this music with reason and reserve feels at odds, in some fundamental way, with its spirit.