The Making of a Rock Myth – Geese Live in Paris (Le Bataclan)

Photograph © Lewis Evans

A truly great rock show, if it’s the mythical kind, already feels like a memory before it’s even over: soaked in beer foam, scattered with a few awe-struck tears, and marked by minor injuries.  You get a a pang of equal parts anticipation and frustration as yet another song begins, only to eventually fade away, each second bringing you closer to the inevitable end of the show. All the songs you’re hearing right now, the jumps that tremble the barricade, and the dense atmosphere of a full house will soon be wrapped up, and the musicians behind it all will be carried by the wind onward to their next destination. Your eyes and ears hungrily scan their surroundings to find something -anything- to hold onto, in hopes of pinning down the sense of oneness that you’re feeling now, even though you know the moment is meant to be fleeting, dissolving into the air only to materialize again with the next guitar riff.

I’m speed running these thoughts as Geese is playing their last song “Trinidad” on their first show of their 2026 European Tour in Paris. As the blue lights flicker in and out, Cameron Winter is shouting “There’s a bomb in my car” as Emily Green’s guitar screeches.The instrument seems to have a will of its own, swaying left and right as Emily’s fingers chase it, coaxing out the sounds that give the opener from their 2025 album, ‘Getting Killed,’ its full-blown, cacophonous glory. On the left side of the stage, a little further away from me, Max Bassin delivers a drum performance no less ferocious than his turn on SNL, while Dominic DiGesu’s bass rumbles like thunder beneath it all. “There it is.” I think to myself. “Here is a band that will have a generational run.” 

Photograph © Lewis Evans

"Every single person in Paris seems to have been at the show. I turn and catch vaguely familiar faces, and the next day my phone explodes with concert footage from every angle imaginable. The Bataclan show had been added last minute to meet soaring demand - and sold out in under two hours. The band played yet another venue the following night, to a sold-out crowd once again, indicating the unmistakable proof of the meteoric rise of the young band. 

The night begins with Westside Cowboy, a Manchester-based band I’d never heard of until that moment. The first thing that strikes me is their drummer, who seems like the human embodiment of a couple of shots of espresso. In his force, there is softness and precision which is a striking contrast that highlights the mastery of his musicianship. I can’t help myself and turn next to the girl I just met and mutter:

“He is on fire that guy.” 

“He probably has a jazz background.” 

She responds and I think that she might be right. 

“Sorry for not interacting a lot with you guys, we’re trying to get as much songs in as possible.” Blurts one of the singers. The crowd is already stomping and tossing beer cups into the air, welcoming the band with an unmatched energy, pushing them to keep doing exactly that.

When Geese take the stage, the energy shifts instantly, different from any concert I’ve been to, and surprising even to me. I feel like in this packed room, there’s a common understanding that something is happening, that we’ve all stumbled into the right place at the right time, watching a rock myth write itself in real time. They carry themselves with extreme ease. If they are stressed, it’s impossible to tell. Winter starts singing 'Husbands,' and I shift my gaze from the stage, glancing to my right to take in a sea of emotion that rises and never quite settles. The front row seems almost entranced, while further back the first mosh pit of the night is already trying to form, barely fifteen seconds into the show, and to a song that isn’t exactly built for head banging. If there’s such a thing as a dream first gig on the opening leg of a tour, this must be it. 

Photograph © Lewis Evans

While Cameron Winter croons, occasionally rising onto the tips of his boots, I find myself once again impossibly amazed by his voice, having seen him live during his solo tour and already knowing how good he can sound - good enough, I think, to read a Ginsberg poem and make it sing. “Ça s’appelle du jazz,” he says in a low voice while playing a scale, hinting at the improvisation-heavy night to come. Geese radiates the kind of eye-widening novelty that only a restless, youthful bunch can conjure, yet it is anchored by a deceptively simple form of charisma: authenticity. These are friends who play first and foremost for each other, bursting into spontaneous jazz improvisations, a little smile always hovering on their lips, as if someone could make a joke at any moment.

The slower songs, like 'Cobra,' 'Islands of Men,' and 'Au Pays du Cocaine,' are greeted with the same intensity as the ones that spark jumping and mosh pits. They bring a softness to the haze of jolting energy, yet the anticipation and constant tension never fully dissipate. When they play tracks from their previous album, 3D World, like '2122,' the whole venue sings “Get out, get under” with Winter as the instrumentals surge to an all-time high. This is where Pink Floyd’s “Interstellar Overdrive” finds its place within the song, much to my amazement, one of the many highlights of the night. 

Leaving the show, I grab a security guard by the shoulders without even realizing it, asking for the setlist scotched on the stage floor, something I haven’t done since I was nineteen. He twists his index finger with a wink and says, “Wait a little.” The moment I realize the effort it would take, I let it go, hoping some other fan will snag it but I’m struck by how reflexively I reached for it, how unconsciously I wanted a piece of the night in my hands. “This is what people must have felt when they saw The Doors for the first time back in the day.” I think to myself, as I exit the venue. I wave to the security guard who promised me the setlist as I curl my lower lip into a sad smile.

You’ve heard it too: 'Geese will be the best rock band of the generation.' And when something gets repeated that much, it might feel like a statement coming straight from the echo chamber of an internet forum. Part of you wants it to be wrong, wants the hype to have blown all reason out of proportion. And yet, here is a band that makes Alex Turner’s famous advice ‘Don’t believe the hype’ feel outdated. For Geese, the hype barely scratches the surface of how good they actually are.