
‘Tis the season for big screams-on-screens action
By Katherine Langford
48 Hills
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Geese probably wouldn’t have want everyone at their Fox Theater show last Monday to treat their set as the Cameron Winter State of the Union, but sometimes a prodigy is just that prodigious. The band’s unibrowed and ornery-voiced singer is having a banner couple of months, coming off a feted live album at Carnegie Hall—where he was the fifth-youngest person to perform solo—and a corresponding concert film by Paul Thomas Anderson (who knows better than anyone what it’s like to be shit-hot in your twenties). With Geese, his ostensible main project, he’d seemingly prefer to be a blotch in a landscape: a charismatic frontman with an indelible voice, no doubt, but no more The Project than Mick Jagger is the Stones or Robert Plant is Led Zeppelin. The group has hung together tight since they were teens being driven around to gigs by older bands and making startlingly mature if not quite driven or obsessed post-punk. If there’s conflict between the Man of the Hour and his far less apotheos