An electrifying buzz of anticipation engulfed Bristol’s Prospect Building courtyard as fans excitedly waited for Geese’s first British tour date since their critically acclaimed “Getting Killed” album debuted just six months prior.

I’d never seen so many Radio-6 dads congregated in one space before. All eager to witness the band who had been quipped as the birthchild of Radiohead and The Strokes. Fans flocked to the barriers as soon as the doors open and waited eagerly for the two phenomenal bands that would take to the stage later that night.

It was great to see such a big turnout for Westside Cowboy. The crowd was practically full as they walked onto the stage, people roaring ‘Westside Cowboyyyy’ as the band came into view. Having been introduced to them last February, when they supported Mary and the Junkyard in Manchester, it was great to see how much the band has grown, mastering a much larger venue with such intoxicating energy. I have a feeling the band are only getting started. Their recent EP ‘So Much country Till We Get There’ provides an alluring teaser for what is to come, and I for one am very excited to see where the band go next.

As they left the stage a wash of excitement floods the crowd. The main course was on next. After minutes that felt like hours, the lights dimmed and the band strolled onto the stage. The crowd quickly became a flock of babbling Geese themselves, chanting the band’s name repeatedly.

Cameron Winter sauntered onto stage. Nonchalant as ever. His face was shrouded beneath the hood of his navy sweatshirt, tantalising the audience even more as they squirmed over each other’s shoulders for a glimpse of him.

Subverting any expectations of a frenzied start, the band opened with the slow plodding acoustics of Husbands. Winter soon had the crowd swaying arm in arm to “Half Real,” as Emily Green directed the oscillating crowd with the steady, lilting, rhythms of her guitar. It was almost a declaration of peace before the chaos that was about to ensue. Winter’s fiery vocals barked out “God of the son I’m taking you down on the inside” and the crowd erupted into a frenzy of pseudo-moshes, bounding around to the menacing guitar riffs of “2122”.

Before the crowd became a jumble of bodies and sweat, we had been standing next to a lovely group of fans who had brought their mother’s hand-carved wooden goose along with them. As I fought for my place between the crowds’ bumping shoulders, I saw the wooden goose gracefully surfing over the moshes. It ended up somewhere near the front securing a prime spot as the crowd eased into the next song, “100 Horses”. The set then oscillated between the high-energy, heavy riffs of “Mysterious Love” and “Bow Down”, with the band’s gentler anthems “I See Myself” and “Au Pays Du Cocaine”. Winter’s melancholic, crooning voice cut sharply through the mayhem.

As the set neared its close Max Bassin began the steady thump of brassy sounding drums, signalling the intro to “Taxes”. The crowd roared and seemed to come together again, ‘oohing’ and humming along with Winter. A shimmering golden light back-lit the band, elevating the song into something almost transcendent as the chorus of voices seemed to raise the Prospect Building’s roof. The band then left the crowd in this awe-stricken state, preparing for their encore. The babbling chants of “GEESE, GEESE, GEESE” echoed around the room again as the audience eagerly awaited to let loose one more time.

Winter returned to the stage, urging for silence, hushing “wait, wait, wait” as he comically remarked, “I’m thinking of a song to play”. He toyed with the audience, knowing full well everyone knew what was coming. Then the staccato picking of Green’s guitar sounded, and the band surged into “Trinidad”. Once again, the room became a bounding mass of bodies, hurtling into each other screaming “There’s a bomb in my car”. They sure know how to end a set.

As the audience trailed out back into the night there was a profound sense that the prospect building had just witnessed pure rock magic.

Geese Storm the Prospect Building

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