2122

"2122" finds Geese channeling the jittery, angular nervousness of post-punk revival through a distinctly young, restless lens, the kind of song that sounds like it was written in a Brooklyn basement by teenagers who'd absorbed too much Talking Heads and Television. Cameron Winter's vocal is the centerpiece — yelping, warbling, contorting into strange shapes, an unstable instrument that refuses the smooth and makes drama out of its own cracks. The band locks into a taut, wiry groove, guitars chiming and scraping over a rhythm section that pushes and pulls, building tension it never fully resolves. There's a paranoid, end-of-something atmosphere implied by the title's leap into a distant year, an apocalyptic shrug delivered with art-rock detachment. The lyrics scatter rather than narrate, trading clarity for mood, images of dread and disconnection flickering past. Production keeps a raw, slightly claustrophobic edge that flatters the band's youth rather than polishing it away. This is music for late drives with a head full of static, for the particular anxiety of being young and convinced the world is ending on schedule. Coming from their debut "Projector," it announced Geese as part of a new wave of guitar bands reanimating the genre's nervous energy — not nostalgia exactly, but a fresh nervous system plugged into old wiring.