I think God is Actually For Real: A Reflection on Cameron Winter’s Heavy Metal

By Sophia Carroll, Art by Madeleine Babcock

There is a phenomenon in which one member of a musical group outshines the rest, and this past year, I swore I witnessed it with the charismatic and irony-filled solo album of Wednesday’s MJ Lenderman. Manning Fireworks is not perfect, as I wrote in my album review of this Fall’s Vinyl Tap issue. In fact, I have gripes with its unfortunately uneven pacing and production. Still, my enjoyment of Lenderman’s satirical lyricism and melodies transcended surface-level appreciation. I crowned Lenderman as Wednesday’s Beyoncé. To me, he was their Paul Simon, or Julia Louis-Dreyfus, or Boston Rob. However, after rummaging through Wednesday’s deep cuts and sinking deep into their cover album, Mowing the Leaves Instead of Piling ‘em Up, I recognize that Karly Hatzman’s songwriting and vocals are not to be overlooked. Of course, I have a personal draw to Lenderman’s magnetic solo stuff, but suddenly, I am not sold on his superiority over his complete band. It must take a truly earth-shattering album for me to put a modern indie-folk musician on such an esteemed pedestal, and by the time Manning Fireworks’s hype had dwindled, neither Lenderman nor any other artist had fully met these expectations. That is, until December. 

This holiday season, on the flight back to the home away from my college apartment, I carried a hefty backpack full of ceramic vessels for an especially thick eight hours (homemade bowls for the family). Yet, I paid no attention to the knots being tied in the depths of my shoulders. I was not bothered even after an hour-long flight delay. How could I care with Cameron Winter’s Heavy Metal in my ears the entire journey? Released on December 6th, the album was barely a week old when news of its release reached me. 

“Fresh meat,” I had thought. 

I was vaguely familiar with Geese; I had heard “Cowboy Nudes” when their album 3D Country dropped a year ago. Knowing me, I probably skipped exploring their discography because of its indie-pop lean. Let me clarify my stance just in case a reader wants to condemn me to pretentious music hell: I indulge in pop music frequently! God, maybe I am an asshole. Even so, there is an undeniably dated genre of bouncy, bubblegum pop that is reminiscent of a playlist made by a high schooler circa 2017. I guess “Cowboy Nudes” was enough for me to understand the type of music being peddled by the New York City-based band, and I was content with skipping the rest of their tracks. Heavy Metal, however, is a new debut album that singles out their husky-voiced lead — an album that explores a molasses-like, folk-country side rather than twanged pop.

A friend of mine constantly reprimands me for my love of whiny men. I admit that I tend to lean towards male artists that initially sound, well, really bad. Maybe it’s because imperfect male voices like those of Mk.gee, Elliott Smith, and Alex G prods at a latent emotional turmoil hidden behind a curtain within my psyche. Maybe it’s because I think it’s sexy. Jail me if savoring an acquired taste is illegal. The taste of Heavy Metal, however, is less acquired and rather completely individual. Initially, on the album’s introduction track, “The Rolling Stones,” Winter’s vocals are strikingly gargled and distracting. As the song continues, his voice reveals itself as hauntingly expressive, guttural, and unlike anything I have ever heard. Imagine a throaty John Hartford with a deep Thom Yorke-like vibrato in the style of a mellow Isaac Wood of Black Country, New Road. It is a voice that betrays the album’s cover, which elicits expectations of Swedish lyrical rap (my argument lies in the mod cut and double chains) rather than experimental pseudo-country. With every droning “Me and you,” Winter and his distinctive hum curate a backdrop of moaning sorrow for the rest of the album to dwell in.

There is something fundamentally intimate in Winter’s production throughout the record. In “Drinking Age,” the raw vocals and instrumentals play along with his stream-of-consciousness lyrics. “Table by the door,” a lyric melodically mumbled against silence, is followed by a cathartic sequence of vibrating piano chords and then repeated in a gentle whisper. His compositions are gorgeous, but Winter shatters them with throaty words that drip with borderline nihlism. The line “Today I met who I’m gonna be from now on / and he’s a piece of shit” transforms into a realization that he will always be a “Piece of meat.” Although most of the album’s lyrics seem nonsensical, Winter’s pungent delivery allows them to develop lives of their own. The lyrics within the track “Cancer of the Skull” are senseless but graciously subjective:

Do I fully understand what Cameron Winter is attempting to convey with these lines? Not entirely, but they affect me intimately, privately, and quietly still. Perhaps this power of potent expression is Winter’s ultimate gift. 

After multiple monetary references throughout the album, the album reaches its climax in its lead single, fittingly titled “$0.” The song is arguably the most effective in Winter’s mission of conveying evocative melancholy. As the longest track, lasting around seven minutes, it performs like a confession or a prayer. Its soulful piano instrumental and imperfect vocals make it feel accidentally beautiful; as a result, it leaves the impression that I should feel blessed to be able to witness its miracle. In its accompanying music video directed by Brooklyn-based photographer and cinematographer Andy Swartz, Winter is placed amid a bustling city street like a standing spectacle. He throws bread into a surrounding swarm of pigeons as he croons into his portable mic setup that sits splayed out on the concrete below him. “You’re making me feel like a dollar in your hand,” he sings as a young child frolics around him in an attempt to touch one of the birds.“You’re making me feel like a zero dollar man.” For a singular moment, Cameron Winter is a prophet. He wails against strings, “God is real / I’m not kidding God is actually real / I’m not kidding this time I think God is actually for real,” yet his message transcends religion. And still, he stays unnoticed on the ever-changing New York City street that surrounds him. He also wears a bright yellow shirt with the words “Daft Punk” and a badly drawn rendition of Kirby with Peter Griffin’s face on it sprawled across the front. Absolutely electrifying. 

After much thought and reflection, I can easily declare Heavy Metal as one of my favorite albums released in 2024 and crown Cameron Winter as the better individual artist of his group, Geese. The album shares glimpses into Winter’s boundless potential; the tracks leave me on my knees begging for more, praying for Winter to become one of the greats. So sure, Cameron Winter is the Beyoncé of Geese. However, with a debut solo album as good as Heavy Metal, perhaps he is just Cameron Winter.

listen to it here: