Cameron Winter
Albert Hall, Manchester
December 30th 2025

Known first and foremost as the electrifying frontman of Geese, Cameron Winter’s decision to branch into solo work with his debut album, Heavy Metal, felt at the outset like a side experiment, a space to breathe between tours, and one that perhaps felt rather early in his career. However, Sunday’s Manchester performance at the Albert Hall made that assumption feel naïve. What he presented wasn’t a detour, it was an unveiling of a different artistic persona, one that was raw, immediate and soul-felt.

The room, small enough to feel like a secret, full enough to feel significant, settled into a stillness as Winter stepped onto the stage. It wasn’t electric in the usual sense; it was gentler, deeper and contemplative. The audience seemed suspended, caught between curiosity and reverence, collectively holding its breath. What took hold wasn’t adrenaline but attention. There was a sense of the performer quietly tightening his grip on the imagination of everyone present. That feeling sharpened once he began to sing, opening with Try as I May. Here, Winter’s voice, already so distinctive on record, became something different in this live setting. It had a clarity that didn’t feel delicate so much as honest, warm, and devastatingly controlled, yet perpetually on the verge of breaking into something more fragile. Each word he sang felt pulled straight from the centre of his soul. The room leaned in and collectively felt the music, basking in the experience.

The set unfolded entirely at the piano, and it became a physical extension of everything he was trying to say. Winter often slumped over the keys, body folded, forehead nearly brushing the piano’s surface. At points, it looked like he might collapse fully onto the instrument. It wasn’t theatrical; if anything, it was the opposite. It felt instinctive, as though the music pulled him downward, inward, demanding that he pour himself entirely into it. His posture, hunched, absorbed and almost trembling, emphasised and helped create an emotional gravity that hung over the whole performance. Every note felt heavier and more meaningful because his entire body gave itself to it. It felt unapologetic and a pure distillation of his artistic vision. Winter elaborated on this in an interview with NME, claiming: “I like doing what I want to do, and ideally, I don’t care about what anyone expects or wants from me”

This is what made the night feel so intimate: not just the size of the venue, but the way Winter inhabited each song. He let silence breathe, especially in Drinking Age, leaving long pauses between playing single chords. It insisted that the listener wait patiently and take in the music, carefully absorbing it and reflecting. Despite this, the singer wove genuinely hilarious anecdotes into the performance, telling the story of a past Manchester performance with Geese, in between songs. He recalled playing at Band On The Wall, laughing at the kids who danced when he played music, but shouted “fuck you” when he stopped. He humorously closed this story by claiming, “this is when I knew I wanted to come back someday.”

The whole performance had a particularly special feeling around it, the sense of witnessing a beginning that, years from now, old drunken men in smoking areas will pretend they always knew would be important. This music is destined for bigger venues and bigger audiences, so to see it in such an intimate setting feels truly fortunate.

The one performance that stood out for most was, of course, Love Takes Miles. For this song only, many sang along in what became a special moment of shared voice. It may be Cameron’s song, but it became everyone’s song for about four minutes as it seemed most audience members sang together in unison, no doubt pouring out their own emotions in this process of relating. It was a reminder of Winter’s special ability to fuse deeply personal subject matter with truly catchy songwriting that clings to some part of your brain and imagination, refusing to leave.

Sunday felt like something significant. It felt like a small, incandescent, early-career moment that people will look back on with the kind of reverence that only hindsight can bring. And above it all was that voice, so unguarded and soulful. A voice signalling that Cameron Winter isn’t just branching off from Geese, he’s carving out something truly special, something entirely his own. Manchester was lucky to see it this early.

~

You can find Cameron Winter online here:

All words by Thomas Hill

Photos by Dave Lancaster, you can find him on Instagram