“This song is called Cancer of the Skull”.
On Cameron Winter’s magnitudinous live album, the spotlight refuses to stray from the madman howling at the nightclub piano. More and more ears and onlookers attach themselves to the madman as his voice persists and becomes that of James Taylor or Tim Buckley, and the nightclub turns into Carnegie Hall.
His voice is singular and beautiful, inviting the same formal response to ‘sophisticated’ music Sinatra found at Carnegie. In his shyness, it was doubtful Cameron could capture this energy, this cultural energy containing a love for the classics or sense of traditionalism in presentation. Geordie Greep will feel hard done by that he wasn’t given this gig, but he has bigger problems at the moment.
Cameron is transformed from his shyness; Live at Carnegie Hall is transformative. His indie oddball, his signature meandering inflections feel the unlikely perfect fit. He answers questions as he transforms, on whether singing these tones or writing these words was ever a joke.
He answers with $0; his heroism; his Elvis comeback, his Frank Drebin posing as a lounge singer. The pianos on its original Heavy Metal version sounded underwater. He’s surfaced, he’s alive, the most alive he’s ever been, and his “God is real” refrain sounds sincere; he nuts out, as if in this moment, he has found religion.
He uses his piano for gospel, which is transformative by default. He helps the thought that Geese’s – and his solo – music is, at its core, gospel, and utilises the style to project the pain in his voice, his human endeavouring, even fluffing a few piano notes on Emperor XIII in Shades and Vines.
It All Fell I the River is tense gospel that speaks specifically of transformation, of letting go and putting your best foot forward. It is a new song, introductory for the album, for Cameron’s future, for what one can expect from this strange boy.
With no vehicle but piano and voice, he rids Try as I May of its drum machine and cyborg vocal harmonies. Its theoretical left turns are retained; the constant swiftness of his melodies and chord progressions suggest a whiplash-inducing Amazing Grace. He sings and plays only with his own, humanistic sense of desperation, rummaging for resolve in the form of those bumpy chords, which keep losing him his footing.
His starkness humanises the weirdness of his persona and language. Like the glory of $0, he evolves by displaying the rawest of emotion. On Cancer of the Skull, he does well to liven up what was initially akin to an early Leonard Cohen song. He is as frantic and rambling as much as he was in studio on Nina + Field of Cops, whilst Drinking Age very much emerges as the live version of the album track, and thank God, because its major sevenths melt us like they do on Heavy Metal.
He receives immediate confirmation – Nina + Field Cops is met with gasps and cheers as its now-iconic piano line begins. Cameron’s audience makes this live album the spectacle it has become, gawping at his tremolo-ing a high note on The Rolling Stones. The moment mirrors nothing of the original; its testing allegory was laced up by crooked harmonies and Americana guitars, now only the sincere nudity of man and piano. It’s as if he is nude, but then, this review would be quite different. Love Takes Miles simply repurposes the natural melodicism of Cameron’s voice, but I love the cute assuredness he now resolves the choruses with, earning what was already an album standout – and, possibly, his most beloved song? – a new, or bettered, status as a top big ballad. Eat your heart out, Adele.
This is a phenomenon, and a huge victory for all of us freaks of the independent rock scene. On Seventh Avenue in December 2025, Cameron Winter broke a considerable barrier, and unlocked an MTV Unplugged-style cultural theism lacking even in mainstream contemporary music. We’re witnessing Cameron’s own transformation of self, of belief, of shape – one can pinpoint the moments that shyness becomes steel. We’ve officially been clued in; he was never joking.
Best tracks – Love Takes Miles – Drinking Age – $0.
Rating – 9 out of 10
