Spacey, cinematic indie pop

Caroline Rose’s fifth album, third since they began shifting from roots music towards synth pop and alt rock, The Art of Forgetting is meant to be experienced all the way through as it travels from the root of a primal scream to the ends of the galaxy. Spectacularly produced, dynamic and ranging, austere yet heartfelt, it’s as grand as a breakup record with an underlying pop structure can get. 

More of an overture than an opener, “Love / Lover / Friend” defines a healthy romantic partner’s role through negation: “I’m not your mother…not your keeper… not a ragdoll.” Instead, Rose intones over mysterious Spanish guitar, “I am your love,” at which point it sounds like the rocket in a Hans Zimmer-scored existential science fiction blockbuster starts igniting its boosters. Everything about the arrangements signifies as cerebral epic: the huge electronic drone, the fiercely arpeggiating string section, the anguished vocalizing off in the distance, reminiscent of ancient choral music. Thus begins a slightly lengthy album loaded with crescendos, on which seemingly every hooky passage is followed by a vibey interlude so the dust can settle and emotions can come back into perspective.

“Rebirth” introduces another electrifying sonic element that will stand out as the songs unfold, Latin rhythms. The booming and swaying percussion section releases the energy latent in Rose’s sinister android vocals and the glitchy melodic artifacts that flutter around them. (Given that the next track, “Miami,” is about a couple running out of steam and includes the title phrase, it’s no wonder what inspired the style of the drumming.) The lyrics to “Rebirth” are some of Rose’s most strangely compelling, describing a symbolic return to the womb via Freudian association: “Watch me move from house to house / My ear to the window / With my ear to the ground / Listening for the scream of a kettle / Reminds me of birth.” 

The evocations of parenthood and home may relate to the subject of personal support systems which seems almost as pertinent to Rose as heartbreak. Several checking-in voicemails from Rose’s kindly grandmother are set to decreasingly melancholic music, first Chopin-esque piano, then fingerpicking with a sad chord, then an optimistic bass groove that exemplify how family can be a rock in tumultuous times. 

There’s also a song about a well wisher named Jill, who undramatically reassures, “It’s just my attachment style.” While other tracks on the album get cosmically expansive, “Jill Says” goes the other way and explores the richness of more delicate, earthly things. The beat sounds like the shuffling of unmailed love letters. The string section plays pizzicato then swoons like the happy ending of a French romantic comedy when Rose sings the killer farewell “I’m gonna miss you for a long, long time.”  

There are stylish discoveries to be made throughout the album. “Everywhere I Go I Bring the Rain” brings a whooshy, shimmering shoegaze chorus. “The Kiss,” with its low singing and “nothing on the street tonight” lyric feels Springsteenian by way of the classic rocker’s fascination with the electronic punk duo Suicide. “Love Song for Myself” is made up of cleverly silly affirmations: “If I am a doormat / Then I am handwoven / I am exceptional / I am a timeless treasure on a hardwood floor.” On the catchy “Stockholm Syndrome,” Rose confesses, “I just wanna write a song / That keeps you in my arms forever.” And, appropriately, “Tell Me What You Want” showcases Rose’s vocal power and versatility, which all the distortion effects on their voice might not hint at.

The Art of Forgetting is an artful work; ardent, detailed and musically vast. Caroline Rose’s purview encompasses the symphonic, the cinematic, the atmospheric, musique concrète, forms from across the last century and from around the world; and their sound is all the more engaging for it.