Caroline Rose Connects in Hometown Performance of ‘The Art of Forgetting’

Written and Photographed by Emilio Herce

Caroline Rose’s show at Webster Hall on Wednesday, April 12, was a hometown show of sorts. Even though she has decamped to Burlington (where she wrote most of her new album, the excellent The Art of Forgetting) and Austin, (where the breakup that the album chronicles occurred), the sold-out crowd at Webster Hall gave her a hero’s welcome. 

The Art Of Forgetting is perhaps Rose’s most personal record and continues the pattern of reinventing herself with each release. Her second album, LONER, is the one that first grabbed me, and is an LP full of ebullient pop gems. Rose is a master of the earworm, but when you spend some time with her songs and pay closer attention to her lyrics, you come to realize that these up-tempo jams, many of which you can safely play at most parties, can also be deeply tragic. The songs on both LONER and her follow-up Superstar are beguiling, sung as if through a smirk, and through the characters she portrays and these albums' maximalist production, she places some distance between herself and the emotions of her lyrics. 

The songs off The Art Of Forgetting seemingly reverse this trend, and while they are more theatrical, any pretense or facade are stripped away, both in the recorded versions and how they’re presented as a stage show. At Webster Hall, Rose stands alone with an acoustic guitar, on a stage decorated solely by a stained-glass window and lit-up panels that separate her from her band.  The performance would have translated as well at Webster as it would as a one-person show on a Broadway stage a couple of dozen blocks uptown.

Rose plays TAOF in sequence, and the place settings seem appropriate for the first half of the album and the isolation it conveys. “Rebirth,” “Everywhere I Go I Bring the Rain,” and “The Kiss” trace the steps of grief after a massive, earth-shattering breakup. There is of course the bargaining phase, in songs like “Stockholm Syndrome” and “Tell Me What You Want,” but soon there is defiance, perspective, and patience instead of self-aware sadness, ready for rebirth. She’s bolstered by the voice of her grandmother, which plays as snippets between songs, saying how much she loves Rose. 

In the latter part of the set, the stage can seemingly no longer hold Rose. She wanders into the crowd, no longer alone, and is swaddled by the audience as they crowd surf her from the back of the room. The album ends with the song “Where Do I Go From Here?” and a recording of Caroline calling her family back. Perhaps this isn’t a full recovery, but it is a pause from the retreat into her isolation. By the encore, the panels are gone, her band’s at the forefront, and Rose is seemingly insistent on dancing the pain away. 

Caroline Rose is an artist that doesn’t allow herself to do anything halfway. From her songs’ intricate production and the harrowing depths of emotion the songs invite listeners to witness, to the short film accompanying three of the songs, a piece of art in its own right, and even her merch tissue packets that read “I Cried At The Caroline Rose Show,” everything she does as an artist feels like part of a unified universe. Because everything she creates is authentically her.