year of the slug by Caroline Rose

This is now the fifth time I’ve written an opening sentence to this review of Caroline Rose’s remarkable sixth album, year of the slug. I write a few words, stop and think about them, erase and start over. Do it again. Again. So many emotions, so much excitement to share, and no clear path forward. That’s how the current iteration of Caroline Rose and their latest album make me feel.

Since we last saw Rose on the Top 31 (their last album, The Art of Forgetting, was #20 in 2023), they’ve taken their career in a new and commendable direction. The use-em-and-lose-em mentality of the recording industry combined with the earth-and-creativity-killing AI machine that threatens to reduce us all to drooling, screen-addicted blobs would likely prove to be a foe too formidable for most. But not Caroline Rose.

I’ve seen a number of artists over the years turn themselves into Patreon-driven living-room performers. This is a great way for artists who are a decade past their hey day to still connect with their stan-est of fans (fan-est of stans?) and continue to earn a living (unsure if it’s enough of a living to actually live by, but there’s enough artists out there doing it that I have to assume it’s at least mostly true). I’ve never been a big enough super-fan to be interested in (or perhaps too self-aware to buy into) attending an artist’s living room show (or, god forbid, hosting one — what sort of awkward conversation would ensue between me and my former idol who is now sitting in my living room, playing 20-year-old hits to me and ten of my closest friends?). To have your illustrious music career take this kind of turn has always felt to me like it was more out of desperation or for lack of knowing what to do with oneself after the fame and industry support has most disappeared. Thankfully, the above paragraph does NOT describe what Rose has done with their career in the slightest.

Rose, instead, pulled the plug, cut out the middle man. They’ve gone direct. At arguably the peak of their career, they’ve essentially told the music industry and the AI machine to simply fuck off. You won’t find year of the slug on any streaming services. And you won’t find Rose performing in any Live Nation, Ticketmaster, AXS or any of the other artist-killing conglomerate-owned venues around the nation. Instead, you’ll find the album only on Bandcamp or physical media for purchase at their web store. Tour tickets are available exclusively at their website. They’ve chosen to go it alone, letting their abundance of songwriting talent, stage presence, and years of built-up good will with their audience carry them forward.

I’m sure it’s not easy, but we’re all better off for it. The Uncle Carol (as they lovingly call themselves) we are getting today is naked and raw. Where Forgetting, and the two albums before it (Superstar at #21 in 2020 and Loner at #12 in 2018) were polished and often pop driven, year of the slug feels more like a 30-year-old recorded-on-a-boom-box Mountain Goats album. “I’m just trying to make music diverse enough that AI can’t reproduce it,” says Rose, on their Bandcamp page. Recorded straight into Garage Band from their phone, this album is Caroline Rose’s equivalent of Springsteen’s straight-to-tape Nebraska.

Nebraska is my favorite record from The Boss. year of the slug is my favorite record from Caroline Rose. The power of both of those albums comes from the stripped down production, reducing the songs to their bare minimum, forcing the storytelling to the fore. The album opens with “everything in its right place,” Rose playing an acoustic guitar while their doubled voice sings lyrics about the little things that happen in life in and around being in love. The next song, “to be lonely,” carries forward the motif of acoustic guitar plus doubled voice, but the tone has shifted, focused on longing and removed desire. “I want to be your fantasy / i want to be completely free / i want to hear that perfect sound / but all i’ve ever known is how to be lonely.”

“conversation with shiv (liquid k song)” shifts to an electric guitar, with a driving, canned drum beat keeping things moving quickly, featuring lyrics about wanting to “be somebody” but being lost in the travails of a hard life, including abortion and being stuck in a liquid ketamine low. The song ends with the repeated phrase “yeah i’m outside the Betty Ford.” The fourth song, “we don’t talk anymore,” wears its pain on its sleeve – trying to work through a break up without being able to lean on the person you’ve trusted to be able to for so long.

The next song, “strange things,“ is slow and haunting, but carries a mostly-uplifting message of being in love. Song six, “goddamn train,” is the peak of the album, giving us the most energetic beat, harkening back to the Rose we heard on “Money” from Loner. But what sounds exciting and inviting is actually about the endless tirade of the world today. “gotta keep quiet. gotta sit tight. gotta shake hands. gotta make plans. gotta get ripped. gotta stay fit. never get sick.”

“antigravity struggle” brings the drum machine back, slower, with an interpolated guitar riff from Lou Reed‘s “Sweet Jane” and lyrics that evoke the smooth dreamy quality of a righteous high. “dirge (it’s trash day) aka trash day dirge” is a short, wordless song, just the muffled sound of a piano in the minor key and the crackling of a tape deck and / or fire in the fireplace. The ninth song, “another life,” describes the endless search we all are experiencing, looking for “the answer” but never finding it; “but maybe I’ll find it in another life.”

“desperation, baby” speaks fondly of a past love, and the excitement that happened with and around them. But there’s a shift, bringing the whole affair crashing back into reality, “all our big dreams / well who cares now / x rated desperation here she comes.” The last song, “kings of east LA” feels like an unfinished friendship, paused without resolution. Little snippets from a lifetime ago.

year of the slug is an emotional drive around an F1 course. Caroline Rose is a master of the form, and I’m glad they’ve found a way to be able to keep making music in this fucked up world without fucking themselves up too much in the process. They have a beautiful grasp of how best to convey emotion with poetry and a simple melody. Rose also shines like the sun when performing on stage, letting the stories they’re singing come through in a way most singers can’t. They’re clearly feeling it, and it makes me in the audience want to laugh with them and cry with them and give them the biggest hug I possibly can. To get a taste of what I’m describing, check out my video of them performing “Bikini,” from Loner, solo at The Sunset Tavern this past November.

And then check out their performance of “Miami” from their 2023 KEXP live set. Stick with it – when they get to the final chorus at the end of the song, attacking it a cappella, with tears streaming down their face, it just guts you. And it’s sometimes exactly what I need.

There is the art of loving
This is the art of forgetting how
This is gonna break you
You’re gonna rip your own heart out
There is the art of loving
This it the art of forgetting how
This is the art of forgetting how
This is the art of forgetting how
This is the art of forgetting how
You’ve gotta get through this life somehow
You’ve gotta get through this life somehow
You’ve gotta get through this life somehow
You’ve gotta get through this life somehow