caroline 2 aptly embodies sequel-ese: bolder, brighter, more accessible, and more ambitious all at once. Yet for all of its refinement and progress, caroline 2 allows its creators to fully embrace their role as UK post-rock’s preeminent sentimentalists. From the very beginning, the songs of the London octet have contained a sense of earnest wonder: Early single “Good Morning (Red)” was initially inspired by some members’ political awakening while canvassing for the Labour Party in 2017. But by its release years later, “Good Morning” had become an elegy, as caroline’s egalitarian, eight-member setup was as close as the band got to witnessing a socialist revolution. And like so many idealistic collectives, caroline’s obsessions with process occasionally came at the expense of product; the mesmerizing interplay captured in their live “Pool Sessions,” recorded in 2020 and 2021, was tempered by idle found-sound interludes on their self-titled 2022 debut. Profiles of the band, meanwhile, were loaded with procedural details that read like the minutes of a committee board meeting.
They also tried to walk back every mention of “Midwestern emo” in their formative influences, but they’re not beating the allegations this time around. Imagine if American Football moved to Chicago after graduating college and got taken under the wing of Gastr Del Sol and Tortoise instead of breaking up. That’s the sound of caroline 2: yearning, irresolute melodies; plaintive, plainspoken lyrics; and hours of analog improvisation are honed in painstaking digital post-production. Let the Squids and Greeps in their peer group be arch, absurd, aggro, abrasive; caroline also look at modern existence and ask, “Can you believe this shit” with their eyes wide rather than rolling.
Opener “Total euphoria” is the most beguiling rock anthem of recent memory—every instrument plays behind the beat, so unquantized that it initially sounds like eight people recording in completely different rooms, or perhaps locked into a cryptic rhythm known only to its participants. The effect is both mesmerizing and nerve-wracking, like watching a marathoner push to the finish line after hitting the wall, Willis Reed limping into immortality. Anyone who’s listened to five minutes of post-rock knows the crescendo is coming, but when it does, “Total euphoria” implodes rather than explodes; the title holds because this moment delivers nothing shy of the thrill of victory or the sweet release of death. Conversely, “Song two” is bisected by strings that sound bowed by bonesaws, teasing a horror-movie jumpscare; instead, the rusted trapdoor opens to let in blinding sunlight and unseasonable warmth.
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