Caroline

Murmurs

(Temporary Residence)

Record Review by Daniel Brody

Albert Camus once wrote that “a man’s work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.” Caroline’s Murmurs is an album full of soft synths and trebly, skittering beats, basking in the glow of childhood past. Samples of splashing water and bicycle bells mix with nursery rhyme lyrics to create a wistful portrait of the times when your nose was pressed to the window, frozen in wonder at how several different emotions can pile up at once and bleed into each other—the significant moments with which you monitor your existential progress.

Using the gentle sounds of Icelandic landscape evokers like Sigur Ros and Mum, Caroline transports their wintry melancholy over to Japan, where she was destined to become a Japanese pop singer before she fled to America in search of something more genuine. Murmurs is packed with sad goodbyes too honest and painful for the pop charts on either side of the Pacific; “Sunrise,” “All I Need,” and “I’ll Leave My Heart Behind” all reference imminent departures and excruciatingly long distances. The album adds up to an extended ache for comfort in a home that does not yet exist.

The heavy emotions on the album may seem like a chore to listen to, but Caroline knows that the best therapy is a track as comfortable as a pillow. Her voice is a wispy delight, floating above watery keyboard lines like fog over a lake. Use emotional caution before putting this on, as it will wound you at least as much as the Postal Service album did. Keep it on for the next party involving a bottle of wine and memories of your first crush.