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Caroline Strickland Rocks Endlessly and Honestly

I grew up on 104.3, New York’s classic rock station. It was the soundtrack for my commutes to school and drives to soccer practice, and my mum even called in every year on my birthday to request my favorite song, “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds.” She got in trouble when I recommended “Smells Like Teen Spirit” to my Catholic elementary school peers. My love of rock music persisted throughout my youth, especially in the punk → emo → scene kid evolution of my middle school years. Come high school and college, I loved the indie darlings, and they became some of my favorites among the modern-day classics. Early infatuations with Hayley Williams and Frankie Cosmos grew into devoted admiration for Kim Gordon and P.J. Harvey. I’ve lived my life looking up to the women who rock endlessly and honestly; obviously, I love Caroline Strickland.

I moved to Glasgow after college and became totally enthralled with the world of electronic music, falling completely out of touch with rock. It wasn’t until I was back in New York, on a late-winter evening in 2023, that my first love was rekindled. I went to Our Wicked Lady not knowing anyone on the bill; I left with a hunger so insatiable that I have spent the better part of every month since stacking my schedule with local rock shows. There’s something about rock music that can only be experienced live: a magic unlocked by being in a room and hearing real instruments and a loud voice drown everything else out. Drums filling your lungs and riffs getting caught in your throat. It’s always better when you’re surrounded by bodies absorbing and combatting the same sounds as yours.

Caroline Strickland is an artist who understands this viscerally. After recording her debut LP, Super Tender, in her home state of Virginia earlier this year, she knew what she had made was very special but not yet finished. She had done all of the work, lived through the hard times and heartbreaks, been lifted up by the words of Didion and Morrison, written feverishly in conversation with all the classics, and finally, it struck her: the album had to be live, the same way the experiences and moments that shaped it were live. On the first of April, she played the project in full at Union Pool, recording it in front of an audience. After nearly two years of work, the album was born that night, realized by everyone in the room and by Caroline herself. “I want my music to always be in conversation with its audience. My music is not private, it is emotional and painful and embarrassing for me to share but I believe if I have made the self indulgent choice to pursue a career as an artist, I owe you all the sacrifice of bearing my soul and being as honest as I possibly can,” Caroline shared with me. That desire for truth and authenticity was felt, and I feel it still, as each track burned into my bones the moment it traveled into the crowd, her songs becoming our songs.

The Venue: Union Pool

The Smell: Glossier You, the Blue Ridge Mountains, hot wind, sweet decay, campfire smoke, and the first day of spring

The Scene: When Caroline released her single, “Prettiest Girl of Heaven,” in January 2025, I wonder if she knew she was placing a prophecy into the universe. The venue was packed with the prettiest girls of heaven, many of whom I have come to know in my three years of being in Brooklyn and working in the arts. Perhaps it was just the bloom of spring weather, but it felt like everyone got a little dressed up for this live recording on a Wednesday night: lots of fun prints and summer skirts, button-ups and carabiners peeking out of purses, removed from casual belt loops. Though it was April Fools’, the room felt full of earnestness and excitement, no trickery or fronting. It feels impossible to attend one Caroline Strickland show and not come back for more; many faces were familiar solely from her past sets. Given it was Union Pool, there were a few rogue drunk men who didn’t know how to act (not counting that wee old guy who’s at most of their shows, he’s always in good form), bringing a hell-lite vibe to the heaven of the space, but pretty girls are nothing if not warriors who can handle a man’s audacity. All of the straight men who ended up there on purpose were giving soft boy. If I didn’t hate using this terminology for cis men, I would even go so far to say, “he/him lesbians.” Let’s just keep it broad: I’d bet money that 98% of the room graduated from a liberal arts school.

The Show: This was a true, honest-to-God rock show. If I see this fucking shredder of a girl on one more “indie folk” lineup, I’m gonna scream. My friend Penelope pointed out that Caroline puts on an amazing solo performance when she doesn’t have a band, so bookers can rely on her holding her own during a stripped-down set, which is why we’ve seen her on bills like that before. This is entirely true, but now that I have seen her play with a band as big as her music is, I never want to see it differently. To book her without the power of the full shebang would be to do everyone a discredit. The crowd was packed, as was the stage: Caroline on lead vocals and rhythm guitar, Ethan Dunn on lead guitar, Holly Nance on bass, James Paul Nadien on drums and keys, trumpet by Caylie Davis, and backing vocals by MJ Upstairs.

The entire show was triumphant. The band could not have been tighter. Nor could they have been looser in shared aesthetics, always a good sign to me. Every single song kept me completely surprised and totally stimulated. Three songs in—BOOM—surprise trumpet, the bell covered by a deep purple Crown Royal bag, darkening its tune and destroying any jazz allegations at the rock show. “Doe Eyed in Coyote Club,” a song that felt like a still life and allowed for Caroline’s vocals to shine on their own, was followed by “Sara’s Light,” which felt like a hurricane of crashing sounds. Caroline’s voice was the thunder, MJ’s was the lightning that followed, Caylie’s trumpet was the storm sirens blaring. Caroline was so locked in during each number, singing off into the distance or down into her guitar, while MJ, free of any instruments, danced through all the backing vocals and felt like the embodiment of each song’s energy. Between songs, Caroline was able to be so present and playful, clocked out of the lock in, sharing stories and interacting with the crowd: “Anyone in here named Sara? That one was for you.” The girl behind me, presumably named Sara, swooned like a tween girl at a Bieber concert. “Forgiver” felt like a complete departure from any of her previous music; it was much darker and colder, scarier even. Its break was like the sun finally making its way through impenetrable clouds. The ending of this song was too fucking good: MJ’s shrieks paired with Caroline’s chugging riffs and pleading tone, James’s relentless bashing matched by Ethan’s shredding, and Holly’s bass hook keeping us grounded through it all. My friend Naomi once called Caroline’s music “arena rock,” and upon hearing “Forgiver,” I finally understood what she meant.

A lot of Caroline’s previous work feels impressively random, whole songs written about small fleeting moments and the haunting afterthoughts that accompany them. That same spontaneous inspiration is present in this new project, but largely, the songs felt much more specific, existing within a larger story and working through more concrete themes. This felt most present in “Big Bright Future”, which both sonically and lyrically did the impossible: it captured the shattering nature of getting older, of growing up. The band was a bit quieter, a bit more rhythmic, more predictable, and more comfortable than all the other songs of the night. This allowed me to hang on to each of Caroline’s words in a way that I usually don’t with lyrics. I never know the words to anything, that’s not how I hear music for the most part. But she is a master of her craft, and she knew when to let her scripture be heard. I will be haunted by, “God, they don’t make life like they used to,” every time I realize how little I know my brother or how many years it’s been since I was last in my childhood home.

iPhone Presence: 4/10. The sweetest spot a show could be in this category. There was a decent amount of pulling out phones to capture a chorus or bridge, but it felt like most people were too caught up in the moment itself to remember to archive. My notes from the evening include large gaps because it was, at times, impossible for me to even recall I had a purpose in the room beyond bearing witness.

The Moment: “AC Victor” into “Super Tender,” the last two songs of the night. “AC Victor,” my God, the gall of this gal. No one is brave enough to make a song like this these days; it is sonically inconsistent, it feels like it starts and ends three times, and it requires the listener’s patience to get the payoff. The payoff is like that of a rollercoaster or a David Lynch film, moving through the disorientation to get to a place of pure bliss. Holly Nance absolutely bodied an eerie bass solo while Caroline whispered the final verse before a crescendo of hard, almost metal-ripped rock instrumentation. And then what? Then she went right into “Super Tender.” She does the transition between the two incredibly different songs so seamlessly, her band dying out but her guitar remaining, leading her voice and the audience into the night’s swan song. Caroline has been performing this song live for about a year, so the crowd’s voices joined her at each chorus, chanting the words to her title track over and over. I wanted to fucking mosh. I could have crowd surfed. I felt elated, I felt like I was taken on a perfectly planned journey, completely happy to relinquish control and let Caroline drive. The song, thus the show, ended, stripped of any instruments, just Caroline’s voice in a hushed tone singing, “Super tender at the fire department.” She took a gentle deep breath and said, “Thank you.” The crowd erupted into applause, everyone turning to strangers with awe in their eyes. One of life’s greatest joys is seeing someone on the precipice of greatness, witnessing potential actualized in real time. Recently, I’ve been listening to Jeff Buckley Live at Sin-é on repeat. It’s a 10/10 album, but I can’t help but feel jealous whenever I hear it, jealous of everyone who got to be in the room that night, of those who were present to see a generational artist performing his truth. But now I can grow old saying that I saw Caroline Strickland at Union Pool, and once this live album is released, listeners far and wide will feel that same envy towards me. How lucky am I?