I wish my name was Caroline. Apparently, that’s what it takes to get a song written about you.
It’s been a hot topic of conversation between my music-loving friends and I, and once you notice it, you won’t be able to ignore it. You can’t escape Caroline—she’s everywhere.
Congratulations if that’s your name, because you’ve captured the heart of many chart-topping musicians for the last 60 years. The name renders endless rhymes and has dominated love songs, breakup songs, and everything in-between, spanning style, genre and decade, and I’m over it. It’s time to break down what makes Caroline so special.
Most famously, Neil Diamond’s 1969 hit “Sweet Caroline,” has been drunkenly shout-sung at bars all over the world, but that’s not the last time you’ll hear those sweet three syllables being sung.
Flash forward 18 short years, we got Fleetwood Mac’s “Caroline” in 1987, and in 2017, Aminé dropped their viral hit “Caroline,” with Briston Maroney’s “Caroline” just two years later. Local bands are on my list of guilty parties too, with The Empties’ song “Caroline” coming out just last year. I’ve only mentioned a few, but the list goes on.
Now sure, maybe there’s something about women named Caroline that makes them a musician’s perfect muse, like a halo, or some intoxicating fragrance I’ll be needing the name of. But somehow, I just don’t believe all these subjects can possibly be real.
Perhaps its consistent appearance is in a bid to preserve an ex-lover’s identity, or maybe there’s a secret Caroline convention I haven’t been invited to. But to me, the most compelling hypothesis is the fact the name’s melodic three syllables conveniently rhyme with words like “mine,” “shine,” “wine,” “sign,” and “pine,” just to name a few perfect matches. They all fit oh-so-perfectly in a song about a love interest. That’s my theory anyway.
The 1975 even it it themselves in their 2022 song “Oh Caroline,” with a lyric confessing that her name is the “only one that rhymes.” If this isn’t evidence of convenient songwriting instead of real life truth, I don’t know what is.
All I’ve ever wanted is a popular song that has my name in it. It’s not as though my name is rare—in fact, quite the opposite. I’ve known two other people in my life with the same name—first, and last—much to the confusion of teachers and delivery services when we somehow wound up in the same elementary school classes, and first year dorm.
It’s the feeling of being in a tacky vacation gift shop as a child, searching for a garish fridge magnet or keychain with your name on it to show off to your friends back home, only to scour the shelves and come away empty-handed.
And trust me, I’ve tried my best to find the “Madison” songs that exist out there, but none of them called my name, so to speak. I certainly won’t hear them the next time I’m at the bar, nor have a stranger serenade me with a karaoke rendition.
Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise. I’d love to hear from the Carolines out there about what it’s like to be the seemingly most sung about woman in the world. Perhaps it’s tiring to be that girl all the time. Wouldn’t I like to know.
There’s hope though, it can be done. For every Caroline, there’s “Layla” by Derek and the Dominos, “Cordelia” by The Tragically Hip, “Roxanne” by The Police, “Eleanor Rigby” by the Beatles and “Cecelia” by Simon and Garfunkel. It makes the songs more interesting, and I picture a different type of woman than what’s become the norm. Someone with a name I’ll because it’s different, instead of adding it to my laundry-list of Carolines.
So, I’ll hold on to that hope. I make a good case—I’ve got three syllables and a dream. To the musicians out there reading this, forget Caroline and make “Madison” your next hit.
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