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Caribou - Honey

Name: Caribou - Honey
Item: Caribou - Honey
Author: Reid BG

Veröffentlicht
Oct 3, 2024
Worte
Reid BG
Labels
City Slang · Merge Records
Slang50570D
Veröffentlicht
Oct 2024
Genre
House

Featuring AI vocals, synth solos and uplifting mantras, Dan Snaith's new LP still services dance floor giddiness—with a touch of bittersweetness.
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What is it about Dan Snaith's charming falsetto that we just can't get enough of? Following the success of his 2007 album, Andorra, his vocals became a crucial part of his identity as Caribou, going from barely discernible warbling to a crystal-clear head voice over the course of a decade. It was the highlight of his most recent Caribou album, Suddenly, in 2020, paired with earnest, at times painful lyrics. Swinging the door wide open to reveal his personal life, he touched on topics of death and divorce, and subsequently unlocked a new dimension of his artistry. He was no longer just the jolly, exuberant frontman of his all-dressed-in-white electronic band. He was more vulnerable and down to earth than ever. Snaith has also maintained the perfect out for whenever he wants to pull away from the spotlight. His 13-year-old dance music project, Daphni, has allowed him to retreat back to his machines, constructing dizzying loops from genre-spanning samples (jazz, funk, house) for his DJ sets. That alias's 2022 album, Cherry, was bursting with polyrhythmic arpeggios and colourful grooves that showed signs of the project becoming louder and brighter. That album's dazzling sound isn't dissimilar to "Honey," a main stage garage banger with laser synths and an EDM build-up that wouldn't be out of place in a Skrillex set. However, this isn't the dopamine-packed next iteration of Daphni—instead, it's the lead single for the new Caribou album. On Honey, Snaith fuses the touchpoints of Caribou and Daphni to form a Cronenbergian patchwork. The UK funky-drenched "Broke My Heart" is an emotional bop at first glance, particularly if you're unacquainted with Snaith's past work. But for those who value the recently honed songwriting of Caribou and the zany beats of Daphni, it might feel like an act of misguided double-dipping that muddies the waters a little too much. The same goes for "Only You," a punchy, scintillating love ballad with an irresistible Snaith falsetto that succumbs to percussive repetition—it winds up sounding like Cherry and Suddenly fighting for attention. The second half of the album sounds less like a struggle between two entities. "Got To Change" could be a maximalist festival revamp of one the most beloved Caribou songs, "Can't Do Without You," with its repeating lyrical mantra and off-the-chart crescendo. "Campfire," one of the more visceral moments, adds more context to the album's earlier tracks with a nifty callback to "Broke My Heart." A dramatic beat-switch gives way to a cascade of bells and whistles that illustrate an overwhelmed protagonist chasing something he knows he can't catch. It almost feels like a metaphor for how Snaith, on this LP, is grasping at experimentation. Which leads us to one of the biggest left turns: Snaith uses AI to alter his vocals into a featherlight, feminine croon. It doesn't do much, aside from creating more space between Snaith and the more biographical corners of his music. The masked vocalising gets a little weird on "Dear Life," during a breathy breakdown that almost comes off as cringey R&B. The manipulated singing does sound lovely on "Come Find Me," pitched up to the point where it evokes innocent, childlike cooing. Clocking in as the first true highlight at the album's midpoint, it takes Snaith's unparalleled sensibility for warmth and zooms in on it with a rush of soaring synth chords that match the optimism of the lyrics: "Whenever you're lost, come and find me / I'm still waiting for the feeling to come back." This AI voice is prevalent throughout the first seven (of 12) tracks on Honey. While it doesn't detract much from the listening experience, it comes across as an effort to fix something that wasn't broken. Luckily, over time, you begin to recognise Snaith's familiar cadence. On "Over Now," he returns to his bodily self, and the lyrics suggest that perhaps he had set up this AI-developed character to tell two sides of a story. "It's over now / You can take it as you get it now / Get over her / There's nothing left to hurt you now," he sings wistfully over a funky disco jam as synths sparkle above. As he dumps a bucket of endorphins into the mix with a climactic, rockstar-level synth solo, we enter a Nyan Cat utopia full of rainbows, Pop-Tarts and not a single worry. This encapsulates the duality of Honey. The euphoric synths and peppy rhythms, whether they appear as pure, sample-laden house music on "Volume" or the dreamy breaks on "Do Without You," have the woozy, feel-good buzz of past Daphni albums. But Honey also lacks the narrative depth that invited us in so close on Suddenly. If you look beyond the sweet, sticky surface, you'll likely be left craving more substance—until you're distracted by melodies that spin you into infatuation once again. For newer Caribou or Daphni fans who aren't as concerned about the polarising split between Snaith's two projects, Honey still services that dance floor giddiness—with a subtle drip of bittersweetness.
Tracklist