Snaith has not been doing interviews around this record, but a press release says that the impetus for Honey was a desire to make music that’s broadly relatable. These songs, which twirl and dive like gamboling otters, certainly have mainstream appeal: the glorious looping synth arpeggio on “Climbing” chops electro-house and disco into confetti; “Come Find Me” is crisp, euphoric French touch, its searching lyrics appropriately tempering the joy for a few bars towards the song’s end.
Imagine I’m saying “mainstream appeal” with the most ardent love and respect. Shifts in purview like this tend to invoke scorn, but I think you’re a liar, or at least profoundly disconnected from your own sense of fun, if you say you’re not moved by hearing a gigantic, eyeball-vibrating drop in an airplane-hangar-sized club. And I can understand why artists like Floating Points and Four Tet, upon seeing the monumental success of festival-headlining dance acts like Fred and Peggy Gou, would want to get in on the fun: If all anyone wants to eat is a spicy tenders combo, why not try your hand at whipping up a Michelin-starred version?
Snaith—who, fairly or unfairly, has been accused of baiting Calvin Harris fans since the beat dropped in “Can’t Do Without You”—is very good at dressing up these familiar sounds in finery. Honey is awesome, and it’s also really easy to take down, and it thrives in settings like “Getting dressed for the Charli XCX show” or “Writing a review of Caribou’s new album Honey.” Despite the ease of use, though, there is little mistaking the production credit: “Dear Life” may be unusually forceful in its approach, and “Got to Change” may have the DayGlo positivity of a Fred again.. album closer, but most quintessential Caribou textures, like the ’80s daytime TV gloss of “Over Now,” or the rhythm in “Do Without You” that sounds like it was bashed out on wine glasses, are still firmly in place.
Most, because the one quality that previously linked nearly every Caribou song—Snaith’s distinctive, wavering falsetto—is noticeably sidelined on Honey. It pops up here and there on the album’s back half, but for the most part, Snaith’s vocals here are augmented with AI, as if this were a Caribou record featuring a host of anonymous vocalists. On “Broke My Heart” and “Honey,” the two barnstormers that open the record, those vocals are used in the way one would a sample, but on “Come Find Me,” an entire verse is processed as to sound like a cool, slightly warbly young singer, perhaps a Helena Deland or Adrianne Lenker type.
