Honey; or the album where Dan Snaith blew the doors off of Caribou. Before diving into this album, you need to agree to its terms and conditions, i.e., the integration of artificial intelligence into music. Just as some people won’t tolerate cilantro or Gilbert Gottfried, this might be a dealbreaker. It’s also an argument for a different day. However, if you’re on the fence, with Caribou’s latest the AI relates more to the singer than the songs.
While Honey certainly shares some previous Caribou elements, its distinguishing characteristic is its directness and economy – not to mention the beats. When it kicks off, it cannot be mistaken that the album was intended for the dancefloor and his Daphni alterego. Whether using organic or digital ambience previously, Caribou had become a vehicle for indie-friendly electronica. Honey, in this regard, plays like a return to form that never existed. Its ruthless adherence to the basics of club music and culture underpins a Red Bull-infused nostalgia: less celebratory than Jamie xx’s In Waves and more in tune with Hagop Tchaparian’s brutal recent single, “Treacle”.
The adoption of AI then becomes a very sensible means to an end. Snaith uses the technology to alter his vocals or conform them to how he envisaged a given track. For most of the past 20 years, his vocals on Caribou releases have been why his records are more personably indie than electronic; delicate and introspective, they made Junior Boys sound like Judas Priest. Whether he uses auto-tune or Siri on Honey is moot. The job is to not sound like Snaith. If there are ethical considerations on the table, perhaps those should be whether AI will do to the job market for studio vocalists what it’s already done to copywriters and paralegals.
“Broke My Heart” opens the album abruptly, mid-party. Like the house remix of “Tom’s Diner” decked out for garage, it bounces with pace as Snaith’s girlish vocal modulates in sync. Continuing with the unconventional sequencing, the title track arrives like it’s “Broke My Heart”’s coda as it brandishes the same house/garage mix and instantly builds to a climax/drop. It’s playful but reverent and it subliminally establishes patterns to come – not overwhelmingly retro, although that soon becomes abundantly clear.
Essentially a remix of M|A|R|R|S’ 1987 club hit “Pump Up The Volume”, “Volume” plays up the original’s soul/house roots while, ironically, omitting the commands to “Dance! Dance!” “Do Without You” returns to the UK but does so with an intriguing vocal addition. Its pinched falsetto is in the arsenal of many EDM chanteuses, but is it weird to be impressed that a computer can do it as well? “Come Find Me” and “August 20:24” hark to the glory days of new-millennium French electro, which then fuses with the previous London influences for the cross-channel banger, “Dear Life”.
To this point, it’s hard to say if Honey’s personality – specifically, Caribou’s personality – has been missed. For a collection of semi-throwback electronica, the first half of the album feels very accomplished and prêt-à-porter. It works: the AI doesn’t get in the way, the tempo remains fairly steady, and its minimalist nature makes for a very tight package.
“Over Now” starts the second half as a reminder that this is Caribou and unfortunately lets the air out – as if someone hijacked the Sonos at a house party and decided everyone should hear Tame Impala’s new direction. Next, “Campfire” reprises “Break My Heart” at half-speed and features the album’s most gratuitous vocal noodling.
“Climbing” gamely tries to resuscitate the French disco/rock elements from earlier, but it’s obvious that Honey won’t be returning to the first half’s imperious beats and instead returns to territory covered by 2014’s Our Love. It could be Snaith peeking his head in to remind us that he’s still there. If so, it was a very human thing to do.
