Honey

Snaith's work is meaningful, and it pushes music forward in a way that's genuinely exciting.

AI vocals or not, this is an album that goes up near the top of Caribou’s achievements, a feelgood set of tracks clinging on with determination to the summer, providing a sun-drenched idyll as Europe heads towards autumn. Dan Snaith is clearly in rude health – and with Honey his experimentation has paid off.

Much like his longtime collaborator Four Tet, Snaith has fully entered his festival dance era, making some of his most outwardly expressive music by injecting his own personality and emotions into superbly crafted club tracks.

With its intricate production, mesmerising melodies, dynamism and scope, ‘Honey’ is no doubt a stellar addition to Caribou’s catalogue.

Honey is rave music for a party of one as Snaith balances his nimble pop tendencies with sprawling soundscapes. In an attempt to balance his two worlds, Snaith landed on an infectious middle ground.

AI is simply another tool that will sometimes be used badly and sometimes be used well, and on Honey I think it’s used well.

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.

Honey is fun, easy listening, and it is just about guaranteed to get toes tapping; it’s just not as substantial or stirring as one might hope.

Honey finds Snaith embrace sampling and AI vocal processing to refine a sound that pops with possibility. [Nov 2024, p.34]

The Canadian musician's addiction to discovering the new and unusual remains nothing less than compelling, although sometimes this results in truly great music (here that means Volume's dreamy house reinterpretation of MARRS' 1987 rave classic Pump Up The Volume, the albums standout) and other times the expansive sense of ambition doesn't achieve lift-off (such as Campfire's nebulous and hard to grasp electro-folk). [Dec 2024, p.106]

Ultimately Honey is one of the more interesting experiments in the use of AI, but in this case it feels like a watering down of emotional impact from an artist who has never had an issue when it comes to capturing hearts and moving bodies.

Honey also lack 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.