Upon first listen, two things about Honey are immediately clear: First, it is an entirely new kind of Caribou record. Second, in being an entirely new kind of Caribou record, it is in keeping with Dan Snaith's discography, each new album marked by radical thematic and sonic shifts. Honey is not a departure from the Caribou we've known up to this point but rather the product of a lifetime spent listening to and crafting immaculate pop music.

After two intensely personal Caribou albums (Suddenly and the Grammy-nominated Our Love), Snaith now pulls himself away a little in search of music that isn't about any one person and is relatable to everybody. It also brings Snaith's two personas, Caribou and Daphni, closer together than ever before. On Honey, Snaith fuses their strengths into a record that grabs you and moves you like Daphni before it uplifts you like Caribou. Huge dancefloor tracks twinkle and surprise in a way only Snaith's productions can, with a freshness that defines an artist who is too excited by music-making to ever truly settle into any one sound.