Half-Year in Review #2: Beach Bunny - Honeymoon
Album release date: February 14, 2020
If you weren’t already familiar with the turbulent history of legendary pop punk outfit Paramore, it might have come as a surprise to hear their 2017 record After Laughter open with lead singer Hayley Williams intoning “All that I want/Is to wake up fine/Tell me that I’m all right/That I ain’t gonna die”. Not because melancholy lyricism is new to the band, but because album opener Hard Times, like so many other songs on the project, is infectiously upbeat and features possibly the catchiest hook on a record packed full of worthy contenders for that title. This dichotomy between bright, effervescent instrumentals and pessimistic songwriting is the same one that drives much of the music on Honeymoon, the debut album from Chicago indie rock group Beach Bunny, and in the midst of a downturn in the popularity of pop punk, it’s refreshing to hear them pick up right where Paramore left off several years ago. What Lili Trifilio (Beach Bunny’s vocalist and overall mastermind) lacks in experience compared to the seasoned Williams, she makes up for in contagious enthusiasm, and the palpable emotion that rings out in every word makes Honeymoon an absolute joy to listen to. Even if the record’s lyrics do their best to convince the listener that things don’t always work out for the best, the zeal with which Beach Bunny approach their music makes it impossible to not fall in love with Honeymoon and, by extension, the band’s lust for life itself.
The music on Honeymoon largely treads the same path as the band’s previous release, 2018’s Prom Queen EP, but their youthful brand of indie rock has seen slight yet noticeable improvements since then: the performances are tighter, the melodies snappier, the overall aesthetic much more ambitious and purposeful. The most drastic refinement is entirely Trifilio’s, however; just compare her singing on the title track of Prom Queen to this album’s initial offering, the wistful, layered Promises. Her wavering, half-hearted delivery has entirely ceded the floor to a voice that can switch between wistful crooning and emotive cacophony on a whim; the difference in charisma alone is night and day. Lyrically the track is also quite a statement of sorrow; Trifilio has described it as “the most honest and vulnerable song on the record”, and considering all the offhand lines suggesting an agonizing heartbreak (“Part of me still hates you, how could you love someone and leave?”) it isn’t hard to see why. The opening couplet of Prom Queen (“Shut up, count your calories/I never look good in mom jeans”) may have garnered that song its own sort of viral, meme-influenced popularity, but here Trifilio’s words betray a deeper introspection that is no less compelling: “Promises and problems were all left unsaid/Buried away at the back of my bed/Close my eyes but every time I try to rest/It’s hard to think clearly, you live inside my head”.
On a lesser record, the slender tracklist and relatively uniform production might be cause for alarm, but in addition to covering a remarkable amount of lyrical ground, Honeymoon innately knows how to keep its instrumental side fresh and exciting. While most cuts here follow the same lively, tuneful trajectory endemic to the modern style of pop-influenced indie rock, tracks like April and Rearview show that the band can get properly subtle at times, even as Beach Bunny maintain their uniquely vivid energy throughout both. The clean guitar and steady drumming of April are not low-key, exactly, but its intricate melodies and pleasant background vocals are very typical of the punk side of modern indie rock, like something off the last Parquet Courts record (this is a high compliment). Racetrack is the album’s lone failed experiment: despite being the only cut on Honeymoon to prominently feature a keyboard line (and a quite soothing one at that), the repetitive nature of its melody turns the song downright lethargic before its short runtime is even finished. It’s a shame it had to come right after Colorblind, one of the most complete moments on the record and a perfect example of its fascinating duality. Trifilio’s imagery is an obvious highlight here (“Feel like technicolor TV screens/Only say you see black and white”), and all the slick, flamboyant strumming bouncing in and out of the listener’s ears cannot distract from her troubled tale of relationship dissonance: “You’re a part of my biology/I can’t separate myself from you/An apology anthology”.
The juxtaposition of light melodies and dark lyricism forms the backbone of the album’s themes, from Trifilio’s toxic envy on the catchy Ms. California to Rearview and its painfully detailed depiction of her romantic insecurities (“Underneath all apathy/You’re woven into my tapestry/Did you ever love me at all?”) crooned over a muted guitar line. The two complement each other perfectly even while trying to outdo one another in sheer schadenfreude, the self-loathing of the latter’s chorus (“Was I ever good enough for you?/There’s always someone/I’m tryna live up to”) battling the former’s overt jealousy (“She’s your girl/She’s in all your pictures/California girl, I wish I was her”) to be crowned the most intensely self-deprecating song on the record. Fortunately, the album’s second half is overall much more optimistic in tone, and it’s a relief to hear Trifilio indulge in nostalgic splendor on Dream Boy, an ode to summers in the Windy City that turns Shakespearean for its yearning hook: “If you’re gonna love me, make sure that you do it right/I’ll be under your window in the moonlight”. By the time the closer Cloud 9 rolls around, she’s almost sounding like Taylor Swift in her effortless declarations of love, her creative vocal melodies supported here by some particularly vibrant percussion. Honeymoon is a short, tumultuous record full of doubt and cynicism, and yet by the end Trifilio has at last made some sort of peace with the fact that life and romance are so often unpredictable, an admirable and refreshing conclusion: “Even when we fade eventually to nothing/You will always be my favourite form of loving”.
When Lili Trifilio finally reaches a point of emotional contentment in the waning minutes of Honeymoon, that her deliverance feels entirely earned (and perfectly illustrated) is the strongest testament to her and her band’s burgeoning talent. For all the despondency and heartache Beach Bunny manage to portray in their debut album’s slim runtime, its buoyant instrumentals and enthralling lyricism trick the listener into enjoying themselves far too much for a record written with this much angst. The indie pop quartet may still be dipping their toes into the realm of full-length projects, yet already it is all too clear that their work has mastered the art of not overstaying its welcome while simultaneously leaving the listener in desperate need of more. Honeymoon is a succinct demonstration of musical promise only held back by its brevity; the fully realized version of the group’s artistic vision simply cannot come soon enough.
8.5/10
Favourite Tracks: Promises, Cuffing Season, Ms. California