The obsession with Robyn has only mounted in the years since her last release, Body Talk, all the way back in 2010 (maybe the last time any of us felt like ourselves and not some hologram projected into a simulation). Reaching a fever pitch earlier this year when Robyn was summoned to Brooklyn (specifically the d-bag central known as Williamsburg) to play “Honey” for her very devoted sect of fans, never did it occur to anyone that Robyn could possibly disappoint with her new music after subjecting listeners to such a long wait (with a few Röyksopp collaborations in between, but hardly enough to keep anyone fully sated).
And so she has not–disappointed, that is. And it all begins with the 80s grandiosity of “Missing U,” offering shimmering, glittering beats thanks to production from Joseph Mount and Klas Åhlund as Robyn explores the Tori Paradox/Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind all rolled into one, otherwise known as the bizarre phenomenon of having to act as though someone you were once extremely close to no longer exists once you “lose them.” In Robyn’s case, however, someone close was truly lost, as she began production on the record around the time her close friend and collaborator, Christian Falk, died–in addition to going through a breakup that results in that more metaphorical “loss.”
Even so, Robyn maintains her air of signature jubilance for the duration of the album, even on something as ominous in motif as “Human Being” featuring Zhala. As one of the prime examples of Robyn’s own production on the record, it effortlessly lives up to her classification as an innovator of outré future pop–for no one melds the elements of the past into some futuristic vision of the not so sparkling present better than Robyn. No one ever has, and maybe ever will, in fact. Exploring the inevitability of humans being overrun by AI, Robyn compares it to the only likenable scenario thus far: humans overtaking animals’ territory. As she stated of the inspiration behind the song, “I had just read the book Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari and I was inspired by the way that he described our relationship to animals. He wrote about what the future will be like, and how is AI going to treat us. The only other relationship we have with another form of life that would be similar to how AI would relate to us is how we treat to animals. So I wrote the song as if AI had taken over the world, and the human beings were the minority. AI will do everything better than us, maybe even have emotions. What is it that’s so special about us really? And if you take that away, is there any value still left in being human? I think the value is being connected to other people.” And there is possibly no better (or other) way to stay connected to people than through a bonded love of Robyn’s music as she effortlessly makes what Katy Perry grossly felt the need to brand as purposeful pop. So it is that she sings with unflappability to the danceable beat, “All these emotions are out of date/I know it’s hard/No peace of mind, but don’t shut me out/You know we’re the same kind/A dying race.”
Dying race or not, “I keep playing it anyway,” she states on the following song. Like a neo-stereotype of what “Oriental” music sounds like, so opens “Because It’s In the Music,” subsequently awash in all the stock rhythms of 70s disco anthems that have made Robyn miraculously capable of creating her own overarching genre in the field–not sub-genre, overarching genre (sort of like how fellow Swedes ABBA managed to carve out their own niche brand of disco in the disco era). Perhaps driving home the point that the most important time of all to dance is when one feels those waves of sorrow and grieving, Robyn noted of creating the lyrics and melodies for Honey, “I danced a lot when I was making it. I found a sensuality and a softness that I don’t think I was able to use in the same way before. Everything just became softer.” It is a softness present on the harp-oriented backdrop of “Because It’s In the Music,” which examines the feeling one gets when a song takes them back to a time or place (“Because it’s in the music/Heavenly bodies moving, yeah I’m right back in that moment/And it makes me want to cry”). Depending on the disparity of emotions, one person in the relationship might react entirely differently to a sonic reminder of their now defunct rapport, whereas the other might be perfectly capable of listening without so much as a flashback (much to the dismay of Robyn, who asks, “I wonder if you hear it, are you getting that same feeling? Like you wanna break down and cry?”). Again, this theme harkens back to the one established on the opener of Honey, “Missing U.”
A song that is in line with the desire for forgiveness presented on Britney Spears’ “Everytime” (“this song’s my sorry”), Robyn begs over soft, ethereal meters, “Baby forgive me/Won’t you give it a chance, baby? Just one more try.” It’s almost as though she’s saying it to the very fans she left waiting for years with nary a decent rhythm to dance to. And if, somewhere deep down, that’s the case, of course they will have to oblige her request with Honey as a peace offering, even if it is but a sparse nine tracks to tide us over until the next. The seamless auditory transition into “Send to Robin Immediately” (with “Baby forgive me” repeated into the beginning of the track, for an effect as heroin injection-like Lana Del Rey’s “Freak” into “Art Deco” on Honeymoon) further elevates the emphasis on a neo-disco sound as she samples Lil Louis’ 1989 single “French Kiss” (classified amid the “porn groove” genre, naturally). A standout lyrically considering the antiquated practice of sending letters (unless one is attempting to bomb liberals, evidently), Robyn urges, “If you got a letter for me, send it right away/If you know that you really care, don’t hold your breath/If you want the gold and the honey, come get it right away.” So we have–come to get the Honey right away, and at this point on the album we’re practically drowning ourselves in it, gorging on the sumptuous beats and mellifluous vocals–“Honey” itself being no exception to the rule.
As though speaking to the entire generation of millennials (after all, she did hurry to finish a version of this song for an episode in the (merciful) final season of Girls, Robyn pulls a The Rolling Stones with the introductory lyric, “No, you’re not gonna get what you need/But baby, I have what you want.” And what that want is, most assuredly, is an unbridled homage to the dance/house sound of the 90s, which is precisely what one gets with “Between the Lines” as we’re transported to the very period that birthed Robyn’s career (never forget her debut, 1995’s Robyn Is Here, from, um, Ariola Records). Going back to the idea that the only thing that might possibly give humans a chance of being superior to products of AI is their ability to truly connect with others, “Between the Lines” stems from the inimitable sentiment of being on a dance floor and “feeling your emotion with the people that are there and just enjoying it together.” That being said, Robyn has always had a keen sense of the distinguishment between pop and dance, expounding, “Pop songs have their peaks, but with club music, it’s about the groove and liking where you’re at in that moment, riding a wave.” This is precisely what “Between the Lines” delineates, further proving that Robyn is one of the sole masters of her category.
Sounding like the quintessential white person you hate for causing gentrification everywhere all the time, Robyn suggests with mild urgency on “Beach2k20,” “(So you wanna go out?)/To this cute place on the beach/They do really nice food/(How you gonna get there?)/I mean, it’s right on the beach/Come through, it’ll be cool.” With that Italodisco 80s feel in terms of fanciful tempo and talking, sultry lyrics that are frivolous in content, Robyn is almost cruel for putting this song out in the fall, when it’s impossible for everyone except Australians to enjoy it as it should be: on the beach, at a “cute [little] place.”
Wrapping things up all too soon with “Ever Again” (which she recently drove around to in Ibiza with SSION), Robyn and Mount’s production echoes the vibe of Q-Feel’s 1985 “Dancing in Heaven (Orbital Be-Bop),” as the mid-tempo groove (slow, slow, quick, quick, slow–if you will) does its best to ease you into a fate worse than the realization that it’s cold as fuck outside: you’ve come to the end of Honey, and now like any good worker bee, you must go out into the world to make more of your own, so that you might afford to enter the place that houses the dance floor where someone would be so kind as to play even just one of these songs.
