Ski Bunny Electrifies with Punk Swagger on New Single “Honey”
Providence’s most provocative shapeshifters, Ski Bunny, return to the spotlight with their blistering new single “Honey”, a punk-rock adrenaline shot that is as sardonic as it is irresistibly infectious. Fronted by the inimitable Tracy Chevrolet on bass and vocals, alongside the razor-edged guitar work of Neen Dragon, the precision-pounding rhythms of drummer Luc Mailloux, and their ever-evolving ensemble of backup vocalists, Ski Bunny continues to defy any attempt at genre pigeonholing. Their sound is an unruly collision of pop, punk, indie, grunge, country, and funk—but threading through it all, like an indelible watermark, is the unshakable spirit of the blues.
True to their legend—whether they’re staging a cheeky fake switcharoo, drenching themselves in theatrical fake blood, or leaning into their status as both the “Craigslist drug seeker” and, as whispered lore insists, God themselves—Ski Bunny thrives in the margins where myth and music riotously intertwine. Recorded and mixed between the meticulous boards of Will Holland at Chillhouse Studios, Boston, MA, and Dylan Titus at The Proving Ground, Pawtucket, RI, “Honey” bursts forth with a sonic immediacy that demands attention but rewards with nuance.
It kicks off with chunky, overdriven guitar riffs that grind with a satisfying grit—Neen Dragon’s fretwork is sharp yet meaty, propelling the track forward like an untamed locomotive. Beneath this, Luc Mailloux anchors everything with a punchy, no-frills drumbeat—urgent and tireless, it feels like an unrelenting pulse under the skin. Then there’s Tracy Chevrolet’s bass: reverberating, elastic, and swaggering, it weaves between melody and menace, effortlessly locking the low end into a hypnotic groove.
And floating above this raucous landscape is Chevrolet’s vocal delivery: an intoxicating blend of swagger, urgency, and a sardonic clarity that slices clean through the distortion. It’s not just singing—it’s sermonizing with a wink, delivering raw confessionals like a punk-rock raconteur who’s long stopped caring about social niceties but can’t help making you dance anyway.
Lyrically, “Honey” operates on multiple levels—it’s part hedonistic anthem, part nihilistic commentary, part twisted blues lament dressed in punk clothing. The repeated assertion that “Everywhere I go I spread a little honey” is a double-edged mantra. On the surface, it conjures images of carefree indulgence—charming, sweet-talking, leaving traces of oneself in every room and on every heart. But just beneath that glaze lies the bitter irony: the sweetness is unsustainable, a thin veneer masking depletion and desperation (“As long as no one knows how I run out of money”). Here, Ski Bunny masterfully juxtaposes pleasure and decay, the poisonous and the sacred in perfect imbalance.
The references to party culture—naked revelry, drugs with names that blur into slangy onomatopoeia (“Men crack doobie speed… Men coke ski blow…”)—are not mere glamorization. Instead, they evoke a chaotic carousel where thrill-seeking becomes compulsion and compulsion morphs into existential exhaustion. The urgent refrain of “Where are my drugs” becomes less a physical query and more a philosophical howl: a demand for escape, a search for meaning in the haze of self-medication.
By the time the line “I lived long enough to know there’s no solution” lands, it hits like a cold slap of disillusionment. There’s a grim wisdom at work here, wrapped in the garb of sneering punk irreverence. Ski Bunny is not moralizing—they’re illuminating the hollow underbelly of scenes too often romanticized, presenting a lived-in narrative of someone who’s danced on the knife’s edge long enough to know precisely how sharp it is.
What sets Ski Bunny apart in an era oversaturated with genre-conforming, algorithm-chasing music is their ability to perform contradictions without apology. “Honey” is both a rager and a requiem, a dance track and a cautionary tale, a bold assertion of self and an acknowledgment of collapse.
Sonically, it harks back to the ragged euphoria of late-’70s punk and early-’90s grunge, but it’s modernized with crisp production and an almost cinematic clarity. Lyrically, it invites listeners to question the difference between rebellion and resignation—and whether, in fact, there’s ever been a clean line between the two.
If “Honey” is the entry point, it’s clear that Ski Bunny is not merely a band but a cultural event—a living testament to the glorious mess of human excess, artistry, and absurdity. It’s rare to find a track that feels simultaneously like a backyard house party, a basement punk show, and an existential crisis set to a backbeat—but Ski Bunny has cracked the code. In short: “Honey” is sweet, sharp, and irresistibly venomous. Drink it up—but, as Ski Bunny themselves might smirk and warn, know exactly what you’re swallowing.
