“Honey” feels like the kind of song you write when you’re cold in every sense of the word and dreaming about warmth. Written during a winter in Seattle, it sounds like someone staring out at endless gray skies while imagining sunlight on skin, heat in the air, and the kind of affection that sticks to you long after it’s gone. That tension between where you are and where you wish you were is what gives the track its emotional charge. Sonically, it lives in that sweet spot between indie pop and groove-driven rock, pulsing forward with a warm, rolling rhythm that makes the whole thing feel alive.
What really sells “Honey” is how physical it feels. This isn’t a song that just floats. The beat has this steady, almost hypnotic push, while the melodies wrap themselves around you in a way that feels both intimate and uplifting. There’s a sensuality here, but it’s not flashy or forced. It’s in the small details: the way the groove settles into your chest, the way the vocals lean into certain phrases like they’re being tasted instead of sung. It feels like closeness, not spectacle.
Lyrically, the song is built around a longing that’s emotional as much as it is physical. It’s about wanting connection, warmth, and the courage to actually step into it. That ties directly into Kevin Honold’s larger artistic arc. For a long time, he stayed on the sidelines of his own life, holding things back, afraid of being seen too clearly. “Honey” feels like the sound of someone who’s done hiding. There’s an openness here that doesn’t feel performative; it feels earned.
That sense of presence comes from what Honold calls his “rhythmic rock” approach. His music lives in the pulse, in the feeling that everything is being driven by a real, human heartbeat. You can hear that in how “Honey” is arranged. It’s not just guitar and drums; it’s a full, breathing ensemble, with bass, piano, and layered vocals giving the track depth and momentum. The song swells and pulls back, never losing that forward motion that keeps you locked in.
There are echoes of Springsteen’s conviction, Bowie’s boldness and Nathaniel Rateliff’s soulful fire, but “Honey” never feels like a collage of influences; it feels personal. Like something that had to be written. And that’s really what makes the song work. It doesn’t just want you to listen. It wants you to feel it.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for various publications around the world, the former lead writer of review blogspace Atop The Treehouse and content creator for Manila Bulletin.
