Bunny

Bunny's performances are pristine: the record navigates its hooks, sonic sways and immaculate v..v..vibes with palpable ease.

The moderate pacing and more personally derived songwriting make the album one that demands closer attention to fully understand and enjoy, but it rewards that attention with some of the band's most nuanced and subtly detailed pop constructions to date, ultimately revealing new depths both musical and emotive.

Though there’s nothing here that’s particularly original or knock-you-flat outstanding, it’s all handled impeccably, recorded vividly, and sequenced smartly to make the album’s 38 minutes fly by.

Bunny is not as uptempo and optimistic as the punk-adjacent guitar pop that put them on the map; instead it basks in its afterglow, as if spending the morning in bed after a long night out.

If Bunny has a fault, it is in the way it is so poised and delicately produced that it sometimes sounds like it should be behind glass. Ultimately, though, it succeeds at the none-too-easy task of providing plenty of familiar pleasures in the present while making one curious about where Payseur might take Beach Fossils in the future.