Beach Bunny has always been something of a paradox: sugary sweet pop-rock with teeth. Formed in 2015 as a solo project by Chicago native Lili Trifilio, the band grew into a full lineup in 2017 and now includes Matt Henkels on guitar, Jon Alvarado on drums, and Anthony Vaccaro on bass. Together, they’ve cultivated a cult-like following with their emotional vulnerability, catchy riffs, and cathartic live energy. After the breakout success of Honeymoon’s bittersweet surf-pop and Emotional Creature’s Y2K-tinged indie rock exploration, Tunnel Vision arrives as their most emotionally charged and sonically bold effort yet.
Beach Bunny’s Tunnel Vision dropped April 25, and to call it a return would be a disservice. It’s an evolution. Their third full-length album is a raw, poetic excavation of existential dread, self-image, and the desperate craving for control in a world that seems allergic to it. It’s loud, soft, sad, witty, and Beach Bunny at their most emotionally expansive and still their most distilled.
Tunnel Vision doesn’t flinch from big feelings. There are repeated themes of self-loathing, disillusionment, and growing pains. The 10-track record opens like a diary page torn out and set on fire. Each song burns in its own way.
“Big Pink Bubble”, the second track, is a standout in both concept and execution. It’s deceptively sweet, light on its feet sonically, yet narratively potent. Trifilio sings about avoidance and self-erasure, using the metaphor of a bubble as a boundary and a hiding place. It’s the last song that made it onto the album, but it feels essential: a thesis on emotional survival in a hypercritical world. Making yourself small to be digestible shouldn’t feel like a universal experience, and yet somehow it does.
Track 3, “Chasm”, hits like an internal scream. Fuzzy guitars and pounding drums mirror the chaos in the lyrics. There’s a sharpness here, a sense of falling into yourself with no rope to hold onto. It’s one of the best examples of how Tunnel Vision balances lyric-heavy intimacy with bold, anthemic production.
The title track, “Tunnel Vision”, takes that tension and gives it form. There’s a fever-dream quality to the way it builds, both focused and frayed. It mirrors the modern desire to disappear into something, anything, just to feel like life has a clear direction again. Trifilio’s vocals stay high and sweet even as she sings of disconnect and overstimulation. It’s the sound of being pulled forward, even when you’re not sure you want to go.
And then there’s “Clueless”, track 5, a classic Beach Bunny bop dressed in birthday candles and quiet dread. Released right before Trifilio’s 28th birthday, the song captures the disorienting, slow-burn panic of aging and not feeling any closer to figuring things out.
One of the most unexpected highlights is “Pixie Cut”, a punky, Paramore-tinged anthem that feels like cutting your hair because your life is falling apart. The production goes a little darker, a little harder, and the result is cathartic and commanding. It’s a side of Beach Bunny we rarely see: less cutesy, more claws. And it works.
And then there’s “Cycles”, the closer, and one of the band’s most interesting experiments in musical reimagining. Originally released in 2019 under Trifilio’s solo name, it’s now reborn as a full-band track. Heavier, more polished, but still aching. It ends the album on a note of resigned beauty, recognizing that sometimes the hardest part of growing is realizing you’re still stuck in the same loops.
Right now, the band is taking that emotional whirlwind on the road. Beach Bunny is currently on tour across North America, bringing Tunnel Vision to life with their signature blend of catharsis and charm. For longtime fans and new listeners alike, these shows offer a front-row seat to a band at the height of their vulnerability and power.
If Honeymoon was the teenage heartbreak album and Emotional Creature was the young adult identity crisis, Tunnel Vision is the mid-20s existential spiral. But it’s also a sign that Beach Bunny is still expanding, still experimenting, still refusing to sit still long enough to be easily categorized. This is messy music for messy people, and Imperfect Fifth wouldn’t want it any other way.
