Caribou - Suddenly Remixes EP (12")

I first clocked Suddenly Remixes as one of those records that quietly sneaks up on you in the shop, a neat 12-inch sitting next to the main album and practically winking. Caribou’s 2020 LP Suddenly already had that generous, open heart Dan Snaith is famous for, but the subsequent run of remixes turned the record inside out for the dancefloor. Issued across a handful of EPs in 2020 and then gathered in 2021, the Suddenly Remixes EP format is where these reworks feel most potent, a compact dose of club science made for quick flips between styles.

The headline draw for many will be Four Tet’s take on Never Come Back, which smartly lifts the song’s buoyant vocal refrain and threads it through a patient house build. Kieran Hebden and Snaith have been fellow travellers for years, and you can hear that shared sensibility, a kind of generous minimalism that lets a small idea bloom. It is the kind of track you can drop early in a set and watch a room loosen up, which is probably why copies of Suddenly Remixes EP vinyl tend to disappear fast whenever a new batch lands.

Morgan Geist’s version of Never Come Back sits on the other end of the same spectrum, cleaner and more linear, with that classic New York house glide he does so well. He sands down the edges without losing the hook, and it suddenly feels like a Metro Area cousin rather than an indie dance crossover. If you’re hunting Caribou vinyl for those after hours moments, this is the one to cue up when the lights dim and the chatter fades to a low murmur.

The EP cuts that lean toward UK club textures are just as strong. Shanti Celeste’s remix of Ravi is a warm rush of colour, all buoyant percussion and sky-opening chords, the sort of track that makes you wish you were outside at 3 am with gum on your shoes and the bass under your feet. Celeste has a knack for turning a melody into a horizon line, and here she gives Ravi a spring in its step without drowning it in tricks. India Jordan’s contribution on the broader remix project shows up across the series too, echoing that same joyful release that has made their own singles so beloved in British clubs.

Toro y Moi’s spin on Home is another highlight from the Suddenly orbit, letting the soul sample bend toward woozy synth funk. Chaz Bear threads in slinky bass and gentle pads so the original’s emotional pull stays intact, but the groove gets wider. It is a tasteful reframe that suits Caribou’s songwriting, and a reminder of how generous Suddenly was to begin with, melodies built strong enough to handle different outfits.

Part of the charm here is how well the curation reflects Snaith’s world, the friends and peers who have intersected with his music on dancefloors and festival stages. Released via City Slang in Europe and Merge in North America, the EPs and the later compilation gave these producers plenty of room to stretch without losing sight of the songs. You can hear a conversation across the mixes rather than a pile-up of styles. It makes sense that DJs and reviewers alike gravitated to these sides when clubs began reopening, since the tracks feel road tested even before you hear them on a proper system.

If you collect Caribou albums on vinyl, the EPs slide nicely between Swim and Our Love on the shelf, a little time capsule of how Suddenly kept breathing after the initial release. They also work as a tidy entry point if you’re looking to buy Caribou records online and want something immediate, playable and varied. Around Melbourne record store counters you still hear folks ask for these, and more often than not the advice is the same, grab it now and figure out which version is your favourite later. For those crate-digging through vinyl records Australia wide, it is the sort of twelve that earns its keep in the bag, whether you’re opening a room or finding that late curveball to turn heads.

In short, the best remixes here don’t overwrite Suddenly, they tune into the frequencies already there and nudge them toward different corners of the night. That is why this EP endures. It’s not a victory lap, it is a set of welcoming doors into a record that was already easy to love.