Reluctant TikTok star: Going viral was a new experience for Beach Bunny’s Lili Trifilio

During lockdown, a friend texted Beach Bunny’s Lili Trifilio to tell the singer that her music was all over a new social media app. Trifilio, who’d started her 1990s-influenced indie band as a lark and had few long-term ambitions for the project, had no idea what they were talking about. TikTok? Was that even a word?

“A friend told me about it,” says Trifilio, speaking over video link in advance of Beach Bunny’s first-ever Irish date at Dublin’s Vicar Street. “And then I saw some tweets. And I was like: what is this? Is it an app? I have never heard of it. Now, it’s pretty popular. At the time, it was super-bizarre.”

Bizarre but also potentially overwhelming. The track to which TikTokers were enthusiastically lip-syncing was Prom Queen, in which Trifilio unpacks her insecurities in diaristic detail.

“I never looked good in mom jeans,” Trifilio sings over a riot of jangling guitars. “Wish I was like you/Blue-eyed blondie, perfect body”.

London Letter: Mayoral races could determine if Rishi Sunak sinks or swims

---

Laura Kennedy: It’s hard to put my finger on what’s different about the atmosphere in this gym

---

Losses narrow at country’s most expensive day school

---

She was critiquing the pressure on young women to adhere to impossible beauty standards. But with Prom Queen out in the world and on the internet, people began to read into the lyrics things Trifilio had never intended to be there. Such as the idea that she sincerely wanted to look more like a prom queen.

Concerned the meaning had been warped, she posted a message on Beach Bunny’s YouTube page. “I wrote this song for every person out there that has felt insecure, unloved, or unhappy in their own skin – it is in no way meant to glamorise, encourage, or promote eating disorders, body hatred, or body shaming in any form,” it reads.

Putting myself out there and having so many people interpret the song in new ways felt very unexpected

“I feel like there were a couple of people maybe early on who didn’t understand that it was a social commentary song,” she says. “They thought I was promoting something sinister. So I felt the need to put out a post. Just so people know.”

Going viral was a new experience for Trifilio, who is soft-spoken and not a person who has ever craved the spotlight. Still, Prom Queen kept on building – and soon rave write-ups were pouring in. Pitchfork hailed the tune as “sentimental and wistful, with a plain-spokenness that prompts immediate sympathy”. The New Yorker compared Trifilio to The Strokes and – a bit of a leap this – Dolores O’Riordan.

“Trifilio likes to add a light Celtic trill to her words to make them fit a musical measure; she sometimes turns the word “love” into “lay-ee-ohhve,” went the piece. This was a stree-ee-ch. Still, the lesson was clear: Beach Bunny had gone down the rabbit hole into the big time.

“It was a surprise. If I had to like predict which song would have blown up, I wouldn’t have picked that one. That was surreal. And a little scary. Putting myself out there and having so many people interpret the song in new ways felt very unexpected.”

That new audience was foremost on her mind as Trifilio set to work on Beach Bunny’s second album, Emotional Creature, released in July. Brawnier and more direct than their debut, Honeymoon, the record stays true to her Breeders-meet-Lemonheads 1990s influences but adds to this a bubblegum zing.

Once again, critics salivated. “Nineties romcom core at its finest,” said Rolling Stone. Pitchfork compared Trifilio, to Olivia Rodrigo, and her marriage of teen brio and new-wave angst.

“There definitely were a lot of nerves leading up to the album,” says Trifilio. “Just knowing it’s not going to be a perfect replica of the last one. Which people liked. So yeah, I felt pressure. It doesn’t affect the songwriting, per se. It was more after the songs were recorded. I was like, ‘oh, gosh, it’s time to release it’.”

Trifilio was born and raised in Chicago’s Edison Park neighbourhood where she attended a Catholic all-girls school. Her Led Zeppelin-adoring father signed her up for guitar lessons when she was a teenager. At that time, she was a fan of Katy Perry and Rihanna. But by high school, she was getting into bands such as Bombay Bicycle Club. In college, she started writing and recording as Beach Bunny (which she later expanded into a four-piece because she enjoyed the camaraderie).

When I used to sing about my ex and then see that person around, it wasn’t exactly the most positive experience

With Emotional Creature, the stakes were raised because it is a break-up LP. Tracks such as Deadweight (“Don’t wanna let go but can’t stay this way”) and Weeds, which is about Trifilio’s history of panic attacks, confirm that she has been through the wringer emotionally. If Prom Queen was about confronting your insecurities, these new compositions embark on a visceral tour of her romantic life.

“All songs, past and present, involve people and situations in my life. When I used to sing about my ex and then see that person around, it wasn’t exactly the most positive experience. But it’s lovely to see how many people can relate. They feel less alone, I feel less alone. It’s a little exchange.”

She’s never been a keen user of social media. In fact, as a fan of the dystopian novelist Philip K Dick, she is well aware of the negative side of technology. And still, the “TikTok band” label follows Beach Bunny. It doesn’t help that she has been encouraged to post goofy videos on the platform.

I like being [on TikTok] anonymously and seeing the trends. In find that entertaining. Personally, I don’t love making little videos about myself. I feel very awkward

The pressure on performers to create viral moments on TikTok is a source of controversy at the moment. Artists such as Florence and the Machine, Charli XCX and FKA Wigs have expressed frustration over being pushed into establishing a “presence” on the platform – even if it is merely a toe-curling singalong to one of their own tunes. Trifilio has been there, too.

“I like being [on TikTok] anonymously and seeing the trends. In find that entertaining. Personally, I don’t love making little videos about myself. I feel very awkward. I’d much rather make music videos. Something that feels more like a production. Some people are good at TikTok: it’s a skill, honestly.”

One of Beach Bunny’s loudest cheerleaders has been actor Bob Odenkirk, aka Saul Goodman in Better Call Saul. As a fan of old-school, middle-of-the-mosh pit indie rock, he is firmly in the band’s wheelhouse. They discovered he was a devotee when he turned up at their merch stall after a show and bought every T-shirt they had. That was pre-Prom Queen: they had a famous fan before they even really had a fan base. This May, he confirmed he was bonkers for Beach Bunny when appearing in the video for their single Karaoke.

“We first met in 2018. In my head, I was like, Oh, he’s such a big celebrity – you’re not going to remember us,” says Trifilio. “And then, years later, my manager saw him in New York, eating a Popsicle. He went up and was like, ‘I manage Beach Bunny’. And Bob was like, ‘oh I love those kids – if they ever need a favour, if they want me in a music video, I’m there. I’ll do it for free’. We we feel very blessed by Bob.”

Beach Bunny have toured heavily since the end of the pandemic. Trifilio is delighted to be coming to Europe, while acknowledging the band have put in a lot of hard work. Their new run of dates comes as a groundswell of artists – from Arlo Parks to Sam Fender – cut back on their schedules to preserve their mental health.

“This past year I feel we’re making up for last time,” says Trifilio. “We’ve kind of burnt ourselves out touring. I was able to push through it. It was okay. There were definitely moments where I was like, ‘oh, I think I’m at my limit – if I did another month, I would be pretty depressed’. But we’re still very excited to come to Europe and close the year with that. So I’m okay right now.”

Beach Bunny play Vicar Street, Dublin on Tuesday, November 15th