Energy Whores Release Thought Provoking New Track - ‘Electric Friends’
- Flex Admin
- 3 minutes ago
- 2 min read
There’s a particular kind of silence that comes only after staring at a screen too long — the quiet ache behind the eyes, the soft hum of a device that never truly sleeps. Energy Whores’ ‘Electric Friends’ feels born from that moment: the stillness between digital pulses, where connection flickers but doesn’t quite reach the heart.
The track opens gently, as though the room itself is waking. Synths drift like pale light filtering through blinds. Electronic drums tap out a slow, steady rhythm — the sound of a heartbeat processed through wires. Carrie Schoenfeld sings with a kind of weary tenderness, her voice floating just above the machinery, human but surrounded by circuitry.
Her lyrics paint a strange, slightly surreal landscape: avatars suspended in jars, faces reduced to symbols, emotions reduced to data. Yet nothing about the delivery feels cold. It is warm in its own cautious way, as if she’s reaching through the static to touch something real.
The chorus doesn’t soar; it settles. It lingers. It creates the sensation of holding a digital friendship in your hands — light, glowing, fragile, easily lost in a power outage. The deeper you fall into the song, the more the production feels like a room you’ve entered rather than a track you’re hearing. One with low neon, humming walls, and an empty chair across from you.
Where many songs about technology lean into drama or dystopia, ‘Electric Friends’ chooses intimacy. It whispers its warning instead of shouting it. And that soft approach only sharpens the sting: without electricity, these companions vanish. Without power, the illusion collapses.
By the final note, you’re left with your own reflection in a darkened screen. And strangely, that emptiness feels louder than the music itself.