Something intoxicating about the Energy Whores (Pretty Sparkly Things) is its glittering sort of poison, which slips under your skin before you even notice. The voice of Carrie Schoenfeld, delicate and with an edge, is able to cut the fog like a silent revelation that is spoken in the midst of the crowd. Out of New York, a blend of classical piano elegance and indie movie grime, she has made a song that is a waltz of attraction and rebellion. It belongs to social retribution, a song that makes you dance and at the same time makes you question your own morals. I first listened to it in the middle of the commute, the city passing by, and was of the opinion that submerged rage was beginning to surface, the rage that occurs when you see how effortlessly we are all hypnotized by beautiful lies.
The music glitters, insatiable and stinging simultaneously. Electropunk synths are neon veins vibrating on jagged beats that make you sway despite the message burning. It is a reflection of what the world is obsessed with in wealth, fame and illusion beneath the gloss, but it is a mirror that is slightly askew. Carrie hits the listener with silent explosions in her lyrics to deconstruct the illusions of consumer society and, nevertheless, see humanity in the mess. She does not just perform but protests. I would experience that feeling of familiarity - that pull between the desire to fit in and the realization that the game is fixed.
Musically, it is a brash combination, the grit of punk is combined with the smooth beat of electronica, and the two meet in this beautiful, intentional mess. The guitar of Attilio Valenti is scraping and sings, bringing the synth fire to the earth with something raw, and human. Yet it is the vision of Carrie that bears the soul of it, the manner she makes out of anger a work of art, out of rebellion something unnaturally beautiful. Her writing is dramatic, and not remote or smooth. It is gut-wrenching, as street poetry to a strobe light beat.
Pretty Sparkly Things is not just a song, but a fight in a song - a wake-up call out of the consumer dream. This song seems a kind of redemption through fighting back, a soundtrack to those who are fed up on pretending. Energy Whores do not perform, they testify. And when the last notes have died away you are left exposed and in a weirdly empowered way, as though the truth had finally broken the glitter.
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