Friends Of Friends’new EP Synthetic Flower Chainsaw feels like a fever dream built from steel and sugar: sharp-edged but strangely tender. Across its brief runtime, the band welds glossy synth textures to a restless punk heartbeat, balancing chaos and beauty in equal measure. It’s a record that doesn’t just blur contrasts; it thrives in them, spinning industrial noise into something almost romantic. Synthetic Flower Chainsaw is as self-destructive as it is self-aware, a snapshot of a band tearing their sound apart just to see what blooms in the wreckage.
As an opener, Attention makes an immediate impression, it’s loud, twitchy, and impossible to ignore. The track builds from a nervy synth pulse into a dense, propulsive groove that sets the tone for the rest of Synthetic Flower Chainsaw. There’s real power in how Friends Of Friends layer their sounds here: the glossy electronics scrape against jagged guitars, and the percussion punches through like it’s trying to break free of its own structure. The vocal delivery, coolly confrontational, gives the song a necessary bite, though at times it risks feeling too emotionally distant to fully connect. The chorus, while hooky, circles back on itself one too many times, threatening to dull the song’s initial shock factor. Still, there’s something magnetic in its controlled chaos; even when Attention stumbles under its own weight, it does so with intent. It’s an opening statement that’s as flawed and fascinating as the EP it introduces.
I Like Ya shifts gears from the sharp-edged tension of the opener into something looser, almost playful, at least on the surface. There’s a slink to the rhythm, a rubbery bassline that keeps things buoyant while the synths shimmer like neon static. It’s easily the most accessible song on the EP, the kind that could slide onto a late-night playlist without losing its bite. The chorus is infectious in that off-kilter way Friends Of Friends do best, catchy but slightly unsettling, like a smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. Still, the song’s flirtation with pop gloss sometimes undercuts its grit; where Attention felt raw, I Like Ya occasionally feels a bit too polished, its edges sanded down. Yet there’s undeniable charm in how the band leans into that tension, wanting connection but refusing to soften entirely. It’s a sly, self-aware highlight that proves they can weaponize sweetness just as effectively as noise.
The title track, Synthetic Flower Chainsaw, strips away the band’s usual structure and replaces it with a monotone sprawl, a robotic voice reciting a list of spiraling, half-connected thoughts. It’s less a song than a transmission, something between a diary entry and an algorithmic feed. The voice drifts through fragments of modern life: not having kids, men podcasting, bed rot, posting about success or grief, scrolling more often until it all starts to blur into one endless, numb scroll. There’s a certain brilliance in how Friends Of Friends capture that overstimulated, detached headspace; the track feels like holding a mirror to the internet until the reflection starts to glitch. Still, its length and repetition test patience, and its emotional flatness can veer toward the overly academic. Yet that may be the point, Synthetic Flower Chainsaw isn’t meant to be comforting or even coherent. It’s a commentary disguised as a breakdown, daring you to keep listening as it dissolves into digital noise.
After the disorienting static of Synthetic Flower Chainsaw, Happier lands like a sigh, clearer, warmer, but no less uneasy. On first listen, it almost sounds like a reprieve: softer synth tones, a steadier pulse, and a vocal that actually reaches for melody again. But there’s a catch in the delivery, a kind of forced brightness that makes the title feel ironic. The lyrics circle ideas of self-improvement and contentment. Production-wise, it’s one of the tightest tracks on the EP, sleek, carefully layered, and deceptively simple though some of that polish drains away the rawness that gave earlier songs their spark. Still, there’s a quiet cleverness in how Friends Of Friends use restraint here; Happier feels like the eye of the storm, where calm and dread coexist. It’s the sound of trying to convince yourself you’re okay, and knowing it won’t last.
Skin ends the EP with a burst of restless energy, all jagged guitars, kinetic drums, and synths that shimmer like neon against asphalt. After the uneasy introspection of Happier, it’s a full-body jolt, the sound of Friends Of Friendsshaking off their digital haze and throwing themselves into motion again. The track’s pop-punk edge gives it immediacy, its hooks sharp and desperate, while the glossy electronic touches keep it tethered to the record’s synthetic heart. Skin grapples with embodiment and exposure, the yearning to feel something real through all the noise but it does so while dancing on the edge of collapse. It’s exhilarating, though occasionally overwhelming; the mix teeters between catharsis and chaos, with little room to breathe.
As a whole, Synthetic Flower Chainsaw feels like a chaotic scroll through the modern condition, flickering between irony, sincerity, and exhaustion in real time. Friends Of Friends have built an EP that thrives on contradiction: mechanical yet emotional, playful yet biting, pristine yet falling apart. Not every experiment lands cleanly, a few ideas stretch too long or feel buried under their own concept but that messiness gives the record its pulse. There’s a restless intelligence behind these songs, a need to dissect the ways we connect, consume, and perform online and off. By the time Skin crashes to its finish, what remains isn’t resolution but recognition that uneasy hum of being alive in a world that never stops talking. It’s imperfect, often overwhelming, and entirely human, which might be the most synthetic thing about it.
For fans of: Waterparks, Between You & Me, happydaze
‘Synthetic Flower Chainsaw’ by Friends Of Friends is released on 24th October.
Words by Ell Bradbury
