Energy Whores’ “Invisible” Comes In Four Ways, And Somehow They All Work

Picture this. Four different people, all standing in the same room, telling the same story, yet none of them sounded quite the same. At some point, it felt like that’s what happened in the studio with Energy Whores while they were making Invisible.

Energy Whores is the brainchild of Carrie Schoenfeld with Attilio Valenti and Grant (NYC), an avant-electro project that takes on everything from technology and climate change to politics, human behavior, and the strange contradictions of modern life. They’re now back with a four-track EP, Invisible.

At its core, Invisible is about the peculiar loneliness of being woven into someone’s life, yet never quite becoming part of it. There is something almost paradoxical about the way the narrator describes their place in another person’s world. They hang the coats, serve the food, show up when they are needed, and even make the bed. It’s almost as if you’re constantly occupying the simple, small spaces of another person’s life, yet never quite finding a place within it. But giving the track four different interpretations gives the story a chance to hit a little differently each time.

The EP starts with the Synth Pop Version, and it’s such an interesting way to introduce the track. It gives you more movement and more room to appreciate its pulse and rhythm. In this version, the vocals are sassy. The repetition of the word ‘invisible’ feels like a playful taunt, as if it’s throwing that word back at the person who made them feel that way. The Lo-Fi Version is quieter and much simpler in its arrangement, which makes the resignation feel more noticeable.

The Cinematic Version takes a dramatic turn, stretching the track into something expansive. Here, Invisible sounds less like a complaint or punchline, just an uncomfortable conclusion that feels heavier the longer you sit with it. The EP ends with the Indie Version, somehow making it feel like the right place to leave it. There’s less spectacle here, giving the song’s awkward little truths more room to speak for themselves.

By the end of the EP, Invisible will come off less like four versions of the same song. Instead, it gives you four ways of sitting with the same feeling. The words will barely change, yet the difference in rhythm, texture, and delivery is enough to pull something different out of them each time. And perhaps that’s what makes it so interesting—maybe the most fitting way for a record about invisibility: to make something so familiar feel different simply by changing the way it is heard.