Burnt Friedman... : Plays Love Songs

Creepy stuff. But rest assured, all the love will be on your side.

Many electronic clever dicks, it must be said, have had the idea of linking sex with tech. It takes a considerable talent, though, to make the results sound more sincere, more sophisticated, than the probable reality of the darkened-bedroom geek thumbing through a copy of Razzle hidden inside a Korg manual. So submit, casual perverts, to the excellence of Burnt Friedman: prolific German experimentalist rendered all the better here for an injection of fucked-up sauce.

Obviously, song titles like 'It Hurts' and 'Buttman', and samples of boys saying "My girlfriend won't let me touch her breasts" are great, but only contextualised by the music. 'Plays Love Songs' is a rakish, daring sweep through swish machine jazz ('Sex Working Class'), obtuse glitch symphonies ('Body Language') and twisted, Germanic takes on dub. Comparisons are fleeting, but think Jimi Tenor minus the smugness, or Pole abetted by warmth.

It's hard to imagine a record less appropriately titled. 'Plays Love Songs' is human relations viewed through the same distorted lens as Chris Morris, all disembodied voices and monstrous sexual surrealism. 'Sex Is Not Right!' is merely an enjoyable cut of tactile electro with someone intoning "Sex is not right/Not tonight", until the sleeve informs you it's notorious serial killer Henry Lee Lucas. Creepy stuff. But rest assured, all the love will be on your side.

Noel Gardner
8 / 10

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