I Wanna Be Adored doesn’t bother pretending it’s tidy. The early stuff is all “I have no idea what I’m doing, but here I am, laying it all out—listen anyway,” and the later tracks are like, “Okay, maybe I do, and I have more scars and fewer illusions—but let’s not get boring, otherwise why even bother showing up?”
References? Dropped all over the place. Styles? Drifting and colliding like ideas without a babysitter. The persona? Shapeshifting, messy, unpredictable—staying totally themselves, even when waving their hands and yelling “adore me, please.” And somehow, it works.
Freidrich$ wanted attention, he got it, and the album proves it in real time—one step feels weird, the next clumsy, the third cuts through as painfully beautiful. The final tracks aren’t a point of arrival; they don’t tie everything up. They just hint at what comes next, and you’re left wondering where the brilliant and wounded man behind the theatrical makeup is going to drag us from here.