Album Review: Softcult – When A Flower Doesn't Grow
4.5/5
A Fantastic Debut combining the best of grunge & shoegaze
Opening soft and dreamy before transforming into a gritty grunge record, Softcult’s debut full-length lands as a beautiful contradiction. Equal parts sonic shield and sharp-edged confrontation, When A Flower Doesn’t Grow balances softness and fury in a way that demands attention.
Siblings Mercedes and Phoenix Arn-Horn are hardly newcomers. Despite this being their debut album, the Ontario duo arrive backed by four EPs and a Juno-nominated past in pop-punk outfit Courage My Love. Beyond the music itself, Softcult operate with a fully realised aesthetic. Self-directed visuals and their companion zine SCripture feed into what they describe as “riotgaze”, a hybrid of Riot Grrrl urgency and immersive shoegaze textures that places political expression at the centre of the project.
Sonically, early Wolf Alice feels like a natural reference point, though Softcult resist easy categorisation. There is too much grit to label this simply as shoegaze, yet too much haze and reverb to sit comfortably within grunge. Instead, the duo thrive in the space between, moving fluidly from hardcore intensity to dreamlike softness.
The opening stretch leans heavily into atmosphere. A trio of slow-burning tracks gradually pulls the listener into Softcult’s world, culminating in the swelling emotional release of “Naive”. It’s a masterclass in tension, but it’s the record’s mid-section where Softcult begin to draw blood.
The emotional core arrives with “16/25” and “She Said, He Said”, two standout tracks that tackle the uncomfortable realities of grooming and power imbalance within youth culture and the music industry. Driven by pulsing basslines and snapping percussion, the songs are confrontational without losing their melodic pull. Across the album, the bass work stands out as a key anchor, giving weight and momentum to even the most atmospheric passages.
Listening here feels like taking a punch in a room full of mattresses, or watching a fight break out in a bouncy castle. The impact is real, but the landing is softened by layers of dreamy guitar hooks and ghostly harmonies. That push and pull becomes the defining characteristic of the record.
Just as the album settles into a groove, “Tired” erupts. At barely a minute long, it’s a concentrated burst of hardcore energy that attempts to catalogue everything wrong with the world right now. The result is a raw, intense track that, alongside “Hurt Me”, marks the heaviest moments on the record and, understandably, my favourites.
Production throughout is crisp and intentional. Serrated guitar tones collide with ethereal vocal layers, creating a “soft-hard” dynamic that allows vulnerability and aggression to coexist without cancelling each other out.
Ultimately, When A Flower Doesn’t Grow feels like a statement of intent. Emotional, culturally relevant and sonically compelling, it is packed with strong melodies and grooves that pull you in before you realise you are absorbing lyrics confronting grooming, power dynamics and societal discomfort.