Canadian duo Softcult’s gorgeous debut album takes its title from the famous Alexander Den Heijer quote: “When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower.” The idea of fearless change in pursuit of something better is a mission statement Mercedes and Phoenix Arn-Horn know well. The twins spent more than a decade playing in pop–rock group Courage My Love, but walked away in 2020 after life on a major label got too stifling to continue.
Softcult arrived shortly after in 2021 with ‘Another Bish’, a spiky dreampop anthem that saw the pair refusing to be tamed. Four grungy, Riot Grrl-influenced EPs followed alongside handmade zines, a close-knit online community and tours supporting Muse and Incubus. At every step, the pair have meticulously crafted a DIY world where cathartic self-expression reigns supreme.
The twins have never sounded more sure of themselves than on their self-produced debut album ‘When A Flower Doesn’t Grow’. The loose concept record about breaking free from cycles of oppression, abuse and conformity starts with the ethereal ‘Intro’, before the scuzzy ‘Pill To Swallow’ sees Mercedes acknowledging just how hopeless things may seem in 2026 (“no more promises of better days”) but finds the strength to carry on regardless.
There are plenty of rage-fuelled headbangers on ‘When A Flower Doesn’t Grow’. ‘Hurt Me’ is an explosive purge that echoes Nirvana at their most ferocious, and ‘Tired!’ is a straight-shooting, hard-hitting punk attack (“tired of the expectations, tired of your explanations,” Mercedes snarls). The shoegaze romp of ‘Naïve’ and ‘Queen Of Nothing’’s chirpy pop-rock are delivered with gritted-teeth fury, while the galloping ‘16/25’ is far more direct in calling out predatory men. ‘She Said, He Said’ is just as barbed, but spoken word lyrics that bounce between sarcasm and venom add another dimension to the band’s guitar-driven protest.
Softcult’s debut album is a confident evolution of their prickly punk but also sees them pushing into bold new territories. The loud then quiet slacker pop of ‘Not Sorry’ is a celebratory burst of euphoria that’s easily the most joyful the band have ever sounded, while closing track ‘When A Flower Doesn’t Go’ sees the duo try their hand at stripped-back acoustic folk and searing post-rock. They sound comfortable with both extremes but it’s the deliberately delicate ‘I Held You Like Glass’ that might be the album’s most powerful moment, creating space for tender reflection through whispered heartbreak.
