A debut and a lesson in cohesion.

With When A Flower Doesn’t Grow, Canadian duo Softcult delivers a shoegaze-leaning debut album that feels as spatial as it is confrontational. After five years of ever-compelling singles and EPs, the two siblings have fully leant into their grunge, punk-adjacent and lo-fi tendencies to compile a record reminiscent of London Grammar in its spatiality and use of vocals as atmosphere, and of Wolf Alice in its shoegaze-punk-alt-rock fluidity and its ambivalence between softness and aggression.

When A Flower Doesn’t Grow is an especially cohesive and compelling record; it is the stylistic apex of the duo’s previous works. Pads, drums, distorted guitars and siren-like vocals are perfectly mixed in a sea of reverb that renders into an ethereal and copious sound. Thematically, the album oscillates between social critiques and personal laments, with, in a true punk fashion, feminist undertones and political revendications singularly relevant to our times.

Opening with an appropriately named intro, the record sets the tone with a track more akin to an ambient tune than a traditional song. Very lo-fi distorted pads panned left to right travel the wavelengths as people talking and other undistinguishable sounds of daily life linger in the background. An introspective melody performed by a synthesiser exhorts self-reflection before fading away, leaving the audience with nothing but the buzzing of the pad growing ever louder and increasingly uncomfortable. No lyrics or vocals to contextualise, the track ends abruptly in this overdriven crescendo of white noise, leaving the listener in silence for a few seconds to ponder; this announces the musical depth and profoundness of the discourse about to unfold.

“She Said, He Said” and “16/25” are highlights in the social critiques proposed by the album. The former treats of male dominance in a narrative twist; it is sung like a gossip told to a friend and explores a corrupted dating culture where men feel entitled to intercourse so long as they “buy the woman” during the date. This tune denounces the invisible violence of insisting men, and how women’s words can be twisted so much that they resort to denial of their own experience. In the end, the song itself is left speechless by the state of things; “you have to see it to believe it.” The latter explores an unbalanced relationship, where a 25-year-old man desires a 16-year-old girl. It starts by reifying the mythical Lolita–she is impressive, confident and makes heads turn–before destroying, it, reminding the audience she is but a child; “she doesn’t know how to drive,” “she doesn’t know how I touch you,” the lot in a purer rock form, with an eclectic drumming pattern and a sustained guitar note in the verses complemented by a heavy bass line in the chorus.

“I held you like glass” and the title track, “When a flower doesn’t grow,” mark themselves as the strongest moments of intimacy and introspection from the authors. “I held you like glass” sees almost no drums; it relies on heavy, spatial pads, soft arpeggiated guitar chords and a lot of despair. It is, in its rawest form, a shoegaze complaint that culminates in a rock outro, introducing then drums and a guitar processed through a generous overdrive. Thematically, it reminisces on a relationship where the protagonist held on even though it hurt them deeply, summed in the metaphor “I held you like glass”, which has led them to adopt a form of anhedonia or apathy as a defence mechanism. This vulnerability and self-honesty tint every tune of the record with a relatable colour that adds to its singular stylistic charm. Finally, the album concludes with “When a flower doesn’t grow,” a blame-shifting parable dressed as botany. It starts with an acoustic guitar, the only one in the album, lending the song a sudden folkish fragility. Vocals are stripped of their siren-like layering, softly sung and drenched in reverb. With no clear chorus or percussion, rhythm emerges solely from the guitar’s strums, until a brief, heavily saturated electric swell interrupts the calm. The last measure comes after a moment of silence and loudly picks up the riff introduced in the bridge before cutting it midway through to put a sudden stop to the music, and therefore the record. Ultimately, it all comes down to one central question: when growth fails, is the fault inherent or environmental?

Though When A Flower Doesn’t Grow may be a debut album, it sure is a lesson in narration and cohesion. Softcult enters the LP scene with a solid record and a lot to say; luckily, they also have the right ideas to keep us interested.