ALBUM REVIEWS
“You are formless, yet you are still you,” write LA synth-pop duo Magdalena Bay on the eerie corridors of the darkly sci-fi website that accompanies their second album, ‘Imaginal Disk’. It’s the sort of metaphysical, techno-spiritual world-building fans expect: today’s alt-pop is no stranger to otherworldly e-girl pantomime and puzzling fictional websites, and Magdalena Bay’s expands upon their mysterious universe.
Over five years, Mica Tenenbaum and Matthew Lewin’s vaporwave fantasia has spanned post-internet mysticism and new-age philosophies. Their acclaimed debut, 2021’s ‘Mercurial World’ – a surreal silvery disco that landed somewhere between Grimes and Chvrches – was cacophonous and maximalist hyperspace pop, vast and unending. Satire and sincerity drove their Y2K retro-futurist vision, where the overstimulating internet became a portal to self-discovery. Their chops garnered a credit on the debut EP from TWICE‘s Jihyo, and even Lil Yachty got Magdalena-fever on 2023’s ‘Running Out of Time’.
Across the kitschy pilgrimage of its cerebral follow-up ‘Imaginal Disk’, Tenenbaum and Lewin further consolidate this lore, but cracks in the matrix – the real world, the negative effects of being terminally online, etc – threaten the euphoria of online escapism. It’s soundtracked by the same anachronistic, trippy synth-pop of its predecessor but grounded by the busk-y tambourine and analogue percussion of indie-pop.
There’s an artful slant thanks to Chairlift-indebted avant-pop, yet it’s never pretentious or – despite its sci-fi narrative – too concerned with the future. It’s still innovative, mind, but where ‘Mercurial World’ was informed by modern pop, ‘Imaginal Disk’ avoids the influence of new music almost entirely, according to press material.
Nostalgic instrumentation softens the synth-pop edge of ‘Imaginal Disk’, which has the added benefit of cementing its instant timelessness, imbuing the record with a campy, psychedelic, maudlin approach – one that feels all the more interesting as a counter to minimalist, bratty, party pop.
While gothic, theatrical St Vincent-ish vocals infatuate the wistful ‘Vampire in the Corner’, a Woodstock shrooms trip inspires the hypnotic delusion of the satirical ‘Love is Everywhere’ (which interpolates that sun-drenched Lil Yachty cut). Then, an 80s-inspired, I Saw the TV Glow-coded monster stalks the accompanying video for indie-disco track ‘Image’; celestial horns and echo chambers usher soft-pop armageddon on the unravelling groove-rock of standout ‘Tunnel Vision’, and Tenenbaum is a dancefloor deity on noughties grunge banger ‘That’s My Floor’.
By the time the technicolour show-stopper ‘The Ballad of Mica and Matt’ reprises the cutesy melody of its earthbound, pacifist opener ‘She Looked Like Me!’, it’s crystal that ‘Imaginal Disk’ captures the visionaries at their most expansive, yet corporeal. Stylishly gauche and expertly overproduced, kaleidoscopically experimental and expressionistic, ‘Imaginal Disk’ is a zeitgeisty time capsule of anxious post-internet existentialism and the online condition observed through a synthy flower-power lens. Here, Magdalena Bay are underrated pop messiahs at the top of their game.
ALBUM REVIEWS
Canadian duo Softcult name their stunning first album after the well known Alexander Den Heijer line “When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower.” That belief in brave transformation and choosing something healthier runs through everything Mercedes and Phoenix Arn Horn do. The twin sisters know that idea intimately after spending over ten years in pop rock outfit Courage My Love, before stepping away in 2020 when major label life began to feel too restrictive to survive creatively.
Softcult emerged soon after in 2021 with ‘Another Bish’, a sharp edged dream pop statement that made it clear they would not be boxed in. A run of four gritty EPs followed, steeped in Riot Grrrl spirit, alongside hand assembled zines, an intensely loyal online following and high profile support slots with Muse and Incubus. Each move has helped build a carefully protected DIY universe where honesty and release come first.
The sisters have never sounded more grounded or self assured than they do on their self produced debut ‘When A Flower Doesn’t Grow’. The album loosely traces the process of escaping systems of abuse, control and expectation, opening with the weightless ‘Intro’. From there, the grimy surge of ‘Pill To Swallow’ finds Mercedes confronting how bleak the world can feel in 2026 with the line “no more promises of better days”, while still choosing resilience over surrender.
‘When A Flower Doesn’t Grow’ is packed with songs that run on pure fury. ‘Hurt Me’ erupts as a blistering release that recalls Nirvana at their most savage, while ‘Tired!’ barrels forward as a no nonsense punk blast aimed at suffocating pressures, with Mercedes biting back “tired of the expectations, tired of your explanations.” Elsewhere, the hazy drive of ‘Naïve’ and the deceptively bright ‘Queen Of Nothing’ bristle with restrained anger, and the charging ‘16/25’ pulls no punches when calling out predatory behaviour. ‘She Said, He Said’ cuts just as sharply, its spoken word delivery flipping between mockery and menace to deepen the band’s guitar led resistance.
Softcult’s debut feels like a natural step forward from their spiky punk roots while also opening doors to new sounds. The loud soft swing of ‘Not Sorry’ bursts with relief and joy, marking the most carefree moment they have ever put on record. At the other end, closing track ‘When A Flower Doesn’t Go’ strips everything back, blending acoustic folk with scorched post rock textures. The duo sound at ease moving between these poles, but it is the fragile hush of ‘I Held You Like Glass’ that lands hardest, leaving room for vulnerability and quiet heartbreak to linger.
