Bands will always sound like this: jangly and raw, infatuated with their own youth, terribly and vaguely romantic, tripping over themselves in their haste to convey a botanic garden’s worth of full-bloom feelings. Radio DDR, the second album by Sharp Pins (the solo project of Lifeguard’s Kai Slater) is a giddy blast of power pop that understands, deeply, that the genre’s only goal should be to make age-old feelings like love and longing sound thrilling and new. It succeeds and surpasses that goal: Familiar but finely tuned, it’s likely to remind you of whatever music felt most romantic to you when you were growing up. For me, that’s Royal Headache and the Beatles and Hunx and His Punx and Girls; for you, maybe the Kinks or Cleaners From Venus or Alvvays. The album’s recombinant DNA is an asset—or, at the very least, not a hindrance—because 20-year-old Slater is also one of contemporary indie-rock’s sharpest pop songwriters, each of the record’s 14 songs containing its own cosmos of urgent choruses and natty phrases and artfully scrawled riffs. Radio DDR earns its comparison points, slamming you so hard and so frequently with scream-a-long hooks that it feels like a greatest-hits collection.
In addition to his duties in Sharp Pins, Slater is a lynchpin of Chicago’s young, fruitful guitar band scene: He runs a zine called Hallogallo that shares its name with a prolific DIY collective that also includes Horsegirl, Post Office Winter, and Slater’s other bands, Lifeguard and Dwaal Troupe. He’s also obsessed with youth culture, and to read him talk about its centrality in his life—“the only thing that I know I can do in the world is make youth spaces,” he says—unlocks a layer of meaning within Radio DDR. These songs are about love, by and large, but they also ache with the notion that certain parts of life will inevitably slip away. They lurch forward urgently, like Slater is trying to bottle the feeling of being young before the fountain runs dry.
Is it frustrating that society and pop culture writ large centers around Being Young? Maybe, but it’s an easier pill to swallow when it tastes this good. The halting boogie of “You Have A Way” is a vortex of anxieties and boredoms that can boil down to one lyric—“Can I find a time with you?” Meanwhile, Slater chases “the seconds/I can’t suspend anymore” on the frantic, anthemic garage barnstormer “Is It Better.” “I Can’t Stop” sounds like something Royal Headache’s Shogun might have made in his teenage bedroom, and one repeated lyric makes this theme even more explicit: “I don’t wanna get older no more.”
All of Radio DDR carries this feeling of racing against the clock, which is part of the (perhaps oxymoronic) appeal: Slater’s lyrics reflect the invincibility and assuredness of youth, but his melodies are shot through with the melancholy that comes with getting older and realizing that the infallibility of your late teens and early 20s is just another ephemeral feeling. Slater makes these feelings sound impossibly potent: The “ahh-ahh-ahh” on “Storma Lee” is wistful enough to cause palpitations in even the sturdiest heart; when he sings “If I was ever lonely/Oh, how it’d tear me apart,” hitting those last three words with a glam swagger, you want to laugh at the hubris and the excitement of it all. This contradictory, lovestruck aura fills every corner of Radio DDR; it’s immensely gratifying to listen and remember that bands like Sharp Pins will keep striving to capture these ineffable feelings as long as people are having them. (Which is to say: forever.)
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.
