ALBUM REVIEWS
Way back when, Dylan and the Beatles demonstrated how musicians could evolve dramatically, overhauling their sound on record once or even twice a year. They were hardly alone, but few others shape-shifted during than era like Tim Buckley. By 1968, the L.A.-via-Orange-Country troubadour was moving beyond the keening-balladeer mode of his early work — a mere two years before — and gravitating toward jazz and improvisational music. That exhilarating shift, a key period in his career, is documented in this newly unearthed live tape, recorded that year at the Carousel Ballroom in San Francisco by the late sonic wizard (and acid impresario) Owsley “Bear” Stanley.
The sense that Buckley was already outgrowing any sort of new-Dylan expectations on him arrives pretty much right away. The album opens with “Buzzin’ Fly,” that musical snuggle blanket that captures the rush of new love, the joy of discovery. Other than stretching out a few words to extra syllables, Buckley sings it much as he would on Happy Sad, which wouldn’t be out for almost another year.
But by the second song, “I Don’t Need It to Rain,” he’s starting to leave conventions behind – and not just in its lyrics, the oblique and borderline kinky tale of an “undercover tinsel queen.” His musicians – bassist John Miller, vibes player David Friedman and percussionist Carter “C.C.” Collins – lock into a folky-improv groove behind him, and Buckley starts flying. Over the course of nine minutes, his voice is howling, moaning, swallowing syllables, and emitting muted yodels, and he’s slamming chords on his 12-string.
The most hypnotic parts of Merry-Go-Round at the Carousel pick up where that command performance leaves off. Buckley drops his voice up and down several octaves on a version of the folk standard “Green Rocky Road,” and he becomes a fervent folk preacher on the newly discovered “Blues, Love.” It’s telling that he dispatches accessible songs like “Happy Time” and “Sing a Song for You” in a few minutes’ time, but then dives headfirst into “Merry-Go-Round” by his hero, Fred Neil. There, Buckley begins with Neil’s words, sung in the voice of a black child in the South — wandering a circus and looking for his own playground there – before shifting to a few verses of Lead Belly’s “In the Pines.” Buckley then pivots to his own ad-libbed lines about women and race, finally wrapping up the song (with some of his own, Miles Davis-inspired “Strange Feelin'”) 11 minutes later. Here and elsewhere, Miller’s upright bass serves as both Buckley’s musical backbone and its partner in improv. As with Phil Lesh in the Grateful Dead, Miller is as much lead guitarist as bass player, and he and Friedman lend a smokey-jazz-club feel to the songs.
Buckley’s devotion to pushing his voice and his art would soon lead to albums like Starsailor, a collection of musical zigzags that, over 50 years later, remains one of the most daunting albums ever made. That journey starts on recordings like these. For any other “folksinger” – a term barely suitable for describing Buckley – it would be anathema to stop a song midway through so that your conga player could take a long, unaccompanied solo. For Buckley, it was just another day at the ballroom.
Way back when, Dylan and the Beatles demonstrated how musicians could evolve dramatically, overhauling their sound on record once or even twice a year. They were hardly alone, but few others shape-shifted during than era like Tim Buckley. By 1968, the L.A.-via-Orange-Country troubadour was moving beyond the keening-balladeer mode of his early work — a mere two years before — and gravitating toward jazz and improvisational music. That exhilarating shift, a key period in his career, is documented in this newly unearthed live tape, recorded that year at the Carousel Ballroom in San Francisco by the late sonic wizard (and acid impresario) Owsley “Bear” Stanley.
The sense that Buckley was already outgrowing any sort of new-Dylan expectations on him arrives pretty much right away. The album opens with “Buzzin’ Fly,” that musical snuggle blanket that captures the rush of new love, the joy of discovery. Other than stretching out a few words to extra syllables, Buckley sings it much as he would on Happy Sad, which wouldn’t be out for almost another year.
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.
