Hayden Anhedönia, professionally known as Ethel Cain, is tired of being famous. She took to Tumblr with a scathing critique, sharing how glib comment sections and the increasingly common “mother” nickname seem to bemoan her art and take away from the seriousness of her hard work — which she notably writes, arranges and produces almost exclusively alone.
Her 2022 debut album, “Preacher’s Daughter” — a concept album in which her character, Ethel Cain, draws on Southern Gothic themes as she navigates her upbringing and the West, eventually dying at the hands of her lover — brought bellowing success. Now, Cain hones a gritty, dark, ambient atmosphere that fans of her debut may not anticipate. When all else fails, you can be sure to find Cain actively dwelling on her carefully curated Tumblr blogs — digital scrapbooks filled with grim, religiously sectarian, occasionally pornographic content that not only describes the lore of her musical conceptions but also frames them.
While the “Perverts” album has nothing to do with her fictional alias and her gruesome journey through the glory and gore of the Southern Gothic church, it was originally conceived as another concept album — a collection of stories about the lives of nine famous perverts, their motives and the consequences of their misdeeds. With “Punish” and “Amber Waves” being the only two released tracks to follow that narrative explicitly, the rest of the project sonically emulates the chilling, visceral feel of perversion.
Constructed of nine tracks spanning over 89 minutes, all tied into a diaphanous, incohesive collection of drones, surges, beeps and booms, this body of work is not for everybody. “Perverts” takes its first waking breaths with cold outstretched hands and what seems to be a warning. The album’s title track opens with a deadened sample of “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” a 19th-century hymn retelling a Genesis-derived excerpt of Jacob’s Dream. Beginning with such a gentle hymn perhaps serves as a subtle ironic nod — an upbeat moment forewarning listeners that this is what not to expect from the rest of the project. Moments later, the cadence grows eerily simple — beeps and buzzes akin to post-rapture electricity sing for nearly 12 minutes, a somber voice repeatedly condemning the “masturbator” as the whirrs persist.
“Housofpsychoticwomn” and “Pulldrone” pay homage to the cavernous, eerily monotone frequencies characteristic of Cain’s sound. Spoken lines like “I love you” are repeated into submission behind static sonic bars until it feels more like a threat than a promise.
Frightening and shrill as these instrumental spoken word tracks are, the album’s gaps are filled with staccato moments of peaceful melancholy. “Vacillator” and “Onanist” feel like different sides of the same coin. “If you want, you can bite me / And I won’t move,” she sings on “Vacillator,” overpowering the steady bassline and glacial drum pattern, seemingly welcoming the violation she speaks of like a guest. Dipping deeper into this lovesick, existential lament, “Onanist” fronts a more inquisitive lyrical framework: “I want to know love / I want to know what it feels like / It feels good,” she intones over the gruesome pulse of grinding sound, implying equal parts disdain and acceptance towards an increasingly inescapable feeling.
The closing three-song run is a return-to-earth moment for listeners. “Etienne” offers transcendental piano progressions that, while beautiful, feel like approaching the doorstep of an ominous, unclear demise. “Thatorchia” plays into this murky narrative as towers of heavy layered vocals and bottomed-out strings sing to the hills before fading into “Amber Waves,” an 11-minute track that, in Cain’s words, personifies “love cast aside to get high.” After a series of heavy instrumental tracks, there is no doubt her vocals are equal parts intoxicating, refreshing, and heartbreaking. “Yet here I am empty / Watching love of mine leave,” she utters, harmonies left astray and stern yet gentle bass creating the vacant, often confusing peace that comes with inebriation. The song’s lyrics end only five minutes into the song, the chord progression dissipating into a warm, outstretched soundscape that sounds like the feeling of painkillers washing over a migraine — a fleeting feeling that for the moment, all is well in the world.
Cain seeks no mainstream acclaim, and “Perverts” certainly doesn’t beg for an audience. Following the first play-through, it would be a disservice not to urge you to then listen with noise-canceling headphones, under the covers of a familiar bed, curtains drawn and eyes shut. Whether you enter the world of “Perverts” as high as Cain suggests or not, she will lure you into her temple, which you will realize upon entry is equally as treacherous as it is addictive.
Contact Ian Sleat at [email protected].