Perverts by Ethel Cain: petulant or portentous?
Is Ethel Cain’s sonically brilliant effort to escape the pop scene and break into a new genre worth the discomfort?
Though it has caused many to label me as insane or deeply mentally ill, one of my favorite artists of all time is Hayden Anhedönia-better known as Ethel Cain. Centered around her haunting vocals, Cain’s 2022 debut Preacher’s Daughter blends southern gothic rock, indie folk, and a touch of pop, weaving a narrative about a deacon’s daughter killed by an abusive lover. Due to its popularity on TikTok, this project quickly attracted a broader, more pop-centered audience.
I, for one, am a strong believer that music is to be enjoyed beyond perhaps its intended meaning. While I can acknowledge an artist’s frustration with a shallow audience, I have to wonder if perhaps Cain went a step too far with Perverts. It is not what many will expect, and it is certainly not what many of her newer fans, garnered by the popularity of “American Teenager” or “Strangers,” will want. Yet, to disregard the skill it takes to craft an atmosphere that is both sonically pleasing and deeply unsettling is to pretend that Preacher’s Daughter and Perverts even belong to the same genre—which they clearly don’t, despite continuing the same narrative.
But is this new record a passion project pushing the bounds of artistic integrity or an insistent plea for Cain to not be like “other girls”?
While perhaps a side effect of my natural jumpiness and a lingering fear of the dark from my childhood, I must still admit that when I first listened to Perverts on the night of its release, I was scared. I found myself looking over my shoulder, uneasy and even shivering in the album’s haunting atmosphere, which seemed to crawl under my skin and into my blood–as if I was being haunted or possessed. Perverts is much less enjoyable in the traditional sense and less suited for casual listening. Though this fact does not detract from its artistic quality, I must admit that even as someone who appreciates ambient music, there are only a few select tracks on this album that I would go out of my way to listen to. But perhaps I’m too attached to being comfortable.
Tracks like “Perverts” and “Pulldrone” transcend the typical lyricless body of music, raising the hairs on the back of my neck as if I were being hunted. At over ten minutes each, these tracks come across as self-indulgent—perhaps a sign of Cain’s reluctance to edit, or maybe a deliberate attempt to leave the listener on edge, waiting and hoping for some reprieve from the relentless tension. Both begin with a monologue-like elegy—fuzzy, distorted religious tidings whispered into the listener’s ear—before unraveling into a twisted sort of ambiance, reminiscent of the sounds that play in a show or film just before the camera cuts to the most horrifying image you can imagine. All in all, the faint mechanical hum that thrums through the back of each ambient track unfolds some of the deepest feelings of dread I’ve ever had, while also making me feel as if I am being held hostage. I want to turn the music off—it’s so utterly unsettling—but I physically can’t. Cain’s use of backing tracks has transported me to some dusty, grungy basement where I’m about to meet my maker, the sound like a knife scraping concrete, a finger trailing down my scalp.
Even I’ll admit that at times, I missed the more traditional, pop-centered beats of her earlier works, as I love dancing to a depressing yet upbeat tune, and I am borderline addicted to the way her typical haunting vocals and storytelling can pull me out of any listening slump. In the release of such a disquieting and alternative album, Cain shifts her appeal to a different mood and function for me and to a different audience on a broader scale. The subtleties are ingenious but almost too soft at times, especially in the absence of headphones or a speaker that will play the skittering breaths or scratching whispers.
Perverts shines, however, in Cain’s ability to emulate grief, regret, and sadness beyond comprehension in her shorter (though still borderline self-indulgent) vocal-based tracks. “Punish,” “Vacillator,” and “Amber Waves” share an extremely slow build but eventually sink into slow, smooth piano that aches with lost love, tainted childhoods, and the passage of time. “Amber Waves” is perhaps the track most reminiscent of Cain’s earlier work—though still more melancholic, with vocals so fuzzy they feel trapped on another plane of consciousness or the other side of a wall. The vocals are some of the most raw, guttural sounds from the depths of a soul much wounded, wanting for reprieve. All three tracks are undeniably beautiful but also inarguably underwhelming, drifting into many extended ambient sections that overstay their welcome and suggest an unwillingness to edit.
Overall, while I may be able to fault Cain for the potential reasoning behind the project, I can’t necessarily fault her for what she was able to accomplish. The artistry displayed by Perverts is near impossible to argue with; Cain develops an all-immersive, albeit unsettling and frightening soundscape, conjuring horrifying visuals and unnerving fears through a dull buzzing, a soft click, and unspoken promises of something far worse. The skill displayed is such that I have to wonder whether Hayden Anhedönia should perhaps abandon the moniker of Ethel Cain altogether and pursue what I imagine to be an incredibly successful career in horror movie soundtracks.
With that being said, I fear that Cain’s expertly built environment has also led me to never ever want to pick up this album again. In fact, I was very upset that I had to listen to it in full once more to write this piece. It’s entirely possible that it is my attention span and taste that is lacking, but there is no part of me that wants to sit and be made to feel deeply uncomfortable while I listen to a fifteen-minute long droning sound. I never want to think my murderer is right behind me, even as someone who regularly looks forward to listening to “Ptolomaea” from Preacher’s Daughter. And maybe that makes me exactly who Cain was trying to drive away. But I can say that I desperately wanted to like this project; I just couldn’t convince myself that there were more than four tracks worth investing my time in. Even my edgelord middle school self wouldn’t have found “Housofpsychoticwomn,” a dramatic tween’s ideal title, worth the effort of attempting to sit through it. And if that sounds at all relatable, I can only wholeheartedly recommend that you skip the whole record (save for “Punish” and maybe “Vacillator”).
Perverts is a masterclass in backing tracks, mixing, and striking fear in the hearts of the masses, but unfortunately it is also a cautionary tale for frustrating length and lack of closure. How much of the album is true artistic integrity and an exploration of what Cain considers her most authentic sound, and how much is an effort to distance herself from the consistency and commercial likeability of Preacher’s Daughter and her other EPs?
edited by Eva Smolen.
album artwork believed to belong to either the publisher of the work or the artist.