It’s happening to everybody. Ethel Cain’s controversial follow-up to the story-driven debut Preacher’s Daughter arrived this January, a sonic departure that has caused a rift in the fandom. Perverts is largely a drone-focused piece with moments of vulnerability between icy loneliness, sending some of the project’s casual fans to social media to voice their disappointment over the impenetrable tone of the album, while others were attracted to the even stranger sound.
Preacher’s Daughter was a Southern Gothic indie concept record that explored the life and death of the character Ethel Cain. Starting with approachable pop-rock and indie ballads that explored Cain’s religious upbringing, the record devolves into heavier experimental rock and instrumental as the character is kidnapped, drugged, prostituted, and ultimately cannibalized. Between its downtrodden yearning, anthemic songs like “American Teenager” or “Sun Bleached Flies,” and heavy themes of religious trauma, the album was prime fare for Tumblrites raised on Marina and The Diamond’s concept record Electra Heart and a steady diet of Phoebe Bridgers. The Ethel Cain quickly rose to the ranks of the hallowed Urban Outfitters vinyl shelf.
In contrast, Hayden Anhedonia–the name behind the moniker–was interested in more expansive sounds, noticeable on tracks like “August Underground,” and unreleased tracks. On a not-so-secret Soundcloud account known as Ashmedai (written: ??????), experiments with fuzzy ambiance and ominous slowcore have garnered hundreds of thousands of streams over the past year. The significantly smaller portion of clued-in fans was prepared for the eventual shift into this sound on Perverts, but some of the casual fans expecting another Preacher’s Daughter were in for a shock.
The opening title track is “Perverts.” It features a snippet of a distorted recording of the hymn “Nearer my God to Thee” before stumbling into a woozy landscape of synths and organ stabs that sound like a stray cat has climbed into an antique piano. Over this, a mangled voice spits; “Heaven has forsaken the masturbator” and “Fast, reckless driving often leads to slow, sad music.” The music is more suited for a Skinamarink score than driving down a country road with your windows down.
We were given a first taste of “Punish” before the record dropped, and it is one of the most palatable offerings off the EP. The looping sound of a squeaky rocking chair underpins the piano and ripping Sunn O)))-esque guitars, narrated from the perspective of a person lamenting how love has punished them. The lyric “He was a natural Plauché, saying, ‘you won’t forget this,’” refers to Gary Plauché, a man who killed child molester Jeffrey Doucet, after Doucet had assaulted his son. This detail is one of the more cogent passages of the album, alluding to the loose pastiche of perverted characters held within its depths.
“Housofpsychoticwomn” is a dizzying descent into madness in a flurry of oscillating electrics with a constant repetition of “I love you” that quickly becomes more of a threat than a comfort.
“Vacillator” is my favorite track here. A plodding drumset drives a haunting ballad about the deep need for sexual release, without romance; “if you love me / keep it to yourself.” It is a much-needed reprieve from the torturous beds of drones, well suited for a smoke-filled Lynchian lounge or a striptease to an audience of none. Yet still the horror creeps in; the spacy bridge of the track feels like sticking your head out the window to see a tornado careening towards you in the distance before returning to the soft embrace of beer-stained carpet. The lyric “I like that sound you make / when you’re clawing at the edge and without escape” is hard to read as loving, again weaving in themes of want and transgression.
After this pivotal moment of empathy, the record softens into something more sad than sinister. “Onanist” is a spacious piano track with massive crashing electric guitars, and Anhedonia begging “I want to know love” in her most operatic range before we are swept again into a reverberating locust swarm.
“Pulldrone” is the centerpiece of the Perverts mythology, as a series of twelve sins or tenets of some unknown belief system are spoken over white noise. A series of tortured hurdy-gurdy playing follows: an orchestra of zombified instrumentalists with pangs of singing bowls.
“Etienne” is a melancholic piano with acoustic guitar, folksy darkness with TV whine ending in a clip of a sermon telling the story of a suicidal man who tried to run every day to induce a heart attack, but after a series of days trying the experiment, only ends up wanting to live again.
The penultimate track “Thatorchia” bears resemblance to a deconstructed “Ptolemea,” with harmonizing vocals over a mountainous range of guitars setting the tone of anguish.
“Amber Waves” encapsulates the journey of the project in a more straightforward Ethel Cain style. The gut-wrenching song details the story of a drug addict reminiscing on the last goodbye of a character named Amber. The sonic essence of the simple distorted guitar and soft tape sounds is that of the greyish light of morning breaking after a long sleepless night. This song fits among “House in Nebraska” and “Televangelism” as some of the projects’ most moving pieces.
For not one moment on this record are we left entirely alone, always met with a buzzing ambiance or a cold wind between mumbled musings or an aching topline. Perhaps this reminds us of the nagging needs that occupy our every waking thought, only noticeable when it’s quiet. While it might not have the same cohesive storyline, Perverts is easily Anhedonia’s most psychosomatic effort, plunging the listener into the mindset of some of society’s most abused and self-tortured. These sounds ask us to examine what makes us so uncomfortable with ourselves, and why we seek out love or drugs or validation. Why do we abuse and let ourselves be abused? If anything, Perverts speaks to loneliness and the hard feelings found within. When we might expect deranged madness, underneath is a soft white belly of dejection. I don’t see myself listening to this album every day, the same way I can’t watch Requiem for a Dream every day. It’s too wounding and often dense, but that doesn’t make it not a masterpiece. While this record isn’t anything like Preacher’s Daughter, or the foretold follow-up Preacher’s Wife, it is critical to understanding the Ethel Cain project. Hayden Anhedonia is not just a storyteller, but a curator of moods. If Preacher’s Daughter is a polaroid photo, then Perverts is a Rothko. It’s exciting as a fan to know that between these conceptual goalposts, there will be challenging mile markers like this along the way. In either case, if experimental drone isn’t your speed, we still have Preacher’s Daughter B-sides and many other sonic experiments to look forward to.
Connor Stanford is a senior Theatre Production major with an affinity for the Southern Gothic. They can be reached at [email protected].