Ethel Cain returns with her 4th album, 'Perverts', this January. Max Durno explores Cain's gothic and enticingly dark storytelling, challenging the new release's ambient set of spoken words and explores the ambiguity of Cain's unique musical approach.
"It remains unclear where Cain plans to venture next or what themes she might explore from track to track, but one thing is certain: her work is anything but tender"
Sometimes holding your breath will leave you breathless, sometimes it’ll leave you wondering why on earth you’ve been holding your breath – and it seems listeners of Ethel Cain’s new album have been divided between these classes. Saying Cain’s newest project is left-of-center would be an understatement, as she casts her artistic net wider than we’ve seen before in her most recent project; Perverts is half muddy brown noise segments and mumbling vocal pieces, laced with a certain familiar muted percussive foundation, and is certainly a step or ten outside of the comfort zone for many avid members of her fanbase.
"Perverts is half muddy brown noise segments and mumbling vocal pieces, laced with a certain familiar muted percussive foundation"
This being said, the ethereal landscape of Perverts feels perfectly suited to Ethel Cain's creative direction. While it’s not a trajectory that would have shocked me six months ago, it plunges listeners into a startlingly dark, desolate world steeped in gruesome sexual torment. Those familiar with her previous full-length album will recognize this harrowing yet deliberate approach, at least in part. Among the sprawling 89-minute runtime, Punish emerges as a standout track, offering a conclusive and satisfying journey—a sense of home, followed by exploration, climax, and eventual resettlement. However, moments like this are rare. It remains unclear where Cain plans to venture next or what themes she might explore from track to track, but one thing is certain: her work is anything but tender. With Perverts, she delivers an unrelenting sense of doom and visceral carnality, placing it firmly at the doorstep of 2025.
"With Perverts, she delivers an unrelenting sense of doom and visceral carnality, placing it firmly at the doorstep of 2025"
Vacillator has a more familiar feel: a more tangible arrangement and, while still eerie as all hell, a gross humanity and yearning voice – staples of Cain’s discography. The distorted climax of Onanist is a beautiful horror I would associate with Goya’s darkest works, where the entirety of Pulldrone is a nightmarish swampland too daunting to venture into. The finale,Amber Waves, feels delicate and perhaps a slightly more grounded conclusion to the album which, so far, has evoked much catharsis and dread, with a pleasant slow-dance of guitar lines mingling throughout and more straightforward vocal lines of ‘ill be alright’ and ‘I recommend that you take as much as you need to feel good’. It certainly isn’t an optimistic curtain fall to the dread-fueled project, but a suitable finale nonetheless.
A haunting, effective and lonely album, Cain steps out of the box to deliver a gentle but nauseating punch in the gut.
"Sometimes holding your breath will leave you breathless, sometimes it’ll leave you wondering why on earth you’ve been holding your breath, and it seems listeners of Ethel Cain’s new album have been divided between these classes"
It’s bizarre to think that Ethel Cain has become such a big, almost household name, having released her debut - Preacher’s Daughter - barely 3 years ago, in 2022. A decent portion of her diehard fanbase make their presence known through expressing an obsession with Cain’s lore and hidden meanings online, with her three EPs - Carpet Bed, Inbred and Golden Age –contributing to a mass of speculative essays and video compilations (I recommend personally YouTubes’s ‘The Complete Lore of Ethel Cain’, from Znekkk). Cain seems to be more than aware of this, and dares listeners to theorize over her cryptic lyrics - she beckons in the hands of any audience member searching for meaning, asking them to dig their fingers into a gruesome bloody mess of synth drones and riddles - ‘There was a point where everything bent down/And it took something from me/Something I can't quite explain/And I always wondered if it would come back’, reads the lyric sheet for Housofpsychoticwomn.
Max Durno
Edited by Harriet Bodle.
Photos courtesy of Ethel Cain on Facebook. Video courtesy of Znekkk on Youtube.
Comments