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Editor’s note: This article contains mention of sexual abuse.

With Ethel Cain’s hit song “American Teenager,” a youthful, pop-rock anthem about the American dream, she reached a new audience, unfamiliar to her art style. Upon listening to the rest of the album, “Preacher’s Daughter,” fans found comfort in its uncomfortable, all-consuming world.

When Cain, also known as Hayden Anhedönia, announced a second album on Oct. 14, listeners were ecstatic to dive deeper into Cain’s artistry. Although the tales of her first album introduced listeners to a world of dark themes, many were unprepared for the unforgiving nature of the work to come.

The listening journey fans were about to embark on was much more similar to the oppressively off-putting soundtrack to the Skinamarink movie than the youthful optimism of “American Teenager.”

“Perverts” is Cain’s sophomore album, self-released through the Daughters of Cain label on Jan. 8, 2025. Following her critically acclaimed debut album, “Perverts” is a stark contrast, exchanging traditional songwriting and lyricism for dark ambience. The nine-song project is a drone album, reliant on ambient sounds and sustained notes to explore religious and social deviance, continuing from Cain’s earlier projects.

The EP was preceded by the lead single “Punish” on Nov. 1, a haunting ballad about an exiled pedophile struggling with the shame of his crimes. The song makes use of audio like a creaking swing set to remind listeners of the character’s despicable actions. Cain’s vocal performance and the lo-fi piano notes build to an oppressive forte, then melt into a solemn exit, a metaphor for a perverse sexual climax in line with the work’s essence.

Cain said the original concept for “Perverts” was a collection of similar character studies on social deviants, eventually evolving into the current amalgam of these studies and different experimental pieces. Cain describes the work as “​​whatever you want it to be.”

“Punish” serves as a glimpse into the original album concept, while other tracks implore the listener to devise their own meaning.

Hannah Mesa | Design Editor

The project begins with its title track, a lengthy 12 minute song that starts with a rendition of the Christian hymn, “Nearer, my God, to thee.” The hymn expresses a wish for closeness to God, a sentiment that deeply contrasts the other desires portrayed in the rest of the album. Through deep ambient sounds and broken, repetitive instrumentation, Cain’s voice repeats her lyrics.

“Heaven has forsaken the masturbator,” Cain sings.

These lyrics juxtapose the hymn opening, highlighting the sinful nature of masturbation according to Christian teachings.

The religious imagery in the song carries over from Cain’s earlier work and colors the deeper ambitions of the album. At its core, the album is indicative of a battle between religion and primal urges, often informed by guilt. This tension is key to Cain’s identity as an artist.

“Vacillator,” through slow, melodic drumming and symbolic lyrics, echoes this sentiment. To vacillate is to “waver in mind,” and this track depicts the struggle of the vacillator who wavers between the extremes of sexual gratification with a partner and the desire to reject it. In contrast to “Preacher’s Daughter,” where Cain was the victim of several abuses, the narrative is now flipped as she sings about being abusive herself.

In the most obscure work of the album, “Pulldrone” details a mythic fall from grace as the narrator experiences 12 stages of perversion. Beginning with a nihilistic admission of apathy, the song continues on through stages of disruption and curiosity.

In the stage of assimilation, the lyrics read, “I will dislocate my jaw to fit it all in.” With mentions of Ouroboros, the mythical self-consuming serpent, this song vividly depicts the destructive nature of its subject’s perverted urges. Just as the snake’s consumption leads to its own annihilation, the protagonist’s twisted actions represent their descent from holiness.

Another notable line is Cain’s “Such is the consequence of audience,” a metaphor for the album as a whole.

In Cain’s earlier work, “The Carpet Bed EP,” she experimented with similar drone techniques. When she made “Preacher’s Daughter,” she gained acclaim and fans, but in exchange for less genuine artistry.

“Perverts” is not a comfortable or welcoming listen. There are several times throughout its playtime where I felt urged to turn it off and listen to a palate cleanser, especially when the faint buzzing of “Pulldrone” morphs into a tyrannical, deafening tone.

Despite this discomfort, “Pulldrone,” and “Perverts” in general, are experimental and raw. The jarring audio effects and unsettling lyrical content make the piece more impactful than a run-of-the-mill pop album. Not to discredit the pop musicians of contemporary time, but it’s often hard to disentangle the promotional and publicity-seeking aspects of their work.

Cain’s album, in striking contrast, has a blatant disregard for prestige or celebrity and instead forces the listener to ponder its greater themes. Although not a casual listen for me, I have a great appreciation for Cain’s work and couldn’t help but feel like I was in an immersive art exhibit while listening.

The album’s closer, “Amber Waves,” is a soothing outro to the rollercoaster of uncomfortable emotions the listener just experienced. The last words echoed by Cain’s melancholic voice are “I can’t feel anything,” a stark contrast to the myriad of emotions felt just minutes before.

Although Cain shifted towards a less mainstream form of music in “Perverts,” she has an undeniable, commanding artistic presence that sets her apart from others of our time. Her melodies remind us that not all art is comfortable, and that music is a powerful tool in storytelling, especially in telling the stories of those rejected by society.

Published on January 13, 2025 at 11:30 pm