Ethel Cain – Perverts review

Every so often – although it’s becoming increasingly rare as our culture homogenizes – a record arrives which demands attention. This can be for a multitude of reasons which can’t possibly all be listed here, but sometimes that reason is because the artist concerned has produced something so single minded in terms of vision and execution it defies easy description.

Ethel Cain is essentially a vehicle for Hayden Anhedonia, a character which through a complicated lense writes songs that deal with religious dogma, psycho-sexual obsessions and the American dream’s corrosive mechanic. These ideas were less attenuated on her first album Preacher’s Daughter, which won an unlikely following through ostensibly dream like, Del-Rey-via-Lynchian pop corruptions such as Strangers and American Teenager.

Perverts is not a follow up to that. Instead it takes Cain’s notional embodiment into a subterranean den of pitch black sonic textures, drones and white noise from which several pieces exceed the 12 minute mark. At times it’s barely listenable, but there are however remote passages that have a real, fragile beauty like closer Amber Waves and Vacillator, although their existence feels tenuous.

Perverts is a record that demands attention, if only because it tests our understanding of how far the boundaries between art, music and culture can be pushed. You will not forget it.

You can read a full review here.