Perverts
Ethel Cain
(Daughters of Cain)

PERVERTS is not an album. Or, at least, that’s what Floridian singer-songwriter Ethel Cain (Hayden Anhedonia) claims of her latest studio effort — despite its 90-minute runtime. Perhaps this is to distance it from the notably more accessible indie rock that has garnered her a cult following.

Here, Cain swaps breezy guitars for unnerving industrial ambience. Perverts is no easy listen — and in no way is this unintentional. Cain’s disillusionment with a fast-growing fanbase has long-indicated a desire to subvert expectations and experiment with underground influences.

From the off, the title track plunges the listener into icy isolation. Distorted melody cuts into eerie mechanical thrumming and whistling. Immediately I am tempted to nervously look over my shoulder; listening to Perverts is not unlike listening to the sound effects of a horror film.

As the title suggests, Perverts explores shame surrounding sexual deviance. In-keeping with Cain’s Southern Baptist upbringing, the record is chock-full of biblical references. Punish, one of the more conventional pieces of songwriting on offer, is bizarrely written from the perspective of a self-loathing paedophile.

Following the theme of religious shame, topics of masturbation and romantic indecisiveness are explored. It is in this context that the decidedly uncomfortable instrumentation that fills the record makes more sense.

The latter half of the album intensifies the feelings of isolation permeating every corner of this project further. Guitars are distorted beyond recognition, before fading into emptiness. The ambience on Pulldrone almost emulates the sound of nails on a blackboard. Ethel Cain’s drowned vocals are interspersed scarcely enough to add to the unsettling atmosphere.

Etienne evokes some of the chilling-yet-cosy piano work of other ambient composers: C418 and Aphex Twin spring to mind. This is eventually engulfed by similarly repetitive acoustic guitar, before fading. This brief moment of comfort is replaced with unnerving solitude on Thatorchia.

Amber Waves closes the record on a cold note. Despite being one of the less instrumentally frightening tracks here, it ends abruptly with Cain muttering: “I can’t feel anything.”

This reads as another expression of apathy regarding an increasingly politically splintered US, whose subpar stewardship and complicity in the horrors taking place in Palestine have been repeatedly criticised by Ethel Cain in recent times.

While returning fans may be disappointed, Perverts is certainly a technical accomplishment for Ethel Cain. Despite an arguably gratuitously-long runtime, it is worth a listen for those with an open mind.