This article covers Ethel Cain’s album, Perverts, which deals with mature and sexual topics. Some of these topics may be discussed in this article. 

On Jan. 8, Ethel Cain released her fourth studio record, Perverts. Falling just under 90 minutes with only nine tracks, Cain creates a brilliant piece of work that is nothing short of unsettling. No stranger to the taboo—with a previous project titled Inbred and her first album Preacher’s Daughter following a storyline revolving around abuse, blasphemy, and violence—Perverts does not shy away from discussing the “forbidden” with themes centering around the different ways people reach God, specifically through sexual means (hence the project title).

Unlike her previous album, Preacher’s Daughter, a concept album that follows and tells a chronological story arc, Perverts does not follow a storyline, instead, Cain opts to explore the various ways of connection to God through means of perversion. Also different from her previous works, Cain decided to take a step back from the pop and mainstream scene by using hardly any vocals and experimenting with genres like drone, spoken word, and ambient music.  

To many fans of Cain’s previous work, the stark shift in genres was disappointing, especially to those who thought it would be a continuation of Preacher’s Daughter, as Cain stated she would be doing two more related projects. With one revolving around the narrator’s mother and the other telling the story of her grandmother. However, Perverts is a separate project entirely and has nothing to do with the Preacher’s Daughter lore; Cain has stated as such. 

Launching the project off with a 12-minute-long title track “Perverts,” Cain immediately sets an unsettling scene with a distorted rendition of the hymn “Nearer, My God, To Thee” before suddenly cutting off with the sound of a tape-recording ending. Following this with spoken lines behind the sounds of drone such as “No one you know is a good person,” Cain delves right into uncomfortable topics, leaving us with an idea of what to expect on the rest of the tracks. 

“Perverts” seamlessly transitions into “Punish,” the second track and lead single. As one of the only songs on the record with lines in the form of singing instead of talking, Cain tells a tragically disturbing story. Beginning with piano and what sounds like distorted whines in the background, Cain portrays a feeling of deep shame in the indulgent of pleasure with the first lyric being “Whatever’s wrong with me, I will take to bed,” and repeating a chorus of “I am punished by love.” Referencing Gary Plauché—a man who shot and killed his son’s abuser—in the second verse with the line “He was a natural Plauché, saying ‘You won’t forget this,’” the source behind the narrator’s guilt can be assumed to be something equally as horrific as Plauché’s victim. Taking it a step further, I interpreted the lyrics of the song as implying that the pursuit of sexual pleasure is a sin, stating “Only God would believe that I was an angel, but they made me leave.” I feel as if this piece does an excellent job of portraying the narrator’s visceral feelings of remorse and intense guilt while at the same time, still considering themselves a victim to the forces of nature that shaped them into this person. This track is easily one of my favorites.  

Fading into the third track, Housofpsychoticwomn, Cain returns to spoken lines over what sounds like an oscillating fan over the course of 13 minutes. The narrator of the song speaks the lyrics in almost a confessional style, monologuing their insatiable and yearning need to be loved. With an endless repeat of the words “I love you,” it comes off as almost ominous and unwanted, especially with what sounds like distorted and pained croaking in the background.  

Returning to singing in her fourth track, “Vacillator,” the song opens with drums and percussion before the opening line “You’re so smooth, if you want, you can bite me.” I saw this as a juxtaposition to the previous tracks; as an acceptance of sexuality, instead of the earlier themes of shame and desperation. The song continues with more lyrics seemingly accepting the normality of sexual pleasure, before returning to denial when given it with the line “If you love me, keep it to yourself.” As the title implies, the narrator vacillates between acceptance and fear, indecisiveness in the face of shame. At the first listen of this song, I immediately felt as if it was similar to “Western Nights,” a track from Cain’s former album Preacher’s Daughter. With a lyric from “Western Nights” questioning, “But if you love me like you say you do, would you ask me to,” and “Vacillator’s” implore of  “If you love me, keep it to yourself,” I found myself drawing parallels between the two songs, especially because both lines were delivered in a similar cadence.  

Onto the fifth and my favorite track, “Onanist,” Cain discusses desire and damnation by the hands of sexual pleasure. Opening with piano played over drone noises, Cain’s religious upbringing is seen by referencing the opening lines of Dante’s Inferno 1–“In the midway of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray”—with the opening lyric “There I found me in a long, long wood/Astray, midway of mortal life.” Cain then references a statement attributed to 16th-century Protestant John Bradford, singing, “But there, before the grace of God go I,” as a demonstration of humility and dependence on God. The narrator then switches from their reliance on faith to questioning abstinence with the line “I want to know love, I want to know what it feels like,” then to giving into those desires repeatedly stating “It feels good” in the outro. With hauntingly beautiful vocals, Cain depicts the fall from grace through giving into carnality. 

In the sixth and longest track (15 minutes), “Pulldrone,” the narrator delivers a detached and apathetic-sounding monologue discussing the 12 “Pillars of Simulacrum,” an idea originating from Jean Baudrillard’s philosophy that concerns itself with the idea of replacing something of reality with its copy.  These pillars/stages include apathy, disruption, curiosity, assimilation, aggrandization, delineation, perversion, resentment, separation, degradation, annihilation, and desolation, all of which lead the narrator towards their journey to become closer to God. Delivering this monologue over near silence beside a constant droning noise, this track gave me goosebumps and almost felt uncomfortable to listen to. 

The seventh track’s, “Etienne,” gentle piano instrumentals are a sharp (and needed) contrast to the harshness of the previous track. Even the spoken lines of the track, which don’t start until the last 50 seconds of the 9-minute song, are much more uplifting than previous, detailing a man’s shift in perspective away from suicide. 

Cain goes back to her continued style of drone and static in the eighth track, Thatorchia. Though lyric-less, a sense of longing still remains deeply felt. With the bass, Cain’s vocals, and the overpowering guitar working towards what feels like a climax, the song’s abrupt end after a pattern of repetition felt unexpected and I was left wanting more, wanting different. The deliberate lack of resolution draws you in only to deny closure, a bold and unsettling move that remains long after the music stops. 

Finally giving the closure and climax that was previously denied, “Amber Waves,” the ninth and final track, tells what happens in the aftermath of the pursuit of the presence of God. The narrator, becoming so obsessed with feeling close to God, resorts to addiction and drug use to recreate that sense of euphoria felt. With lyrics like “Shaking the bottle and letting them roll” and “the devil I know is the devil I want,” it’s implied that the narrator wants the drugs and the addiction, craving the feeling it brings regardless of the consequences and the loss of those closest to them. This theme of desire despite the so-called immorality of it is prominent throughout all the tracks, whether through sexual, emotional, or substance abuse means.  

Cain consistently weaves together a wonderfully beautiful, but bittersweet, end to her projects. Similarly to her ending track “Strangers” in Preacher’s Daughter, “Amber Waves” concerns matters of letting go and acceptance when faced with difficult situations. With lyrics in “Amber Waves” like “I’ll be alright” and “What you do is nothing to me,” and lines in “Strangers” singing “Don’t worry about me and these green eyes” and “I never blamed you for loving me the way that you did,” Cain strikes a comparison to themes of resignation and letting go. In “Strangers,” the narrator is accepting her death, in “Amber Waves,” the narrator is accepting their addiction. Both tracks delve into the emotional weight of parting ways yet carry an undercurrent of strength as the narrator navigates the complexity of accepting unfair circumstances.  

As an art piece, Perverts is a brilliantly hair-raising body of work that quite honestly, made me a bit scared. I don’t think this is a record that you can hit shuffle on and listen to over a day mixed in with other songs; it must be heard from start to finish. That being said, it was not an easy listen with multiple 10+ minute tracks and hardly any lyrics to sing along to (a letdown to fans of Cain’s more pop-like work). However, the patience needed to listen is worthwhile for the experience and emotions it evokes. Perverts is meant to be taken seriously as an art form, not just for the easy consumption of listeners.