Ethel Cain's Perverts? Steven says 3/5

Ethel Cain’s Perverts isn’t just an album—it’s an unsettling dive into an analog horror universe that feels more like a cinematic experience than a musical project. At 90 minutes long, with some tracks stretching past the 15-minute mark filled with droning sounds and white noise, it’s a commitment, not a casual listen. Hayden Anhedönia expands the haunting lore of Ethel Cain, tackling themes like shame, religion, and the darker undercurrents of identity, all while crafting a piece that feels deliberately uncomfortable.

After waiting so long for a follow-up to Preacher’s Daughter, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a pang of disappointment. I was longing for Ethel’s iconic vocal runs and melancholic melodies—the kind that burrow into your soul and stay there. But it’s clear that Perverts isn’t trying to be Preacher’s Daughter 2.0. This project stands firmly on its own, carving out a space that’s less about easy beauty and more about raw, unfiltered experimentation.

The opening track—a distorted, haunting take on “Nearer, My God, to Thee”—is a declaration that Ethel Cain refuses to play by the rules of pop stardom. Instead, she’s crafting a world that challenges the listener to feel every ounce of discomfort and dread. While I won’t be putting this on repeat during my morning commute, the ambition and concept behind Perverts demand respect. It’s a project that refuses to conform, pushing boundaries and proving that Ethel Cain’s artistry is as bold as it is unconventional.

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