Preacher’s Daughter or Pervert’s Son?

In a radio session where she played her whole 90 minute new album, Ethel Cain instructs listeners to ‘lie in a dark room and think what you want about it’. I would have to agree that this is probably the best way to experience the newest project Perverts (2025). It’s the kind of music that you just have to let wash over you while you allow your mind to wander through the slow instrumentals and mournful vocals. Reminiscent of a bleak January day, it feels drawn out, cold and grey but in a way that somehow manages to be comforting and unsettling at the same time. Long periods of distorted noise and ambient instrumentals melt into soft melodies with simple, repetitive lyrics that have the effect of seeing shapes through a thick fog. 

Back in 2022, Cain’s debut studio album Preacher’s Daughter garnered critical acclaim and widespread internet fame with the single ‘American Teenager’ becoming popular on TikTok and even making it onto Obama’s favourite music list of 2022. Where Preacher’s Daughter was a concept album with a strong narrative, Perverts is not a continuation, though Cain has maintained the same uniquely Midwestern horror that makes her music so dark. Where Preacher’s Daughter told a tale of family trauma, sexual assault, murder and cannibalism, drawing on inspiration from her own relationship with identity and religion, her latest record seems to lean more into an exploration of religious and philosophical ideas.

Cain’s opening track Perverts is a 12-minute track of distorted vocals reciting the hymn ‘Nearer, My God, To Thee’. This is followed by periodic, electronic drones before melting into ‘Punish’. First released as a single back in November, Cain returns to her darker storytelling with the sound of a creaking swing and simple piano chords overlayed with distorted electric guitar, which will become a recurring presence throughout the album. ‘Houseofpsychoticwomn’ has a sort of pulsating white noise with hushed voices that make it hard to distinguish what’s being said, other than the repeated phrases of ‘I do’ and ‘I love you’. It feels like you’ve jumped into a washing machine whilst trying to eavesdrop on a conversation, but someone turned it on and now you’re stuck in an hour-long cycle of soapy water. This transitions into the slow drum beat and soothing vocals of ‘Vacillator’, with a melodic repetition of ‘If you love me, keep it to yourself’. ‘Onanist’ continues with distorted electric guitars and vocals that build to become a static climax and ‘Etienne’ is a much more peaceful instrumental of piano and acoustic guitar. ‘Thatorcia’ is fully instrumental with Cain’s gentle humming that makes me picture myself walking through an echoey church, which leads into the final track, ‘Amber Waves’ – one of my favourites – that flows, soothing and supine.

In ‘Pulldrone’ Cain speaks over a droning siren-esque noise listing her ‘pillars of Simulacra’, a concept based on Jean Baudrillard’s Simulacra and Simulation (1981) a cornerstone of modern philosophy which proposed that our sense of the real has been superseded by the ‘hyperreal’ – that is, an understanding of the material world based not on first-hand experience, but memories of replications of material reality. Baudrillard explained that, due to the modern nature of media and marketing, the line between reality and re-presented reality has become increasingly blurred. Whilst in the context of the album these pillars likely refer to a sort of spiritual ascendance, this could also be seen as a continuation of her response to Preacher’s Daughter’s reception. After publicly rejecting the fame she received for her first studio album, Cain criticised the internet for nurturing an ‘irony epidemic’ that tends to treat art with flippancy, stating ‘Don’t let the joke about it overtake the source material’. This album seems to resist the ‘irony epidemic’ Cain criticises, and the idea that meme-ified iterations of her artistic output could reduce, or replace, the impact of her work likely echoes Baudrillard’s theory.

Interestingly, Cain seems to mostly communicate with fans through her Tumblr account (yes, I did make a Tumblr account for this and it did crash my laptop). Considered by many as a dead form of social media and mostly associated with dramatic teenage girls of the late 2000s and early 2010s, it may seem like an odd place for an artist to share their work. However, following this sentiment that we dismiss too much as ‘cringe’, embracing this form of media that stereotypically has this ‘cringe’ reputation may be her way of combating this new lack of sincerity in social media.Whilst fans still seem to appreciate the new album, it hasn’t captured the larger audience that Preacher’s Daughter did and that was probably intentional, given Cain’s disdain for the attention she previously received. This seems to be a common theme amongst artists who quickly amassed internet fame on a platform that reduces attention span and promotes sound bites over full songs, with Chappell Roan famously shunning the limelight earlier this year. Creating 10 minute slowcore songs does seem like a logical way to reduce your fanbase to those who simply appreciate your music. For this reason, despite Cain’s popularity with the past US President, I doubt Perverts will make it to the White House, though it may be more fitting, considering the current US government. Even though I initially liked the album, it’s grown on me the more I’ve listened to it and I highly recommend listening the whole way through once, though I do understand that it’s not to some people’s tastes (housemates have told me to turn off my scary music before).

Written by Cassia Bennett

Make some noise for Maruja: they won’t hear you over their tambourine.

Twirling onto stage with flailing arms in such a way that I can only describe as resembling an inflatable man, lead singer Harry Wilkinson makes his way to the microphone while beckoning for applause that the audience readily gives. Joe Carroll on the saxophone (and later tambourine), Matt Buonaccorsi on bass and Jacob Hayes on drums make up the rest of the unique Mancunian band, Maruja. Previously described as ‘jazz punk’, I’d say this categorisation of their music is probably the most accurate label they could be given. With elements of heavy rock, soulful instrumentals and subtly political lyrics, this genre defying band is difficult to describe. 

In an interview with Craig Charles on BBC Radio 6 Music last Friday, saxophonist Joe Carroll describes their live shows as having “moments that are complete carnage” and sections of “free-formy, emotional stuff”. They start with ‘The Invisible Man’, which seemingly has both these elements within the same song, with repeating saxophone phrases that become earworms and lyrics that start at an almost-whisper building to a passionate shout.

Having heard of the frequency of stage dives the band commits to, I decided to stick to lurking more towards the back of Brudenell Social Club. Even though I am a sucker for a mosh pit, I feared I would not even survive the splash zone of a stage dive and refused to spend Wednesday night in A&E after being squashed by a fully grown man. Instead, I observed as the oscillating bodies were sent into an explosive, energetic frenzy. All Wilkinson must do is flick his wrist and the crowd responds spectacularly as he laments into the microphone.

Towards the climax of their lively performance of ‘One Hand Behind The Devil’, Carroll swaps his saxophone for a tambourine and proceeds to carry out the most vigorous tambourine shaking I have ever witnessed. As the drums accelerate, Carroll dives into the audience, tambourine still in hand, and glides atop the fluid crowd beneath him. 

Following that intense performance, the band announces that they will now perform some improvised instrumental. A couple of audience members around me sigh and claim it as a bathroom break or excuse to get a drink, but the rest of us stay and absorb the new noises drifting off the stage. There is something peaceful in letting sound wash over you. I could try and focus on the music, but my mind wanders only for it to then be drawn back to the repetitive intricacies that each musician brings to the stage.

After this moment of calm, the band launches back into ‘Look Down On Us’, before Carroll yet again finds himself within the crowd. However, this time he parts the crowd down the middle and during the opening of ‘Thunder’, confrontationally plays his sax at members of the crowd as he paces up and down the centre of the room. Once he has made his way back onto the stage, the moshing begins once again.

Before their final song, the band comments on the current state of our world and leads a resounding chant of “Free, Free, Palestine!” before launching into my personal favourite, ‘Resisting Resistance’. Fully instrumental, it’s incredible how much can be said without any lyrics. From the underlying drums gradually becoming increasingly more urgent throughout the track, to the mournful sax. It sounds dramatic, but there is such a contradictory sense of despair and hope that descends over the crowd making it hard not feel an ache in your chest, especially given the clearly intended humanitarian and political context.

While we impatiently await the arrival of their first album, I highly recommend you experience them live if you ever get the chance.

Words by Cassia Bennett