Recently, I have become obsessed with Ethel Cain. She is an incredibly pioneering musical project by artist Hayden Anhedönia. Ethel Cain is a character created by Hayden, who is experimenting with the uncanny. With Ethel Cain being a trans woman, her musical career has represented the evolution of the queer community through electronic music.
Ethel Cain, also known as Hayden, produces folky ambient electronic music with themes focused on Southern gothic religious trauma. Her music is self-produced and written using Ableton. Her album, Inbred, is the first album I listened to that completely changed my outlook on the expressiveness of electronic music. Her song “Crush” off this album is poppy and refreshing, featuring a lot of unusual production techniques. It, to me, represents the importance of hyperpop in the modern-day queer and trans community. There is a catchy melody, and it is nothing like anything else I’ve heard.
Her album Preacher’s Daughter actually changed my life. The entire album discusses the undertones of religious and generational trauma through the Ethel Cain character. The song “Ptolomaea” is probably the most important song I have ever heard. The song is six minutes long and features long ambient sounds and whispers, with a slow build of eerie male speech in the background, with an eventual build of intense guitar and screams. At 3:49, the song reaches its peak, and it gives me chills every single time. This song is so incredibly painful to listen to; the song is about being a victim of an assault. Hayden’s embodiment of a traumatic experience through the medium of electronic music takes so much hurt and so much talent. Her vision in this song has been heard by women who are victims themselves, and it has changed lives. The entire album is an experiment of creating ambient and atmospheric dread, but even with the unsettling nature of the songs on the album, there is beautiful harmonization, writing, and building of the contents of this album. Other songs on the album, “Strangers,” “American Teenager,” and “Sub Bleached Flies,” are incredibly beautiful songs.
Her newest album, Perverts, pioneers ambient and experimental soundscapes. The entire album is a creepy collage of noises and melodies working together to create a disturbing atmosphere. This album contains multiple ten-plus minute songs that each create their own unique atmospheres. The album is a callout to the corrupt and a cure for the scapegoats. Cain claims the album itself isn’t really an album. The project starts with a warped and eerie version of “Nearer, my god to thee” and becomes a collage of sound and silence. There is darkness in the long, droning noises hidden in the background of the opening title track. While this album is disturbing, I find so much beauty in it. The song “Vacillator” is one of my favorites. It features light brushes on a snare and soft vocals. It is evident that her music and this project have come from a place impacted by violence and abuse. She was ostracized and scapegoated her entire life, growing up religious and experiencing hate instead of love. The album Perverts is a callout to the corruption in the church and its hypocrisy. In a time like right now, this album is needed, and I have been in love with it. There is an overarching darkness that lingers in my mind as a trans person, and there is so much weight on my shoulders because of hate and ignorance.
Cain was recently discussed on Fox News for her vocalization of the corruption in our government and companies. She was blamed for Gen Z becoming violent and inspired a discussion about what schools are really teaching kids. She is like a vigilante fighting hate through her music; she disturbs the people who don’t get it and remains a beacon for those who do. Her ability to convey so much hurt and emotion through this electronic medium defines a new generation of queer people at a huge time of forced silence. The electronic medium and the way she uses it are one of the reasons why queer art will always be so significant to me.
