Hayden Anhedönia, also known by her stage name Ethel Cain, uses Cain as a precautionary tale about the effects that familial and religious pressure can cause on a person’s outlook on love and acceptance, and the dark path that trauma can lead a person down, which, as “Preacher’s Daughter” demonstrates, often has dire consequences.

Under the pseudonym Ethel Cain, goth pop artist Hayden Anhedönia began making music to understand her rocky relationship with her family, faith, and queerness. In her first full-length album “Preacher’s Daughter,” Cain draws from her upbringing in the American South, and particularly as part of the Southern Baptist Church, to craft a dark tale following the life and death of Anhedönia’s alter ego, Ethel Cain. Sitting at an hour and fifteen minutes, the album demands listeners’ emotional investment to fully realize Cain’s filmic vision for “Preacher’s Daughter.” Cain’s haunting instrumentals are accentuated by hellish sounds like demonic chants, buzzing flies, and low notes that reverberate until they fade, all of which set the tone for the gut wrenching lyrics that follow.

The first two tracks, “Family Tree (Intro)” and “American Teenager,” reveal the grim overarching themes explored throughout the record: intergenerational trauma, love and violence, and religious guilt as an all-American teen. In “Family Tree (Intro),” Cain sings: “Jesus can always reject his father, but he cannot escape his mother’s blood,” indicating the suffocation of Cain’s religious and familial ties, particularly with her father.

Despite its deceptive pop beat, “American Teenager” depicts Cain’s turn to alcoholism in order to combat an overwhelming feeling of isolation from her family and God: “Jesus, if you’re listening, let me handle my liquor. And Jesus, if you’re there, why do I feel alone in this room with you?” The song illustrates loneliness despite being in large crowds, which is particularly prominent for Cain during school and church. Cain’s feelings reveal the restlessness and insecurity that many young adults experience, effectively laying the groundwork for her downward spiral.

Cain’s isolation grows when her first love leaves, marking the first integral event in her story. “A House in Nebraska” is the first of four tracks spanning over seven minutes, and one of my favorites. Beginning with single piano notes under Cain’s echoing voice, Cain foreshadows her own impending doom. The slow pacing of the song emphasizes her pain and growing lethargy. Towards the end, a release of emotion is expressed through a cutting guitar melody over Cain’s muted wails. Extended non-lyrical vocalizations are frequent throughout the album and sound similar to church choir chants. These interludes give space to unleash inarticulable emotions, a frustrating phenomenon that many listeners can relate to.

Track seven “Thoroughfare” is the nine and a half minute epic that marks the beginning of Act 2. Opening with guitar strums and harmonica notes reminiscent of Southwestern bars, Cain tells the story of meeting a different man set for the West Coast. Similar to Anhedönia’s actual life, Ethel Cain leaves home to escape the suffocation of life in the South. After coming out, Anhedönia was ostracized by the Southern Baptist Church that had raised her. Then, at 18, she left home and fell into hard drug use. Years later, during the formation of Ethel Cain’s character, Anhedönia began redirecting her life by using Cain’s as a cautionary tale.

In Cain’s story, she goes west with the man from “Thoroughfare,” and over the course of the drive the two become close. Still, Cain’s heartbreak in Act 1 leaves her weary of love. As a result, Cain leans into her sexuality while her lover showcases new and sinister behavior. Like with Cain’s past partners, her current lover’s growing dependence on drugs leads to physical violence in the relationship. The dark and synthetic sound of “Gibson Girl” lends to the more sensual lyrics that provides hints of Cain’s acceptance of love and violence as a duo, which is derived from the relationship with her sexually abusive father: “and if it feels so good, then it can’t be bad.”

In terms of Anhedönia’s experiences, there may also be parallels between the expression of Cain’s sexuality in “Gibson Girl” and the exploration of Anhedönia’s femininity as a transgender woman. Transness is never sensationalized in Cain’s work, but remains a central undercurrent in her music. After leaving home, Anhedönia was able to freely delve into her relationship with womanhood. Anhedönia’s search for freedom is mirrored in Cain’s sexual liberation.

The next five tracks follow the betrayal, murder, and afterlife of the young Ethel Cain, a series of events that is reminiscent of the betrayal and death of Jesus Christ. Two of the last five tracks are ambient music that represent Cain’s anger as she is killed by her lover, then her ascent into the afterlife accompanied by angelic piano. Hints of the specific events surrounding Cain’s death can be found in the plot of the banned film that the tenth track borrows its title from: “August Underground.” The 2001 horror film brutally depicts a serial killer who documents the kidnappings, sexual abuse, and murders of his victims, which indicates that Cain might have suffered the same fate. With no accompanying lyrics for “August Underground,” Cain’s allusion to the film speaks magnitudes.

However, fans of “Preacher’s Daughter” have also speculated that Cain’s death could have involved cannibalism. The final track “Strangers,” another one of my favorites, hints at the cannibalism: “if I’m turning in your stomach and I’m making you feel sick.” This line could also signify Cain’s murderous lover’s guilt as the notion of moral “goodness” is heavily explored in the song. But as Cain reflects on the outcome of her life, she attempts to forgive the people that have wronged her, following a central Christian value. Cain ends the album with a message for her mother, emphasizing the undeniable connection between family despite the rifts created overtime.

It’s clear in the closeness of Cain’s and Anhedönia’s stories that Cain makes music for herself. On a technical level, Cain self writes, produces, and releases music under her independent label Daughters of Cain. In an interview with Pitchfork, Cain expresses the blurriness between the end of Anhedönia’s sense of self and the beginning of Cain’s character. I love how Cain runs on her own time, carefully revealing her story between instrumental interludes and long choral notes. Although the length and pacing of many songs can be unconducive to casual listening or mainstream success, when diving into the conception of “Preacher’s Daughter,” I can’t help but be amazed by Cain’s artistic prowess. The tragedy of running from one place of entrapment only to find another is heartbreaking, and at a basic level, can resonate with listeners who are struggling to become independent in adulthood.

Image courtesy of Helix Creative Solutions