If you’ve ever greened out and started swatting at intrusive thoughts like a dark cloud of flies, then you might find Ethel Cain’s Perverts to be familiar. The nine-song album is a major commitment at an hour and 29 minutes long—more because of its dark and unsettling subject matter than the runtime.

It opens with the titular track, which is over 12 minutes long, and begins with the hymn “Nearer, my God, to Thee.” There’s a disquieting mumbling between shadowy silences: “Heaven has forsaken the masturbator” is oft repeated, but the singular “No one you know is a good person” is perhaps more jarring.

Cain’s work provokes strong reactions. Much like critics of abstract expressionism reject these works as art, critics of Ethel Cain reject her work as music. It’s true that the distorted soundscape of “Housofpsychoticwomn” is unlikely to chart on the Top 40, but the track does explore themes of psychosis and obsession, transporting the listener.

There are moments when Cain’s soft vocals offer some respite from the discomfort of Perverts, but even these moments feel threatening due to the repetition of phrases like “if you love me, keep it to yourself” (“Vacillator”). Simple piano melodies are overlaid with warbling ambient sound, mechanical whirs and whines, and whispers.

The spoken word track “Pulldrone” deconstructs twelve human traits or nouns with destructive connotations. The speaker pushes through numbered terms like “assimilation,” “resentment,” and “desolation” to explore the sensations of existence, beginning and ending with an embrace of the void.

It’s a self-flagellating album, a bold project that pokes at America’s puritanical sexual culture and values. This uncomfortable and effortful listen requires an open mind. Perverts is heavy. An unprepared deadlift may result in (emotional) injury. In a globalized consumer culture of streaming hell, Cain has committed to the path less traveled. Preacher’s Daughter (2022) held popular appeal with “American Teenager” and “Strangers,” but nothing off Perverts is designed for radio playability or TikTok soundbites.

The final track, “Amber Waves,” is less sonically challenging but still firmly in the realm of the audio gothic. It’s about catatonic addiction and trying to possess an unattainable high. Still— it’s the lightest song on the album, and it might be worth starting here if you have any trepidation about dipping your toes in the murky water of Perverts.

—Lauren Textor