Cece Natalie is my new pop obsession
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My Preacher’s Daughter vinyl arrived today. As I laid on the floor and let the record fill my entire body, my appreciation for the album somehow increased tenfold. I feel like her music is meant to be heard on vinyl, and I’m so happy I was able to snag a first edition.
Although I’m a newbie fan of Ethel Cain, she’s already solidified herself as one of my favorite artists. Her masterful storytelling, paired with her divine musical arrangements, make Preacher’s Daughter a deeply emotional and spiritual experience worthy of the highest awards. But don’t just take my word for it… go listen for yourself.
It Sounds Even Better on Vinyl
But Ethel Cain’s message isn’t about glorifying the country; it’s about capturing the tension, the beauty, and the complexity of the South.
She shows us that loving the South doesn’t mean condoning its flaws. It means fighting for a better future while embracing what makes the region unique. Artists like Ethel Cain make it clear that being queer and loving the South are not mutually exclusive.
And even if I decide to move from the South in the future, my feelings about this region will never change.
You fell in love with America when you were twelve years old
And by seventeen, you knew you had to see it all
Ethel Cain’s work is a perfect example of queer Southern identity resisting the mainstream narrative. She doesn’t shy away from the contradictions of being queer in the South. She acknowledges the struggles, the oppression, and the isolation, but she also celebrates the beauty of the region, the people, and the stories that come with it. Her music centers the South, and that’s what makes it so powerful for me. There’s a realness to her portrayal of the region that reflects both its pain and its resilience. Some have criticized her for the Americana vibes of the album, suggesting that she’s glorifying the country.
Loving the South isn’t equivalent to nationalism. It’s a deep, personal connection to home. Despite all its flaws, the South is ingrained in my identity, which doesn’t mean I celebrate its injustices or am unaware of its history of oppression. It just means I’m part of it. I belong here, and I want to make it better, not escape it.
– Ethel Cain (interview)
When I talk about loving America it’s like: I love my neighbors; I love the people in my town; I love the woods and the rivers and I love to drive west and see the mountains. I love the little corner stores. I love all the hard-working everyday people. It’s kind of impossible to split stuff up, and this country is a psycho nightmare all the time, but I love the parts I stick to and know to be good. I feel like I’ll probably never leave the South. For better or worse, this is home, and I like home. So I’ll probably be here forever.
It’s easy to romanticize leaving for more progressive spaces like NYC or LA, but to be honest, those places sometimes commodify queerness in a way the South doesn’t. In the South, queerness is never trendy; it’s dangerous, it’s real, and it’s often invisible. And there’s a distinct difference between being in community with queer people and being around queer people.
The popular narrative that red states deserve natural disasters or political disenfranchisement because of their political representation really pisses me off (an example). It erases our lived experiences and ignores the ways in which Southerners have been working for change. Yes, we’ve been effectively abandoned by our government, but that doesn’t mean the people here deserve to be written off. Southerners are worth investing in, and our voices should be heard. Coastal liberals often look down on the South (and Midwest), assuming that we don’t have the same political understanding or progressive values. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Our struggles may not look the same as those in more liberal spaces, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t fighting for the same things. And historically, the South has played a key role in driving progressive change for the entire country.
– Meaghan Garvey (article)
Anhedönia grew up homeschooled in a small town on the Florida panhandle, a Southern Baptist community where “pop culture” meant Gregorian chants, evangelist Billy Graham, and the occasional gruesome true crime show on her grandparents’ TV.
The South is a complicated place for queer people. It’s a region where the government representation is often oppressive, yet it’s also a beautifully diverse place full of resilience, culture, and a fierce sense of identity. And I love it here — fuck the gossip. I was born, grew up, went to college, and now live in the South. It’s my home. And there’s something uniquely powerful about being queer in the South; there’s an authenticity and strength in our existence that cannot be replicated elsewhere.
There’s a prevailing narrative that all queer Southerners want to leave the South, that we’re constantly running away from the lack of community and the hostility of both the government and much of the population. The South can be a place where homophobia is entrenched, where safety is hard to come by, but that doesn’t erase the deep-rooted connection to its people. Of course I understand any queer Southerner’s desire to escape, and I hold zero judgement for them. But I don’t want to leave. I too yearn for more public spaces and programs that cater to queer people, maybe even just some public transit to connect us. The Southern queer community could use more visibility, more space, and more safety, but the South is still home. As much as people try to push queer Southerners out, we’re rooted here.
I Love the South and So Does Ethel Cain
Perhaps the greatest mashup of all time:
Ethel Cain’s own explanation of the lyric:
There’s a sense of finality and peace here, like Ethel Cain has found the resolve to break the cycle of abuse. She’s embraced the idea of forgiveness, and in doing so, she’s reclaimed her sense of faith on her own terms. No one is coming to save her. But she finds peace in that, understanding that it’s up to her to navigate the fallout from the past.
This song is a paradox, really. It’s a battle of emotions. Every time I listen to it, I start out sad and reflective, and by the end, I’m left with a sense of acceptance and peace. The lyric “if it’s meant to be then it will be” might sound simple, but the way Ethel Cain delivers it is anything but. For me, that mantra carries several meanings:
This song is a paradox, really. It’s a battle of emotions. Every time I listen to it, I start out sad and reflective, and by the end, I’m left with a sense of acceptance and peace. The lyric “if it’s meant to be then it will be” might sound simple, but the way Ethel Cain delivers it is anything but. For me, that mantra carries several meanings:
- It’s about making peace with hardships.
- It’s about trusting in something bigger, whether that’s God or something else.
- It’s about finding reconciliation with the people you left behind.
- It has agnostic undertones for me: if God exists, then so be it.
- It’s also a recognition that there’s a (tiny) chance I may choose to embrace Christianity again one day on my own terms.
- And more than that, it’s about finding the strength to move on.
“I forgive it all as it comes back to me” is quite literally scripture (Hebrews 8:12, Colossians 3:13, Isaiah 43:18), which only deepens the song’s emotional impact. It’s as if Ethel Cain is reclaiming that scripture for herself, redefining it in a way that speaks to her experience, an experience that I know all too well.
But I always knew that in the end no one was coming to save me
So I just prayed and I keep praying and praying and praying
If it’s meant to be then it will be
So I met him there and told him I believe
Singing if it’s meant to be then it’ll be
I forgive it all as it comes back to me
If it’s meant to be then it will be
I seriously miss church. I miss the music, I miss the sense of belonging and community, I miss the comfort of prayer, I miss the grounding peace of knowing there’s a higher power at work. But that longing is tainted by the ugly reality of what church did to me: the judgement, the shame, the normalized abuse, the gaslighting. But instead of stewing in my grief and anger, Ethel Cain challenges me to find a way forward. By the end of the song, she’s embraced her faith and seemingly fallen in love with God again, despite the trauma. It’s a cathartic shift from rage to reconciliation.
What I wouldn’t give to be in Church this Sunday
Listening to the choir, so heartfelt, all singing
God loves you, but not enough to save you
So, baby girl, good luck taking care of yourself
The metaphor of sun bleached flies waiting to escape perfectly encapsulates how I felt as a kid, trapped in church and dreaming of escaping the suffocating culture. The churchgoers, fixated on money, are oblivious to the toxicity they’re passing down. The children are “breathing in the poison of the paint,” exposed to poisonous behaviors and toxic beliefs without even realizing the damage being done. That slow, creeping realization that what you’re being fed isn’t just incorrect, but harmful, is something I know all too well.
But what really gets me with this song is how Ethel Cain perfectly articulates the complexity of missing church. She sings about her desire and need to confront her trauma head-on and break the abusive cycle.
Sun bleached flies sitting in the windowsill
Waiting for the day they escape
They talk all about that money and how their babies are always changing
While they’re breathing in the poison of the paint
The song starts by calling out the toxicity, hypocrisy, and abuse in the church.
– Ethel Cain (interview)
For a brief second when I started making music, it was, like, upside-down crosses and Satan, but I came to this realization: God is what’s scary… If you want power, if you want horror, you have to go to the biggest boss. And growing up, I heard the words “God loves you” all the time. Somebody would say the most rancid, evil shit to you and then they’re like, “God loves you.” So I loved to put it in the music — it’s like, is that a threat?
But then it was summer 2020, and I was sitting at my parents’ piano, and I wrote “Sun Bleached Flies,” all in one day… I didn’t know what was going to happen…I was thinking about the pandemic and the state of the world: “God loves you, but not enough to save you.” Like, show me that you love me, don’t tell me.
“God loves you, but not enough to save you.” This lyric on “Sun Bleached Flies” hit me like a truck on my first listen. Preacher’s Daughter was made for Southern queers who grew up in the church (me). There are many moments on the album that spoke to my experience with religion, but “Sun Bleached Flies” takes the crown for that.
This Album Healed My Religious Trauma
– Ethel Cain (video)
I mean yeah it’s a crazy story that I made up of a girl going through a lot of horrible things. But half of those horrible things are things that I went through as a child… And yeah it’s very graphic…but it happens in the world to all kinds of women: cis women, trans women… It’s a very real record that I made with complete conviction.
Although Preacher’s Daughter is an incredibly dark story, themes of reconciliation and healing emerge beneath the suffering. After her murder, Ethel Cain ascends to heaven where she looks down on her life with deep contemplation. On “Sun Bleached Flies,” she repeats the mantra “if it’s meant to be then it will be,” a quiet surrender to fate. And in the final moments of “Strangers,” she calls out to her mother from heaven, extending grace and love, and ending the album on a note of reflection rather than devastation. Since Ethel Cain represents Anhedönia’s past trauma, her death can be seen as a symbolic release, an end to the cycle of abuse and a step toward healing. Preacher’s Daughter itself becomes an act of liberation and finding peace.
I’ve seen several people online scream “problematic” because they think the album fetishizes rape and abuse. But I challenge these people to think critically and recognize that depicting real life trauma in art and evoking discomfort doesn’t automatically mean the art is harmful or fetishistic. I challenge y’all to sit in your discomfort with the story and wrestle with Ethel Cain’s message. If the story didn’t make you uncomfortable, I’d be concerned! Rape, abuse, religious trauma, murder, and cannibalism are uncomfortable topics… (And of course, if these topics are triggering, then don’t engage.)
But Ethel Cain articulates it best herself. In the following clip, she briefly unpacks the story behind the album and addresses the “problematic” allegations.
[If you want to read the full story, check out this Ethel Cain-approved Twitter thread.]
On my first listen of Preacher’s Daughter, I was so overwhelmed sonically that I missed most of the story. But after reading the lyrics, watching TikTok deep dives, and reading a million Twitter threads, I’m blown away by the intricate lore and story. And knowing the story really elevates the album, taking it to a whole new level.
Using Southern Gothic aesthetics and inspiration, Preacher’s Daughter tells the story of a young woman who flees her abusive Southern Baptist family to meet a fate even more disturbing, falling prey to an abusive lover who murders and cannibalizes her.
– Ethel Cain (video)
The first half of the album is where I was. The second half of the album is where I could go…my biggest fear.
Beyond the remarkable sonic landscape of the album, it’s Ethel Cain’s storytelling that lingers long after the music ends. Ethel Cain is Hayden Anhedönia’s musical alter-ego, and Preacher’s Daughter is Ethel Cain’s origin story. But the story is inspired by Anhedönia’s own life, experiences, and fears.
A Masterclass in Musical Storytelling
“Am I making you feeeel SIIICKKKKKKK” when I realized this was about her being cannibalized…
“And the boOooOones I’m aboOoUuut to leave” ugh CHILLLLSSSS.
I especially want to shoutout the guitar work across the entire album; it’s subtle when it needs to be, but also emotional, unforgettable, and almost operatic at times. It really shines on tracks like “Family Tree,” where the gritty riffs add a raw edge to the song’s already tense energy. On “Gibson Girl,” the guitar takes on a more seductive quality that perfectly matches the track’s sultry vibe. And then there’s “Strangers,” where the guitar swells and crashes with an aching, cinematic intensity that helps close the album on a devastating high. I believe Steven Colyer is the one behind most, if not all, of the guitar work, but the credits are unclear. Regardless, Ethel Cain’s guitar arrangements are stellar and play a huge role in the emotional weight of the record.
The way she crafts melodies and layers her vocals is seriously next-level, some of the best background vocals and harmonies I’ve ever heard. You can hear the gospel influence on her vocals instantly; it’s clear she grew up singing in a church choir. But there’s also a distinct rock edge to her vocal delivery, and the way she blends those two influences feels both natural and fresh. Her ability to create long, evolving songs (often stretching past the six-minute mark) is another thing I really admire. The way she lets her songs grow and swell feels like a lost art, and she does it beautifully.
Two of my favorite vocal moments on the album appear on “Family Tree” and “Strangers.” Both moments are carefully constructed, showing the kind of slow-building, evolving intensity I mentioned above. They also offer a glimpse into the phenomenal guitar work I touched on. I recommend taking a few minutes to listen to these two clips; they capture so much of what makes the album special.
This is what plays in my head when I listen to “Televangelism”
Preacher’s Daughter is a sonic triumph, feeling almost orchestral in scale. Ethel Cain’s compositions are both intricate and deeply emotive, showcasing a true mastery. From her gospel and rock inspired vocals, to her immaculate piano work, to the guitar, organ, synthesizer, and other instrumental arrangements — she did it all. She wrote and produced every track herself, and the collaborators she brought in for instrumentation and additional production were the perfect fit, elevating her vision.
The song “Televangelism,” which represents the character Ethel Cain ascending to heaven, is an ethereal piano ballad that she improvised and recorded in a single take. That alone blows my mind… it’s genuinely one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard. It’s also the only track on the album confirmed to feature her playing the instrumentation. While it’s known that she can play several instruments, it’s unclear which ones she performed on the rest of the album. Still, even if “Televangelism” contains the only instrumentation she physically recorded, she composed and arranged the orchestration throughout the project.
Orchestrated Perfection
When Perverts (EP) was released in January 2025, many Ethel Cain fans ran to the internet to complain. They hated the album, calling it “weird” and expressing a yearning for the more digestible “American Teenager” sound. These complaints piqued my interest.
So I listened to Perverts and was absolutely blown away. Perverts is an audacious and experimental album that marks a striking departure from Ethel Cain’s previous work. She creates a dark, captivating sonic landscape using industrial noise, drone, ambience, and other genres unfamiliar to the average indie rock/pop listener. The fact that she completely diverted from her fanbase’s preferred genres, in order to make experimental art for art’s sake, made me an instant fan.
I listened to Perverts because I knew the fans online were annoying and wrong. And I was right. You don’t have to love the album, but please stop putting your favorite artists in a box. Let them experiment! I fully believe that’s how the best art is created. Although I only return to “Punish,” “Vacillator,” and a couple other songs on Perverts, I still acknowledge the mastery of that album. And I have nothing but praise for it.
Immediately after listening to Perverts, I pressed play on Preacher’s Daughter, and the rest is history. I’ve yet to put the album down since.
When Preacher’s Daughter was released in May 2022, the only song I heard was the viral hit “American Teenager.” And although I loved the song, I never got around to listening to the rest of the album until this year (I’m seriously unsure why because this album was made for meeee).
My Introduction to Ethel Cain
My Introduction to Ethel Cain
Orchestrated Perfection
A Masterclass in Musical Storytelling
This Album Healed My Religious Trauma
I Love the South and So Does Ethel Cain
It Sounds Even Better on Vinyl
Ethel Cain is a generational talent. Her debut studio album Preacher’s Daughter is a sonically breathtaking masterpiece that combines haunting storytelling, rich instrumentation, textured vocals, and deep-rooted religious and Southern themes to create one of the most compelling musical narratives of our time.
