'Vacillator': Ethel Cain's seductive core of 'Perverts'
The Ethel Cain song 'Vacillator', taken from her latest EP 'Perverts', showcases the singer hovering between craving intimacy and recoiling from it.
(Credits: Far Out / Daughters of Cain)
Music » Features
Sat 1 February 2025 13:00, UK
The whiplash that comes with sudden artistic pivots often leaves fans feeling disassociated and disillusioned. We’ve seen it happen repeatedly, with names from Arctic Monkeys to Lorde, where shifts in style or tone polarise audiences. However, with Perverts, the latest project from Ethel Cain, this shift stemmed from a genuine desire to explore that which had a grip on her heart.
Since the EP’s release, it has been shadowed by an overarching sense of ambiguity. Some commend Cain’s unexpected embrace of drone music, while others are left with questions about why she chose to venture in such a distinctive direction. However, this detachment and subsequent mystique are precisely what ultimately get the message of Perverts across, which is to be “erotic, part meditative” and “indulgent and euphoric“.
“You’re so smooth, if you want, you can bite me,” is how Cain begins ‘Vacillator’, following a long and ethereal intro section. These words, which follow a gradual, unsettling drumbeat guiding into a more visceral atmosphere, aren’t uttered with the level of conviction you might expect after reading the words written down on paper. Instead, they’re calm and considered, like Cain is letting them go on an outward breath.
This makes the following statement stark in contrast, with Cain flirting with the opposite ends of anxiety, catastrophising the paranoia of social situations while remaining resilient in the face of dramatic, external forces. “You won’t lose me to thunder or lightning,” she sings, “But you could to crowded rooms.” She emerges immediately with both strength and fragility, highlighting the conflicting nature of isolation in relationships.
The song is a venture into intimacy and independence, as she asks for love to be both private and all-consuming, with desperate yet softly spoken pleas for her counterpart to hold their feelings close, lest they sting her with their fierce yearning. The sensuality beckons with soft allusions to erotica, framing the duality of lines like “I like that sound you make when you’re clawing at the edge and without escape” in both lights before repeating the mantra, “If you love me, keep it to yourself”.
This is not misplaced on Peverts, though it stands as Cain’s most seductive on the EP, epitomising everything she wished to explore and represent with her foray into drone music. But what is perhaps most intriguing here is that her words seem to roll out from the soul, less like a withheld secret and more a soft, confessional whisper—a natural delivery despite the potential ostentatiousness of the subject matter.
However, the dark intimacy of the track and of Perverts as a whole seems to breed pleasure from struggle, whether it’s Cain’s own or that of her muse. “Do you like that, baby?” she sings, toying with power dynamics where sexual intimacy leads to a broader sense of control, even if she feels shut out, whether unintentionally or by choice.
Ultimately, she remains guarded, poised even in the subtle emotional weaknesses, and detached in the haze of vulnerability. The longing for emotional connection is there, but it’s shadowed by a fear of everything that attachment could entail, leaving Cain in an endless drop where she hovers between craving intimacy and recoiling from it.
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