Ethel Cain has launched ‘Punish’, the lead single from her upcoming mission Perverts. That includes contributions from Vyva Melinkolya on the baritone guitar and lapsteel, the monitor arrives with a music video directed by Cain and Silken Weinberg. Test it out under.
The follow-up to 2022’s Preacher’s Daughter spans 90 minutes, however Cain has described it as an EP slightly than an album. On social media, she wrote:
The Consequence of Viewers
As I went there via the lengthy, lengthy wooden, I felt no-thing and I used to be no-thing and I used to be relaxed. The gray ash timber and their mottled plumage have been as one with one another, curving and branching to type a ceiling overhead. There was vast separation between trunks, creating huge corridors stretching off in all instructions earlier than me, behind me, throughout me. O, what reward I might sing of that endless nightfall fall I spent between these oaks! None got here with me, none came across me, for I used to be alone and I used to be relaxed. But got here the day the timber broke, the hall ended, and I used to be thrust upon the rocky expanse that was the Nice Darkish. There I noticed first face and heard footstep, few and much between, however I used to be now not alone. It was a shameful deed to hold these two bare arms as they clenched hotly, now in full show for all to see. I had by no means observed them within the wooden, for I used to be relaxed. Right here, the taut pores and skin appeared to stretch and sweat, nearly glowing, as if exasperated of their very own grip. For as I wandered the Nice Darkish, there was not however gray, barren rock so far as any eye might see. It did make a passerby out of an observer. I noticed them trudge by, fingers dipped into their open mouths determined for wetness, the lolled tongue. There, within the wooden, I used to be the watcher, however right here I’m nothing however displacing air. But, inside the smothering toil of my apathy, I had heard the bell. Murmur of God between their slick, bent fingers ruffled the hair on the again of my neck. My muscular tissues groaned in opposition to the burden of the pores and skin round them, aching to be set unfastened.
All of sudden, I noticed, from the place I stood, there rose an amazing dome atop a hill on the horizon earlier than me. Sure, I noticed it there with mine personal two eyes! The white exterior peered at me with flat orifices obscured via the mist, barely distinguishable from the darkish sky behind it, as if all of the world past the dome was lower from the identical slab, solely barely effaced. The convex roof sat atop a disk, held up by nice ionic pillars circling the temple. Steps radiated out and down the slope, like ripples in a pond escaping a dropped stone. It was larger than life, larger than the wooden, larger than all else which stuffed this darkish, and my gullible delight was that it was all mine. Sure, all mine! One might observe me to it however they may not observe me in. My arms stretched outwards with an audible cracking within the bone as I crept ahead there.
I couldn’t let you know the remainder. I’d not even try, for it could change no-thing. To know if I did go utterly bare into the theater of the divine. If I did want for no-thing, need for no-thing. If I used to be then full to the brim, cylindrical pull slid via my gaping jaw into my countless throat. If I noticed it there, shimmering via the veil like pearlescent oil over crystal water. If it heard me singing with each atom that fashioned me, via each orifice and wound I had, polytonal in my begging for it to finish me with the fifth. If it seemed into me, noticed how I wanted to know what God is aware of and to be with him. If it spoke again to me in flat dissonance, “how couldn’t ye?”
It will be of no good to talk this stuff to you. In what manner I used to be nonetheless returned to the bottom, even when beneath it, intact with my puerile must repeat my-self and my errors. Who wouldn’t climb the wall for a peer over the sting? The cautionary story is the idiot’s errand, and I’m no idiot. I’m as my arms are; twisting in on themselves and bursting on the seams. I can-not comprise the ache for sensation, simply as I couldn’t comprise the grief as I fell, nor the agony as I crawled my manner again to this rocky countryside, and lo! I’m on my manner there once more now. I’m, I’m, I’m! However I cannot let you know the visceral particulars, as you already know them. You all do.
It’s taking place to every-body.
