In 2022, Ethel Cain cemented herself in music history with one of the most ambitious and harrowing debuts imaginable. “Preacher’s Daughter” explored the story of a woman who ran away from home and joined a cult. Without delving too far into the plot, just know that the closing song, “Strangers,” ends with a joke about how someone is viewing her corpse while she muses, “I never considered myself tough.” It’s a story full of dark emotions and a complicated relationship to sexuality and violence. In just 70 minutes, Cain established herself as an uncompromising voice. You were either on board with her vision or found the grandeur leaned a bit too far on the tedious side.
At the time, it was proposed as the start of a larger trilogy that would look at the generational trauma of three women. She’s released demos and has even said to have written a book that covers even more ground. The limits to her scope have yet to be seen, though there’s a suggestion that she may be reaching the limits of where she sees this story going. After two albums and several EPs, 2025 looks to be the year that Ethel Cain is saying goodbye. What lies next for Hayden Anhedonia is yet to be seen, though the mystery can’t be any more jarring than the 90-minute experimental record “Perverts,” where she turns discomfort into an imprisoning soundscape. For all we know, this is just her way of suggesting that the finale in the trilogy, the presumable first as an independent artist, will focus on someone a bit more unexpected.
While it’s easy to spend the next few years speculating, it’s better to explore what currently exists. “Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You” is far less complicated than what’s to come. Taking place in the year everything changed, it’s another chance to enter the rural south and see a world of small-town conflict, where tragedy is around every corner and the search for greater connection remains crucial to survival. This isn’t a story that ends with a salacious finale on par with cannibalism, but instead exits like a dust storm swallowing up all sensibility.
The brilliant conceit of “Willoughby Tucker” is how it builds the world without feeling indebted to greater mythology. While fans will be quick to notice the “A House in Nebraska” reference, this is a story that pushes aside the murky production to come in favor of something more synth-driven and upbeat. This helps to evoke a time before darkness has defined Cain’s story. Even if her characters can never be accused of being happy, they have the instinct to live inside them. They may be beaten down by the harsh opinions of those around them, but they still have optimism to think they’ll break free one day.
Nowhere is this clearer than in the opening line, which, in only five words, reflects the contrast of environment. As an introductory statement, “Hold me, smell of mildew” conveys the idea of love transcending the discomfort of their environment. As Cain sings about her misery with living conditions, she holds onto the titular character “Janie” in hopes of finding some peace. As the chorus cries, “she was my girl first,” there is an intangibility of something being let go as a new chapter is about to start. There’s a lot that Cain is overlooking to appreciate the complacency. To her, Janie is an access to joy. Her abandonment for another relationship sets her up for a loneliness that she’ll attempt to run away from. Not exactly the best way to introduce a teenage character who ends the song by looking at a blank page with nothing “except for my last name.” Her journey forward will be a difficult one.
Even if Janie doesn’t exist within the narrative to follow, she embodies the small-town worldview. She has given up on her past to be with a man. It’s not a move dissimilar from Cain as she meets Willoughby and discovers how lovestruck she will become. Whereas she’s capable of pointing out Janie’s flaws, it will take a journey to find her own, and it will take her to some devastating places, reflecting actions that may explain insidious reasons for Cain and Janie separating.
The prelude presents Cain’s deeper conflict with herself. The vocals are attempting to push through the sadness with small inflections of seduction and joy, but they’re not convincing. Even then, the pulsating orchestration shows the emptiness clashing with the anxiety of wanting what came before to return. She dreams of a nostalgia where everything was better.
It is from here that Cain develops one of her most satisfying, most consistent listening experiences to date. As someone with proclivities for cinema, it makes sense to establish Willoughby through a theme. If one were to make an impression of him through the orchestration, it would be this gradual build-up of darkness into a sense of light. It’s never broken into a full-out elation, but there is hope emerging as she finds in him something worth holding onto. Even then, it’s not the most conventional structure. The melodies are still incongruent in a way that feels like it’s hiding something dishonest. It’s under something alluring that is undeniable to someone searching for a greater connection.
Another reason to admire Cain is that she chose her densest songs as the lead singles. While there’s nothing here as directly Top 40 as “American Teenager,” they share that depth of character, feeling disconnected from those around her. “Fuck Me Eyes” finds Cain becoming more promiscuous as she looks around for someone to love and possibly behaving in irrational manners. The vocals have a yearning as she struggles between being labeled an outcast for her slutty behavior, while also believing that she’ll find something deeper if she keeps looking. Even then, those eyes long for something greater. As she harmonizes, she finds something breaking through. The instrumentation grows fuller. The tempo rises. Maybe, just maybe, she has found what she’s looking for.
If the record has an achievement in songwriting, it’s “Nettles.” Conceptually, she is discussing the fear of growing up too fast and finding themselves stuck in a miserable situation. Willoughby could go off to war if he wanted. There are ways to assimilate to what is expected of him, and it’s attractive to the Midwest mentality. There is something noble about being heroic. The only issue is that he becomes injured and spends a significant amount of time in the hospital. As the song concludes, Cain’s revelation is one of the most piercing lines that she has ever sung: “To love me is to suffer me.” Something is withering about her delivery, as if she’s holding back tears as she performs over a warped melody, reflective of a dream both taking root and also at risk of breaking free of its sensibility.
Even for the morose tone, there is a desire to push through. “Dust Bowl” establishes the relationship further down the line, where they’re making out at slasher films as he’s “feeling me up as a porn star dies” and that “he’s watching me instead.” There is something naïve about Cain that wants to buy into the fantasy of something that’s not dissimilar from an S.E. Hinton novel. Even with lyrics obsessed with death, Willoughby symbolizes opportunity. She can overlook everything so long as he loves her.
In one of the most memorable chord changes on the record, she later sings about, “Cooking our brains smoking that shit your daddy smoked in Vietnam.” As the guitars push forward, there is recognition that this moment means more than stealing your parents’ drugs. It’s about reflecting on a father who fought in a war that likely left him traumatized, recognizing the conflict of patriotism and the larger American Dream. Even as Willoughby starts to envision his future, there’s the sense that he may be playing into a charade.
The psychedelic explosion serves as a coping mechanism for the generational concerns to follow. Cain declares, “You’d be a writer if he didn’t leave all his hell for you.” There’s the idea of getting away from Alabama and starting everything anew. The thing that makes Willoughby a curious character is that he’s still polyamorous and cheats on Cain. Even then, she buys into the lie that he loves her. Maybe it’s just the weight of realizing that the alternative is to be alone, that she’ll experience a much worse pain without someone supporting her.
Things only get worse with “Knock on the Door” as it reflects on Willoughby’s struggles with his father and whether he’s brave enough to stand up to him. By this point, the orchestration starts to overwhelm again, and the lyrics become sparse. What started as a dream overrun with joy and endless thought is now returning to a state of regret, recognizing that Willoughby is a memory. The title isn’t an eternal love that’s ongoing, but one that alludes to solving the mystery of why they broke up. “Knock on the Door” is more contemplative than affirmative, making her question how confident Willoughby will be as a friend. He must stand up to Satan and escape his demons, but is he strong enough to answer that door?
The closing stretch of three songs ranks among Cain’s greatest work. Despite being praised for her lyricism, she finds herself at home within the world of instrumentals, finding tones shifting in ways that allude to something greater. “Radio Towers” overwhelms the headphones as she finds herself unable to speak. The drones reflect a desire to push through the nothingness and find meaning again, but, as “Tempest” reflects, their journey away from the comfort zone isn’t going to be enough this time.
“Tempest” is an overwhelming experience that finds a couple at the end of their relationship. Willoughby declares, “I still dream of death” as Cain explores lyrics about mortality. It’s some of her most uncomfortable as she recalls “sulfuric acid in my brain.” It’s clear that there’s something inside him that doesn’t feel genuine, and it speaks to something shared by Cain and Willoughby’s father as well. No matter how much they try to reach out to each other, they are ultimately isolated because of their past. As a result, they are doomed. Not only that, but Cain is now stranded, forced to reflect on the relationship in ways that echo “Janie.” She declares that she’ll love him forever, even if she realizes that what she loved was never real or even genuine. Of course, fans will recognize the truth in this as Willoughby informs “Preacher’s Daughter” in ways that become clear the more one studies.
A bold decision leads Cain to end with a 15-minute track called “Waco, Texas.” Despite an extended musical introduction, the song returns to deep self-reflection. She contemplates the greater meaning of the romance and if she’ll ever feel again. She sings of planning their future and how, like the Vietnam War or performative masculinity, she has been given false promises. There is a need to start again, dismayed that she’s not capable of living the perfect life. She tortures herself, unsure of how to move on, and at times, growing suicidal. Her parting thought is the haunting, “But it’ll never be good enough like I want to believe it is.” There’s an awareness of the delusion, but it’s the reality that something inside is frozen forever.
“Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You” may be a difficult record to fully appreciate on first blush. “Preacher’s Daughter” is comparatively streamlined, with each song havinga clear plot progression. Here, she’s exploring contradictions of the self that don’t always appear obvious. It makes sense that she would be fascinated by her first love, though the journey that they go on is ultimately more heart-wrenching than anything “Preacher’s Daughter” carries. It’s less reliant on shock and more on small moments of deceit. Willoughby, as a figure, informs this because he feels real, but there’s something ambiguous, reflecting a detached sense of self that comes from his own generational trauma. Cain has long been about the progression of pain in people’s past, but this record understands how the circumstances can be a lot more complicated than one bad decision, or even one that was made by their own hand.
More than whether this record is better or worse than what came before, it establishes Ethel Cain as a performer with a lot to offer. This doesn’t just expand the story; it shows her ability to delve into musical techniques that add layers to the overall experience. This is one of the most fluid and consistent records of the year, with every song emerging as a memory that carries as much joy as it does melancholy. Not only that, but somewhere underneath the surface is a greater cry for help. While “Perverts” felt like it delved too far into the psychology of traumatic discomfort, “Willoughby Tucker” finds a perfect accessibility, reflecting on the ways that passion can be conflicting, even clouding one’s vision of larger safety.
As Cain struggled with controversy leading up to the record’s release, it felt like an ironic reflection of the subject matter. Does one run from the shame that defined their youth, or do they learn to grow as a person? In the case of the past month, the singer has decided to acknowledge how difficult her journey has been. It’s caused her to be candid and suggest that nobody is born perfect. It’s ultimately up to each other to try and break those cycles and make the future generations have a better life. In the case of Willoughby, that was very much not the case. Knowing that it happened so young only makes it more of a tragedy. Cain may have her flaws and divides audiences with her outspokenness, but she’s still trying to find humanity. Love is out there somewhere. Everyone just has to hope it’s not hiding behind something worse.
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