Words by Skylar Sanders
Known for her haunting soundscapes and macabre worldbuilding, Ethel Cain is undoubtedly one of the most talented artists of our generation. “Nettles,” the first single from her soon-to-be-released sophomore album, “Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You,” serves as a prequel to her 2022 debut studio album, “Preacher’s Daughter.” Cain originally posted the demo to Tumblr and Soundcloud in 2021, which included only the first verse and chorus. Many assumed she abandoned the track, but with its recent (and very polished) release, it’s become a fan favorite, with many describing it as her best work to date. The single opens with a symphony of eclectic sounds, a gradual descent into what anyone familiar with her work can only assume will be a grief-laden offering of emotional vulnerability and otherworldly storytelling. But what is grief if not love persevering?
Before gracing listeners with her signature vocal harmonies and gorgeously unpredictable inflections, Cain grounds her work in an immediately immersive atmosphere, something that isn’t limited to the music she releases. (Her essay-length verified Genius annotations and off-beat YouTube videos are a testament to her penchant for immersion and ability to engage her audience.) Beginning with a slow build and leaning into the layered production is a calculated way to draw her audience in, urging them to slow down and soak it all in. What does she have to tell us? Is it so devastating that we need to settle in for it?
Initially, the lyrics read as a recollection of a dream cut short by the cruel hand of death and an imagining of what could’ve been had it all gone right. Cain presents an escapist fantasy that reaches past the limits of mortality and impermanence, highlighting the irony of racing to grow into a life that would prematurely come to a close.
“We were in a race to grow up / Yesterday through today ‘til tomorrow / But when the plant blew up / A piece of shrapnel flew and slowed that part of you,” she opens. “The doctors gave you until the end of the night / But not ‘til daylight.”
In a verified annotation, Cain writes, “If they can grow up fast enough, they believe that maybe, they can escape the forces pulling them down; as such, Ethel and Willoughby were constantly pushing forward, prematurely aging themselves under the weight of their circumstances.” At the heart of it all is an excruciatingly beautiful reflection on trauma and having to grow up too fast, the culmination of an anxiety-induced fever dream that details possibilities of death and longing. She explains that her character, Ethel, “loses time and herself to these anxieties and imagined scenarios of losing her lover often.”
“ ‘To love me is to suffer me’ / And I believe that / When I lay with you in that auld lang room / Wishin’ I was the way you say that you are / You’ll go fight a war, I’ll go missin’ ” she croons.
Listening to “Nettles” feels like re-watching a film with a tragic end, with the delusional hope that maybe this time the ending will be different, not so much for the sake of its characters, but for the sake of dodging the inevitable and imminent heartbreak. No matter how many times you watch this movie, the slow torture of realization will eventually set in — the ending is predetermined and entirely unavoidable. Ethel realizes that all good things will come to an end, and these unsettling daydreams of her lover’s demise are a materialization of her fears, perhaps even a coping mechanism. In a YouTube video chronicling her experiences with the paranormal, Cain shared, “I’ve always had an affinity for thinking about things that are frightening or morose.” She has a way of making things out of reach feel a little too real, and her work is a constant reminder of the unknown, impending end.
Her album, “Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You,” is scheduled to be released August 8 later this year— and if “Nettles” is any indication of how hard-hitting it will be, a few deep breaths before listening are warranted.
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