Insists Upon Itself: Ethel Cain at Queen Elizabeth Theatre

Ethel Cain at Queen Elizabeth Theatre

Ethel Cain, real name Hayden Silas Anhedönia, is a breakout alternative artist who doesn't really want to be famous. Her phenomenal 2022 concept album, Preacher’s Daughter, combined intricate storytelling with indie rock inspired by industrial, gospel, and gothic music. “Family Tree” is my current favourite song of the 2020s. The lyric, “Swinging by my neck from the family tree,” inspired me to write a whole novel. Even Obama listed the anti-pop single “American Teenager” as one of his favourite songs of the year. She was on fire until she released Perverts, a dark ambient record. It was a statement: Ethel Cain makes what she wants. I knew about her take-it-or-leave-it attitude before I saw her at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre on September 15th, but I was disappointed by how far she took it.

Venue security was as tight as you would expect for an artist who has said, “We need to bring back assassinations.” They only let us through one entrance, so the line of goths wrapped around several different buildings. You couldn’t even bring in perfume, which slowed everything down because pretty much everyone brought perfume. I talked to some very nice fans who said her lyricism draws them in. I arrived at 7 pm for the 8 pm concert, but only entered the building around 8:45 pm. I missed the opening act, 9 Million, fronted by Ethel Cain and Nicole Dollanganger’s producer Matthew Tomasi. I actually met Matthew at Nicole Dollanganger’s 2023 Toronto show; he’s a really nice guy and even let me use his photos for my glowing review.

The 15-song setlist was dominated by her latest album, Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You. The album is just fine, if excessively long and homogenous. “Fuck Me Eyes” and “Dust Bowl” are the most memorable songs, though nowhere near as good as anything from Preacher’s Daughter. The 15-minute closer, “Waco, Texas,” is just “Western Nights” stretched thin. Stretched thin sums up the Toronto Ethel Cain experience. “Tempest” is a 10-minute song that ends with three and a half minutes of her singing the word “forever.” From the balcony, I saw people tapping out, swiping through Instagram. Too many parts of the show felt like unskippable cutscenes. 

Playing these unnecessarily long songs consecutively in a live setting exposes how samey they are. “A Knock in the Door” is a good acoustic song, but it doesn’t sound at all different from the concert opener “Jamie.” She’s singing the same lyrics over and over about how she’ll always love this guy, but he’s poor and toxic. Don’t even get me started on the not one but two ambient instrumentals from Perverts. The singer I’ve been wanting to hear for years sat down while indie horror game menu music played. 5 of 15 songs were instrumentals. I hate to invoke Peter Griffin here, but Ethel Cain already did. This concert insisted upon itself. Ethel Cain knows she’s Ethel Cain, and Ethel Cain can do whatever Ethel Cain wants. The light show was pretty cool, though.

The craziest part was the three-song encore, which consisted of songs from 2021 and 2022. The energy shifted. Ethel, mainly shrouded in smoke and shadow the whole show, came alive. Everybody stopped texting and started filming the concert they waited in line for hours to see. “A House in Nebraska” is seven minutes but feels like three because of its dynamism. I was jumping and putting my arms in the air the way I did when I discovered her songs at 18. I felt excited to be at a concert. Ethel didn’t even have to sing because the audience knew every word of “Crush” and “American Teenager.” And then the concert ended. I was left imagining how I would feel if the whole concert was that powerful. I respect Hayden’s commitment to her vision, even if it left me colder than Ethel Cain in that freezer last album. Artists should evolve, and their art will reflect the times. In a time when assassinations have made a comeback, 2022 feels like the good old days. Perhaps Ethel Cain will perform at Scotiabank Arena in 2028, with Lana Del Rey opening. Maybe I’ll be disappointed because she doesn’t play all 10 minutes of “Tempest” because it reminds me of the joy and whimsy of 2025. That thought is more tragic than any lyric Ethel Cain could ever write.