For all of the words that can be used to describe the full caliber and breadth of Ethel Cain’s performance last night at Brooklyn, one continues to flash across my mind: biblical. Biblical not specifically in a religious sense, though the singer’s upbringing in a southern baptist church is baked lyrically and thematically into much of her music via the character that is Ethel Cain, I mean biblical in the sheer grandiosity and theatricality of it all. Her performance in Brooklyn’s ornate jazz age movie palace brought the world of Ethel Cain into full view as her unique blend of folk-country mixed with sprawling gothic soundscapes of serrated synth growls crawled their way into the floorboards of King’s Theatre to a sold out crowd. Perched along the mezzanine’s edge, I witnessed her transform the theater into a gothic cathedral, the audience transfixed in silent reverence. It was fucking phenomenal.

>Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You is the sophomore record for 27-year-old Hayden Anhedönia (Ethel Cain), thematically deepening our relationship with the fictional Ethel. It paints a picture of a teenager in love, feeling warmth and security in the throes of affection and peering over the edge of childhood. As the lights dimmed in King’s Theatre, the low hum of chatter erupted into a deafening roar. Green floodlights illuminated the branches of a few weeping willow trees suspended above the stage, cloaked in a smokescreen of fog. Centerstage, a standalone podium with a catholic cross emerged from the smoke as the sinister grumble of a synthscape rattled the cornices of the nearly century-old venue. Ethel, standing at attention behind the cross, emerged as a haunting spectre to thunderous cheers. The band kicked into the instrumental ‘Willoughby’s Theme,’ setting an emotional tone for the night. With minimal stage banter, and often addressing the crowd in almost complete darkness, Ethel commanded the room through sheer presence alone. I was transfixed, hanging on every note as though played with complete reverence and intentionality. She moved seamlessly between rollicking, country-twinged tracks like ‘Fuck Me Eyes,’ and ‘Nettles’ to soaring and ethereal soundscapes that exist between the notes in tracks like ‘Radio Towers’ and ‘Vacillator.’

As the final notes of ‘American Teenager’ dissolved into the theater’s gilded silence and the lights faded to black, the spell wasn’t broken—it lingered, heavy and sacred in the air around us. The crowd filed out neatly into the night carrying something that felt less like the end of a concert and more like emerging from a fever dream. Ethel Cain hadn’t just performed; she had conjured a world, and for two hours, we had been faithful congregants in her gothic cathedral.

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