On the third of four nights, Ethel Cain blessed her audience at the Palais Theatre as she plunged them into her sublime world of longing and loss.

Hayden Silas Anhedönia, known professionally as her alter ego Ethel Cain, has earned a cult-like following and admiration from her fans for her heartbreaking, southern-gothic narratives revolving around her fictional characters Ethel Cain and Willoughby Tucker, and rightfully so. Their respective records, Preacher’s Daughter (2022), and Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You (2025), delve into the doomed narrative of their teen love and religious trauma in a southern town; the sultry, dark, and ambient melodies of her records evoking a sense of mourning for both their love and their fates.

It felt as though I was walking into Sunday Mass on the Wednesday show (18 February) as I turned the corner of St Kilda’s theatre; white skirts, cross-necklaces and cowboy boots flooded the foyer as much as everyone’s simmering anticipation did.

As the lights dimmed and the singer's band stationed themselves on stage, the atmosphere was far from that of a typical concert, but rather an experience of living through Cain’s music. Taking the stage behind a wooden cross adorned with vines, Cain instantly submerges her audience in her narrative; the setlist constructed like that of a three-act structure allowing for the emotional connection that rippled between each member of the night. Her presence in itself was oddly calming; a black-out tattooed hand with claw-like nails caressing the microphone while the singer's waist-long hair fell as she dipped her head. It was almost ethereal.

The first song, “Sunday Morning,” was that of a greeting to the audience, a slow tempo beginning to speed up in time with the audience's racing heartbeats. It was more intimate and less conventional than a regular indie concert—where the singer normally takes the stage with a popular, up-beat hit, Cain allows the soft tune to flow throughout the theatre, a gesture that signals a deeply-rooted connection between Cain and her followers, ‘Daughters of Cain’. Whether the silence that met the opening was out of admiration or a result of Cain opening with one of her lesser-known songs, the crowd nevertheless jumped out of their seats as the electric guitar of “American Teenager” began to thunder through the speakers, Cain jumping with the audience as lyrics were shouted between tears of joy and squeals of excitement.

The lighting that beamed from behind the cross was almost hypnotic in its shifting blue and purple hues, spilling against the grand interior of the theatre and highlighting Cain’s silhouette. It was during her fan-favourite hit “Dust Bowl” that silver and golden lights depicted Cain as a spiritual figure, rays shining from behind her in a shifting illusion. Her bodily movements emphasized the haunting narrative of loss that lingered in her songs, a beautiful ache that was shared amongst the audience.  As the final moments of the song began to fade, a kneeling Cain was met with silence that cannot be demanded but rather earned; her 2025 experimental album Perverts brought a hypnotic and haunting performance as the colorful lighting switched to glowing spotlights. It proved that Cain listens to her followers as the aching piano of “Punish Demo II” began to echo rather than its released version; a sign of her own love for those who feel her art. Lyrics were whispered rather than shouted, a sign of deep reverence for Cain’s storytelling and a visceral atmosphere in such.

As a Daughter of Cain myself, I think it’s fair to say that anyone else who considers themselves as such does not just listen to her music as basic streaming, but understands—and feels deeply—that there are so many intricate layers to her work. They have all have been so carefully curated in her storytelling and musical production, and that is what makes this experience feel so spiritual. Cathartic, even. It’s like a soul-tie between Cain and her listeners—an unspoken bond and understanding formed through her art. With the singer’s own embodiment of her songs and the audiences' visceral reactions, the concert becomes something far more sacred within the grand theatre.

As “Crush” closed the main set as the show's third act—a tale of grievance and bittersweet delusion—audience anticipation rose again as whispers questioned what the surprise song of the encore may be. It seemed as though the crowd had deciphered it to be the cathartic “Sun Bleached Flies” as Cain shyly smiled and asked everyone to engage in a ‘group effort’. Acceptance, tears, and love solidified the theatre’s transformation into communion, as the repetition of “if it’s meant to be/then it will be” turned Cain’s audience into a choir.  

The night's close was brought by “Thoroughfare”; the raw harmonica and the adoption of a southern accent by the audience felt as though we were intertwined with one-another. As Cain hummed the final tunes of the closing song, the audience did not mourn her nearing departure but rather cherished the hours in which the artist immersed them in the spiritual and visceral narrative of her art, which evidently resonated in the hearts of all who attended.

In the two hours of Cain’s performance, each song was absorbed with delicate appreciation and resonance while her presence was raw and comforting, smiles and little ‘I love you’s’ gifted to her followers in between held hands and gleeful eye-contact. The art of storytelling through music had never been more intimate and soulful, and Cains’ physical embodying of her music should be remembered forever.