The album opens-courageously and brilliantly-with a terrifying 12-minute title track... that might well take on a life of its own as creepypasta, believed to curse and haunt its listener.
It sheds the cathartic American songwriting traditions that earned Cain a dedicated following among sleep-deprived Tumblr kids and former U.S. presidents.
While Preacher's Daughter spilled with expansive landscapes, detailed scenes, and characters, Perverts holes up in the Blair Witch basement or hermetically sealed house of Skinamarink.
Between spoken-word ruminations on sexual shame, Cain spits "Masturbator!" from the shadows, emerging slow-burning songs of delicate intimacy.
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