Like a Guttural Soul Connection: Ethel Cain’s Congregation at Edgefield

Through rain, long nights, and hours of waiting, Ethel Cain’s most devoted followers turned Edgefield into a cathedral of devotion long before the music began. Words and photos by Bren Swogger.

It’s one o’clock on a Saturday, and already the line at Edgefield snakes across the grounds like a pilgrimage trail. The August air is humid and sticky, pressing down on the crowd. Some fans curl up on the concrete, napping against backpackso. Others sprawl across picnic blankets or unfold camp chairs. A few even pitched tents the night before.

They aren’t here for just another summer concert. They’re here for Ethel Cain, who brings her latest record, Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You, to a sold-out crowd on the outskirts of Portland.

Cain last played the city in 2024 at Pioneer Courthouse Square, still riding the critical wave of her debut Preacher’s Daughter. Since then, she’s blown up. 2025 has been her biggest year yet, releasing two albums back-to-back: the sprawling drone experiment Perverts followed months later by Willoughby Tucker. Her cult has grown into something much larger, and with it, the dedication of her followers.

At the very front of the line, a group of fans huddled together after braving a night of pouring rain. Among them was Zadee, who arrived at 1 a.m. and had already been waiting more than 12 hours by the time the afternoon sun rose.

“The delusion fuels me, you know?” she laughed. “It’s definitely the longest I’ve waited, but you have good people around you… we have a great group here, so I’m happy.”

For Zadee, who flew from Maryland and plans to follow the tour through nine cities, the journey is more than worth it. “Her music means, like, literally everything to me. She changed my view on music. At her first concert I went to, I sobbed the second her first note played. It’s like a guttural soul connection. I don’t know how to describe it, but I just… I love her. She’s changed music for me.”

Her hope that day was simple: barricade. “I’ve got a timer going,” she admitted, showing her phone. “Seventeen hours before the show, I started it. We’re pushing through.”

Next to her was Hannah, equally rain-soaked but unfazed. “My hair is all messed up, but it wasn’t horrible,” she shrugged. A veteran of long lines, Hannah once waited six days for Lana Del Rey. Compared to that, she said, “this one’s easier.”

This was Hannah’s seventh Cain concert… and her second that week after driving up to Seattle for night two of the tour. What keeps her coming back, she explained, isn’t just Cain’s voice or her lore, but the way her lyrics burrow into lived experience.

“At first it was like, wow, I feel so less alone,” Hannah said. “She’s so raw and descriptive. No one’s talked about those triggering issues like that before, and it blew my mind.”

Her setlist wishlist was ready: “Onanist from Perverts. That one’s my favorite. And Tempest from the new album — I think those two are like, my favorites right now.”

For Luna, who came down from Seattle after catching both nights there, Cain’s music is tied directly to a life-altering moment.

“There was a point in my life where I was starting my transition and I was really confused about whether it was something I wanted,” she recalled. “I remember I was driving from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh on I-76, it was 11 o’clock at night, really foggy. I listened to Preacher’s Daughter all the way through for the first time, and I just cried. That was the night I decided to transition. Listening to that album helped me make that decision.”

Now Luna has woven Cain’s shows into her own travels, with Portland as her third stop this summer and her hometown of Chicago as her final one.

For Nathan, who runs the Instagram account @ethelcaindaily, the magic isn’t just the music… it’s the friendships.

“I’ve seen her many, many times,” he said. “I’ve made all the best friends in the world through her music. And I was worried it was gonna change with the influx of new fans, but both Seattle and today… it’s been the same as it always was. That community is still there. I hope it stays that way for a really long time.”

Nathan has even run into Cain herself, once in a hotel lobby in Big Sur. “It was the best five minutes ever. Her team is great, her manager is great, her band is awesome. It’s really been a special thing.”

For everyone here, Ethel’s music found them when they needed it most. “It was the right person, right time,” Nathan said. “I would not be the same without it.”

In the last hours before gates opened, Cain’s voice spilled across the grounds as she soundchecked, her song “F**k Me Eyes” echoing faintly through the trees. Fans crowded the fence line, peering through gaps in the trees for a glimpse.

The moment carried the weight of ritual: a community gathered, baptized in rain, waiting for their prophet to appear. For many, the show would be another entry in a long list of cities, but the devotion remained singular. At Edgefield that night, the real performance had already begun long before Ethel Cain took the stage.