On a grey, overcast Friday evening we made our way through the weeping willows of Bute Park to watch Ethel Cain (aka Hayden Anhedönia) headline Cardiff Castle. We wove through an immaculately dressed crowd who looked as though they’d emerged from a small town in the American South — adorned in white lace, sun‑faded black, camo, and hand‑poked tattoos.
We headed to the food stalls, settling on a gyros from Meat and Greek, and sat on the grass while we soaked up supporting act Bar Italia’s energetic indie‑rock on the big screens.
Looking around the castle grounds, it became clear what a perfect venue this was for Ethel Cain — moody, gothic, atmospheric, with dark earth underfoot and heavy clouds above. My white skirt dragged along the dirt as we walked, and it all felt so fitting.
We grabbed a drink from the world’s friendliest bar staff (barely any queues!) and made our way to the front of the stage. The anticipation was palpable — Ethel Cain fans are borderline religious devotees, and we had been waiting a long time for this moment. Dry grasses and mounds of earth framed the stage, with a scythe as the microphone stand, creating the perfect rural‑South pulpit.
Suddenly, eardrum‑shattering screams echoed around the grounds as Hayden and her band emerged, smiling and waving like we were old friends, opening with the haunting ‘Sunday Morning’, an unexpected but hungrily received choice from her first album Golden Age.
The cameras panned across faces streaming with tears; Hayden’s words reach right to the core and carry deep layers of meaning for her fans. I spotted more than a few tattoos pulled from her lyrics… “to love me is to suffer me”.
Hayden’s stage presence was natural, powerful, loving, and kind. Her ability to create a sense of belonging is unmatched, and watching her perform felt akin to a spiritual experience, staying true to the heavy religious themes woven through Ethel Cain’s work. They played many of their more popular tracks, including the saccharine ‘American Teenager’ and the devastatingly bittersweet ‘Nettles’, but didn’t shy away from their doom‑laden, hypnotic drone pieces like ‘Perverts’ and ‘Tempest’. The result was a fever dream — a journey through Hayden’s rich storytelling via auditory landscapes and poetry. It wasn’t always comfortable, but it always took you somewhere.
As cries for an encore reverberated around the castle, the band returned to play the upbeat ‘Crush’ before closing with the gut‑wrenching ‘Sun Bleached Flies’, the seven‑minute finale of her 2022 album Preacher’s Daughter. The song is a masterpiece on grief, trauma, and the afterlife, and the looping, swelling chants of “if it’s meant to be then it will be, I forgive it all as it comes back to me” seemed to summon the rain — a kind of magic unique to Hayden and the spells she weaves. We cried, and the sky cried with us.
Hayden spoke about the friendliness of the Welsh and described the setting as “the most amazing view I’ve ever had from stage”, promising she’d be back… and we can’t wait.
