New Music Friday: Stream projects from Ethel Cain, Mark William Lewis, and more

Ethel Cain’s first project since her 2022 breakout Preacher’s Daughter is a curious piece of work. Perverts is both inaccessible enough to shake off the sizeable fanbase she has struggled to align with, while remaining singular in a way that tends to inspire devotion. The title track sounds like a transmission from space while “Pulldrone” starts with a spoken word intro before ushering in a swarm of buzzing synths that carry a threatening air. These represent Perverts — an epic crawl of an album with nearly half of the songs running over 10 minutes and nothing coming in under five — at its most unrelenting. Elsewhere, however, Hayden Anhedönia cracks a window and lets a little air in, including on the hushed and beautiful goth ballad “Vacillator” and stunning closer “Amber Waves.” It’s here where all metacommentary on what she is trying to do with this music ebbs away and the intimacy she excels in takes rightful focus.

Hear it: Spotify | Apple Music

In 2023, Mark William Lewis brought a bracing gust of the avant-garde to the stuffy, crowded field of dream pop with his debut album Living. The U.K songwriter’s debut album was reminiscent of Dean Blunt at his most heartfelt, but carved its own fog-lined lane, with the doleful electric guitar styles of Vini Reilly and Britpop melodies transformed into dirges. Sparkles 22-24, his new full-length, is billed as a mixtape, a collection of previously unreleased songs Lewis composed in the last two years. It ranges from fully completed tracks to loose sketches; the warm Elliot Smith-y “Anyone” and Lewis’s raw exploration of his shortcomings on “Little Wonder” wouldn’t disappoint if they were lead singles from his second album proper, while the instrumental tracks that comprise half of the tracklist are made even more spectral for the absence of Lewis’s voice. For both fans and newcomers alike, it’s a fascinating look at the topography of his world. — Jordan Darville

Buy it: Bandcamp

“It’s your god given duty to appreciate my booty,” opens Moonchild Sanelly on “Scrambled Eggs,” the first of several bombastically enthusiastic songs about stanning herself on her album Full Moon. The South African singer, rapper, and all-around gleaming personality — identified by her signature turquoise locs and distinctly chipper voice — isn’t ashamed to let you know how much of a prize she is: She’s the best cook in the kitchen, her backside can fuck up the world, she’s got the skills of a “tongue-twisted pelican.” But what’s best is that she wears her self-obsession without any pedantic empowerment; everything she says is just meant to be joyous, fun, sassy, of course, and outrageous. Because Full Moon is actually built for rinsing in the club with its high-powered Afro-funk sound that dips into Kwaito, a South African strain of house music, and hip-hop — and with Sanelly’s encouragement, you can easily go all night long. —Steffanee Wang

Hear it: Spotify | Apple Music

Iconic tape looper William Basinski and extreme minimalist Richard Chartier have come together several times over the years, melding their minds into a monomaniacal ambient force. On Aurora Terminalis, they start from a staticky seed that germinates slowly into a colossal energy field. Overtones echo out above a series of ebbing and flowing drones, slipping in and out of sync. Each sound feels like it’s being distilled at a molecular level, the air flooding with free electrons cleaved from their original atoms. And the air is always full of sound even when the drones fade, their half lives hissing on to fill the negative space. As the hour-long track moves into its last third, pulses develop and splinter. There’s no single standout factor that makes Aurora Terminalis so irresistible, but it will tug your attention like a tractor beam nevertheless. — Raphael Helfand

Hear it: Spotify | Apple Music | Bandcamp