"Coast Calling" by Ratwyfe (Review)

This review is long overdue; I have been excited to get Jasper (aka Ratwyfe) featured on my site for a long time.  What a perfect opportunity to discuss their EP, “Coast Calling”, which was released on June 5th, 2025.  This release is a love letter to home, childhood, and coming to terms with distance but staying true to yourself and knowing that home will always be a part of you.  Ratwyfe is a queer singer-songwriter based in Philadelphia that makes indie-folk music.  He found great popularity when the song “Cryptid (Mothman)” was released in 2020 and went viral.  Jasper had some tidbits he wanted to share in regards to this release:

“This album is about my relationship with my birthplace, Guam/Guåhan, where I lived for the first 15 years of my life. Much of the bittersweetness and yearning of the album is influenced by the fact that Guam is overly militarized and suffering under the hand of the US government/irresponsible land developers/a crashing economy due to corrupt local government.  And I got a shark tattoo for this album!”  

I appreciate this information as I feel it greatly benefits everyone’s listening experience to have a little bit of insight into what this work means to the creator; especially that of something so personal.  

Aquarium Music:

Don’t get me wrong, I think all lyricism is poetry in its own way.  However, you need to truly believe me when I say THIS song is poetry with music accompanying it.  This song uses a whale shark in captivity as a metaphor for stagnation, self-actualization, and a need for transcendence.  There are themes of figuring out their current place in the world and where they want to be, and even a literal and metaphorical self-reflection, most notably in the lyrics “whale shark (overcomes fear of own reflection, realizes that the panes were never heavy enough to hold it hostage) breaks glass”.  The image of a whale shark trapped in an artificial environment is used to explore containment, identity, and the illusion of boundaries.  Even for a short opening track, the lyricism does a lot of work at setting the scene and atmosphere of this EP.  The soft picking of the strings and vibrant echoes and reverb of background sound really flesh out the mix to create a sound that feels like being bundled up in blankets on top of a waterbed.  These sounds are consistent for, more or less, the entire EP, which gives it a very cohesive and deliberate feel.  

“Gasps of water

swallow lifeblood

at what point does a being

so grand feel

like a 2000s aquarium nightlight painting a bathroom

blue enrichment for a god-like species”

This stanza suggests a being that should be powerful but is instead barely sustaining itself.  Its “lifeblood” is swallowed by an environment that keeps it alive but empties its meaning.  A whale shark, something enormous, awe-inspiring, and evolved to roam vast oceans, is reduced to a decoration; something to be gawked at, or passively acknowledged in passing, or completely ignored on occasion.  The shark being related to a nightlight makes it feel plastic, unreal, and mass-produced, which is unfortunately a reality with all of these problematic aquariums that are purely for profit and entertainment, not actual rehabilitation or environmental sustainability.  “Blue enrichment for a god-like species” sharpens the critique: humans, being the “god-like species”, manipulate other beings for our aesthetic or emotional benefit. “Enrichment” is a term used in captivity contexts to keep animals stimulated, highlighting how artificially constructed such environments are.

“In, filter, out

at what point does a big fish realize

the size of its tiny pond?

in, filter, out”

Utilizing “big fish” and “tiny pond” is a cliché revitalized here: what happens when something vast becomes aware of its own compression?  There are lots of suggestions towards self-awareness, especially with an acknowledgement of the fact that captivity is not just physical but cognitive.  Repeating “in, filter, out” after raising the question emphasizes that even awareness might not free one from routine.  This stanza deepens the existentialism of the song and says realization does not necessarily unlock escape.  “Aquarium Music” is a meditation on captivity, whether it be physical, psychological, and existential, told through the image of a whale shark trapped in an artificial, too-small world. The song uses the aquarium as a metaphor for any life lived within imposed limits, whether those limits come from society, circumstance, or one’s own internal fears.  Majesty is reduced to decoration; the sublime becomes a bathroom nightlight; routine becomes a filtration cycle of “in, filter, out.” The whale shark’s potential liberation is framed briefly as a triumph, but the song quickly undercuts that hope by returning to the cycle, suggesting that even after awareness or escape, the patterns of captivity linger.  Overall, the piece reflects on how beings built for vastness can be diminished by small environments, and how hard it is to recognize one’s confinement, let alone break free from it. It is about the quiet violence of enclosure, the yearning for self-realization, and the unsettling possibility that even freedom may still sound like “aquarium music.”

I Don’t Fear The Coast I Fear That I Am Not Its Daughter:

The instrumentals of “Aquarium Music” persist into track two, linking the songs of this EP together as one whole.  The lyrics are no longer spoken, but beautifully sung and matching the vibes and energy of the track perfectly.  Before we dive in (pun fully intended), I’d like to quickly acknowledge the incredible cover that Signal Valley did of this song for Volume 1 of our “CD-ROM Rabbit Hole Cover Compilation Album”.  You can listen to that HERE and you can read my interview with Signal Valley HERE!  

“Are there sharks in the deep end?

I won’t know til I dive in

there is no ‘dip your feet in’

I’m gonna sink or I’m gonna swim

but at least I’ll know

how far down it goes”

This stanza sets up the central metaphor of entering the unknown as a decisive act.  Uncertainty is inevitable, you learn only through immersion, not through caution.  Things like identity, transformation, and self-discovery cannot be approached halfway; these things demand total commitment.  This stanza emphasizes curiosity outweighing fear.  The need to understand the depths of oneself, or of some calling, matters more than safety.  This beginning positions the song as a narrative of confronting a deep internal calling despite its risks.

“I’ve been so afraid of drowning

the thought sits on my chest

so worried I’ll lose oxygen

that I can’t take a breath

my thrashing limbs

have kept me afloat”

In this second stanza, the theme of fear becomes physical and psychological.  The phrases “afraid of drowning” and “the thought sits on my chest” evoke anxiety, a fear that prevents action before anything even happens.  “So worried I'll lose oxygen that I can't take a breath” captures a paradox: fear of suffocation leads to self-suffocation.  

“The ocean waves from home

every time I look into the water

and one day its tides will take me to her shores

I don't fear the coast,

I fear that I am not its daughter

as the sea calls out my name forevermore”

The chorus hits with an incredibly emotional impact and flows beautifully, both lyrically and musically.  This is the most poetic and mythic stanza so far. The ocean becomes a mother figure, introducing ideas of origin, belonging, and destiny. The narrator isn’t afraid of death, transformation, or the “coast” itself.  The true fear is that of not belonging to it, of not being worthy of the place calling them. This suggests deep insecurity about identity: Am I meant for this? Is the place I long for also meant for me?  The phrase “calls out my name forevermore” implies an unignorable pull toward purpose, creativity, a person, or self-realization.

Float My Message:

We have another spoken-word track that gives more context into this concept as well as the inner workings of the narrator’s mind.  The instrumental is slightly different but still very cohesive with the overall sound of the EP.  Another short poem to music, clocking in at only fifty-four seconds long, but serving its purpose absolutely.  

“It has been six years

every time I touch the ocean it is in reference to you

I shiver

(in her grey new jersey waters)

in anticipation

for a future where I can return”

The poem begins with a marker of time, a quiet but heavy announcement of long absence. The ocean becomes a memorial object: every interaction with it is framed by the memory of a person. Touching water becomes an act of remembrance. The parenthetical is small but powerful.  It grounds the scene in a physical place and sets a tone of muted melancholy. “Grey” waters suggest murkiness, coldness, lack of clarity, matching the emotional state.  The speaker shivers, possibly from the cold but more likely from emotional intensity. “Anticipation for a future where I can return” indicates longing, and importantly, the “return” is not necessarily physical.  It could be a return to a person, or to a self that existed before loss.

“The water is dark

but oh how blue

the sky is

the air

is so warm

so I wade deeper and I try to make conversation”

This stanza contrasts opposing sensory qualities: “dark” water vs. “blue” sky; warm air vs. cold memory in the first stanza. This layering of opposites evokes emotional dissonance.  The speaker exists between comfort and discomfort, warmth and darkness, the present and the past.  The line “so I wade deeper and I try to make conversation” personifies the ocean or the memory the ocean represents. The speaker is trying to reconnect and speak across a divide. There’s also an implication that the sea once responded, or that the relationship the speaker associates with the sea once felt reciprocal.

“She has a different accent to what i can remember

colder

sharper

less forgiving

I am older, now

and we have grown apart”

The ocean becomes a “she,” taking on a voice, an “accent.” This suggests that the sea once spoke differently to the speaker, or that the speaker has changed so much that it now sounds unfamiliar. Describing the accent as “colder”, “sharper”, and “less forgiving” implies emotional distance.  The revelation “I am older, now and we have grown apart” lands heavily.  The speaker isn’t just talking about the ocean’s changing character but about themselves in relation to their past, or to the person the ocean symbolizes. Perhaps the person being addressed is gone, changed, or simply unreachable. The grief becomes clearer; the world that once held that relationship now feels foreign.  The poem ends with an act of hope, a plea, not to be carried home, but to have a message carried home, “please, I beg, float my message home”.  The speaker doesn’t ask to return, but for their words to reach the place or the person associated with “home.” It evokes imagery of messages in bottles, prayers sent into the ocean, attempts to communicate with someone who cannot otherwise be reached.  The ocean becomes a mediator between worlds, between past and present, between life and memory, between the speaker and someone lost.  The simplicity of the final two lines, after the previous stanza’s emotional flood, creates a haunting quiet.  The lyrics of this song are an elegy disguised as a conversation with the sea. Its power comes from its restrained language paired with vivid sensory detail. The ocean is both physical and metaphorical, a body of water, a memory, and a stand-in for someone gone.

Home:

This piece is a personal, emotionally vulnerable exploration of longing, displacement, financial precarity, and an aching relationship with both “home” and “mother.” The ocean appears again as a symbolic connector, an emotional geography tying the speaker to origins they can’t comfortably return to.

“I think I'm too far from home

well, if home is where the heart is

my chest is pretty close

but it’s miles from where my mom lives”

This opening plays with the cliché “home is where the heart is,” twisting it into bittersweet irony. The speaker’s literal heart is close, physically in their body, but the emotional anchor tied to “home” is far away. The chest/home juxtaposition creates a sharp divide between bodily presence and emotional groundedness.  By ending with “where my mom lives,” the stanza immediately establishes motherhood as a central emotional figure. The distance isn’t just geographic; it’s relational, psychological, and symbolic. “Mom” represents childhood, safety, origin, or perhaps unresolved tension.  

“The ocean waves from home

every time I set foot in its water

and one day the tides will take me

to her shores

was I so built to roam

if every day I hear her calling?

saying come before I’m not here anymore”

This stanza is emphasized by the addition of some ukulele strumming and it directly mirrors the chorus of “I Don’t Fear The Coast…”, continuing the synergy felt across this entire release.  This refrain is rich with symbolism. The ocean “waves from home”, a clever double meaning: literal waves and a gesture of greeting. The ocean becomes an envoy of home, a living messenger. Every step into the water feels like stepping closer to an origin.  There’s a powerful juxtaposition between inevitability and invitation.  The speaker wonders if they were “built to roam,” or if wandering has just been a reaction to displacement. The call “come before I'm not here anymore” adds urgency, introducing a fear of ephemeral opportunity, such as a mother aging, a home changing, the realization that childhood spaces disappear.  The “her” in “her shores” may refer to the ocean, to mother, or to a personified idea of home itself. The ambiguity adds emotional complexity.

“Can’t catch a flight home

I would have to catch a break first

two thousand bucks to go

better sell some fucking tshirts

I just wanna go (home)

I just wanna go (home)

please, i just wanna go (home)”

These two stanzas ground the emotional longing in painfully mundane reality. Financial insecurity is a barrier to reconciling with home. The reference to selling shirts is loose but conversational, mirroring the exasperated, resigned tone.  It reveals frustration with capitalism, with grinding survival, with the idea that returning home is cost-prohibitive. The dream of home isn’t just emotionally fraught, it’s economically inaccessible.  This stanza adds a social dimension: displacement isn’t just emotional, it’s structural.  The second half of this section strips away metaphor and narrative complexity. It is a cry. The “home” in parenthesis functions like an echo, either internally whispered to oneself or external, like a voice calling back.  The repetition emphasizes emotional exhaustion and longing. It feels like the climax of vulnerability and all subtext becomes text.  There’s a childlike simplicity to the phrasing, underscoring how “home” often symbolizes a return to safety, innocence, and unconditional acceptance, which are all things the speaker doubts they ever had.

The Amusement Park Is Closed:

We literally close the EP with imagery of a closed amusement park.  The song meets in the middle between the fluctuation of spoken-word versus sung lyrics, beginning with a profound spoken-word section and is quickly followed by vocals.  

“Precious memories of youth

sold at a discount

one final time

hold me tightly

on the worst rollercoaster in the world

scared to crush my little body as we whip around its tiny track

I know it is smaller than i remember

I am taller than you remember

but please, one final time

in this moment I am eight years

old once again

dragging an exhausted mother from ride to ride

where she will watch her only child

blast off and end up right back where she was”

As a single continuous passage, this opening becomes a sweeping emotional panorama, beginning with the blunt devaluation of childhood and flowing directly into an extended memory at an amusement park.  The metaphor of childhood as a cheapened commodity sets the stage for the track’s entire emotional arc.  The speaker’s youth feels disposable to the adult world, or perhaps to time itself.  The rollercoaster section introduces both physical imagery and emotional metaphor. The ride is described as “the worst rollercoaster in the world,” yet deeply meaningful because of who the speaker shared it with. The fear of crushing their “little body” is tender and protective; the adult speaker now understands the precariousness of that moment in retrospect.  Lines like  “I know it is smaller than I remember, I am taller than you remember” capture the painful mismatch between past and present. The world shrank; the speaker grew. Childhood spaces no longer match the emotional scale they once had.  The final portion returns to age eight, dragging an exhausted mother from ride to ride.  This becomes a miniature narrative of childhood exuberance contrasted with parental fatigue. “Blast off and end up right back where she was” mirrors the rollercoaster’s circular track and hints at the adult’s emotional state.  Despite movement, they return to the same emotional place, still orbiting childhood memories and maternal connection.

“If nothing ever changes,

then why is everything I loved all gone?

If nobody is growing

then why has everyone I love moved on?”

This stanza presents two paradoxes that articulate the central emotional crisis: the speaker feels unchanged, but the world around them has evolved. The rhetorical questions reveal deep confusion and grief. These lines confront the universal experience of returning home to find that time has altered everything except the longing inside you.

“The amusement park is closed

the stores are all cleaned out

and I left long before

it was my home to cry about”

Here, the amusement park becomes a full metaphor for childhood itself, no longer functional, emptied out, permanently unavailable. The speaker’s confession “I left long before it was my home to cry about” is the emotional strike.  They didn’t appreciate their childhood until it was gone. There is guilt, regret, and awareness that their mourning is belated.

“If everything has faded

then why are all my memories so crisp?

Everything is smaller

but I never agreed to get so big”

This stanza deepens the tension between the fading of physical places and the sharpness of remembered emotion.  The memories remain vivid because they are preserved by longing, not by reality.  “Everything is smaller” reflects the literal shrinking of spaces once huge to a child, while "I never agreed to get so big” expresses resentment of adulthood. It’s not just nostalgia, it’s a feeling of betrayal by time itself.

“Oh, to yearn for a home

that didn’t notice my leaving it

to long to be somewhere

that no longer exists”

This is a perfect closing sentiment, not just for the track, but for the EP. It encapsulates the overarching themes of longing, invisibility, and the impossibility of return.  “A home that didn’t notice my leaving” suggests emotional neglect or simply the natural indifference of places and people to one person’s departure. It stings because it reveals the speaker’s desire not just for home, but for being missed, for proof of belonging.  The final line is a universal cry of adulthood. It acknowledges that the home they seek is not geographic; it is temporal. They are grieving time, not just a place.

“Coast Calling” by Ratwyfe is a beautifully poetic, cohesive EP about what “home” means, how to cope with the distance (both geographical and emotional), and finding comfort in identifying oneself and coming to terms with aging.  I hope you enjoyed this review, and I hope you take the time to listen to this EP, as well as all of Ratwyfe’s other music HERE!

( https://linktr.ee/ratwyfe )