Ravin Marie Explores Love, Self-Discovery, and Emotional Connection on “The Depths”

Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Ravin Marie is diving into the complexities of love and self-discovery with her new single, “The Depths.”

Blending cinematic indie pop, ethereal vocals, and atmospheric electronic production, the release explores the beauty of emotional vulnerability and the freedom that comes from learning to understand yourself.

Originally written in her Los Angeles apartment on an acoustic guitar with unconventional tuning, “The Depths” began as an imagined love story. Ravin Marie envisioned a future relationship built on genuine intimacy, emotional connection, and the desire to be fully understood.

After heartbreak and personal growth, Ravin Marie began recognizing that the connection she had been searching for externally was just as important within herself. Musically, “The Depths” reflects that transformation through delicate piano, ambient textures, expressive vocals, and electronic elements that create an immersive emotional atmosphere.

After exploring different production approaches, Ravin Marie connected with Brendan Paulhus of Brevin Kim, whose interpretation finally captured the emotional weight she envisioned.

“I've never felt more understood or more aligned in my music,” Ravin Marie shares.

That creative breakthrough reinforces the song's central message: meaningful connection begins with honesty, both with others and ourselves.

Beyond the single, Ravin Marie continues to expand her artistic universe with an original zine featuring poetry, photography, lyrics, and visual art. An upcoming immersive performance will further connect these disciplines through an original short film, spoken-word performance, and live music, including two previously unreleased songs.

With “The Depths,” Ravin Marie transforms a personal journey into something universally relatable, reminding listeners that the love we're searching for sometimes begins with the person looking back at us.

“The Depths” originally began as a love story about finding emotional connection in another person, but its meaning evolved into something much more personal. What was the turning point when you realized the song was actually revealing something about your relationship with yourself?

I originally wrote “The Depths” from the perspective of this almost fantasy-like love story. I was imagining what it would feel like to find that kind of connection with someone, to be fully seen and understood by another person. I wrote it on my acoustic guitar in my apartment, and at the time, I think I was writing about a lot of things I wanted to experience.

But life happened, and I went through heartbreak. Somewhere in that process, the song started to mean something completely different to me. I realized I had been looking for so much of that love and validation outside of myself that I hadn't really stopped to consider what it meant to give those things to myself.

It took time to understand that shift. I don't think there was one specific moment where everything clicked. It was more like I kept coming back to the song and realizing I was hearing myself differently. The person I had originally imagined singing it to started to look a lot more like me.

That's what I love about songwriting. Sometimes you write something before you fully understand what you're trying to say. “The Depths” became a reminder that loving yourself doesn't mean you don't want love from someone else. You can still want that connection and believe in it while learning not to abandon yourself in the process. To me, that's where the freedom is.

You worked with different producers before Brendan Paulhus of Brevin Kim created a version that finally aligned with your vision. What had been missing from those earlier interpretations, and what did Brendan understand about the song that made this collaboration feel different?

I think what was missing was the feeling I had in my head when I first wrote it. The song was really personal to me, and I knew there was something bigger inside of it, but I couldn't quite get it across sonically. I didn't want to lose the intimacy of where it started, but I also didn't want it to stay in that stripped-back space. I wanted it to feel like you were entering another world.

I'd shared it with different producers, and I appreciated the different interpretations, but I think I was still searching for someone who understood the emotional weight of the song without needing to overexplain it.

Brendan came into the picture pretty organically. We'd crossed paths at a pool spot, and he asked me to send him the song. Within a few days, he sent me his version, and I remember feeling like he understood the direction I had been trying to articulate. He heard the atmosphere in it. He understood that the production needed to feel cinematic and expansive while still leaving room for the vulnerability in my voice.

What made it different was that it didn't feel like I had to convince him of what the song could be. He brought his own perspective to it while still understanding the heart of what I'd written. That balance is really important to me. I want to collaborate with people who challenge me creatively, but who also respect the original feeling behind something.

It felt like the song finally had room to breathe.

The song began with an unconventional guitar tuning in your Los Angeles apartment before evolving into a cinematic production. How did that original guitar arrangement influence the emotional direction of the final recording, and what elements were most important to preserve?

I was playing around with an unconventional tuning, which gave the song this really unique feeling. I wasn't necessarily thinking about production or how it would eventually sound. I was just following something that felt right.

I think that beginning is important because the song came from a very raw, almost private place. It was me trying to put a feeling into words before I fully understood what that feeling was. The guitar arrangement had this natural, almost otherworldly quality to it, and I wanted to preserve that sense of being somewhere between reality and imagination.

As the song developed, I knew I wanted to expand that feeling rather than replace it. The piano, ambient textures, electronic elements, and cinematic instrumentation helped create a world around the original idea. But I never wanted the production to become so big that you lost the person sitting alone with a guitar at the beginning of it all.

For me, the most important thing to preserve was the intimacy. Even when the song opens up sonically, I want you to feel like you're inside someone's thoughts. I love music that can make you feel like you're watching a film, but somehow the film is happening inside your own head.

That's what I hoped “The Depths” could become: something expansive enough to get lost in, but personal enough to find yourself in.

Your songwriting often explores vulnerability, isolation, and the desire to feel understood. Has creating music helped you become more comfortable with parts of yourself that you previously struggled to accept, and how has that relationship changed over time?

I would say yes and no. Writing has always been one of the ways I process things I don't necessarily know how to say out loud. A lot of my songs come from feelings I'm still trying to understand myself.

I think music has helped me understand myself on a deeper level, but understanding yourself and accepting yourself are two very different things. Sometimes I can recognize where a feeling comes from, why I react a certain way, or why certain things affect me so deeply, but that doesn't mean I've completely learned how to accept those parts of myself.

I think that's something I'm still working on. Writing gives me the space to look at myself honestly, even when what I find isn't necessarily something I'm comfortable with. It allows me to sit with those feelings instead of immediately trying to fix them or push them away.

I don't think creating music means you suddenly have everything figured out. Sometimes I'm writing from a place of clarity, and other times I'm writing because I'm trying to find it. I think both are equally important.

Ultimately, I want my art to be honest. I don't want to create from the perspective of someone who has all the answers, because I don't. I'm still learning who I am, and I think that's something I'll continue to explore through my writing. Maybe acceptance isn't always about completely loving every part of yourself, but learning to be honest about those parts without feeling like you have to hide them.

You're developing an immersive experience combining an original short film, spoken word, visual art, and live music. What inspired you to move beyond a traditional concert format, and what do you hope audiences will discover about your creative world through this experience?

I'm a songwriter, but I'm also a poet and a visual artist. I take photos, make art, write constantly, and find inspiration in the little details of everyday life. A lot of those things end up living in separate places, even though they all come from the same person.

I wanted to create something where those worlds could exist together. Instead of just performing songs one after another, I want to bring people into the world those songs came from. I've been imagining it almost like a little movie, where the spoken word, visuals, art, and live performances all connect and build on one another.

The idea behind “The Depths” is especially personal because it's about looking inward, confronting the things we carry, and discovering something new about ourselves in the process. I want the experience to reflect that. I want it to feel intimate and immersive, almost like people are stepping into my journals and getting to experience the thoughts, images, and feelings that eventually became the music.

I'm interested in the space between things, too. The silence before a song starts, a line of poetry that changes how you hear the next lyric, an image that stays with you longer than you expect. Those moments can be just as meaningful as the performance itself.

Ultimately, I don't want people to feel like they've simply watched me play a set. I want them to leave feeling like they've experienced something, maybe even discovered something about themselves along the way.

I think the most beautiful thing art can do is make something deeply personal feel universal. My life and my perspective are the starting point, but once I share the work, it becomes something that belongs to the person experiencing it, too. That's the connection I'm hoping to create.