Comatose Red Ivy is an artist who doesn’t just create music — they document survival, rebirth, and the ongoing fight to stay authentic in a world that often resists difference. With the release of their two latest singles, the explosive “Story of Time” and the emotionally charged “Tragic Love Story,” Ivy steps into a bold new era defined by vulnerability, philosophical depth, and fearless self-expression.
Following the excellent 2024 album One Last Look and impactful singles such as “54 Violent Offenses,” “Tranny Wreck 2,” and their haunting acoustic rendition of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” Ivy continues to push boundaries with music that blends raw emotion, sharp storytelling, and unapologetic truth.
In this exclusive interview, they open up about their transformation, the origins of their latest songs, the evolution of their artistry, and what fans can expect next from one of the most compelling and visionary trans voices in today’s independent music scene.
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Comatose Red Ivy, thank you so much for taking the time for this interview! We are thrilled to know more about your latest projects, so let’s start with your single “Story of Time”. This song is one of your most emotionally piercing releases yet. You’ve described it as a pre-awakening prophecy written during your darkest moments. Can you tell us more about this track?
Story of Time was written long before I understood what I was actually saying. I always call it a pre-awakening prophecy because it came from a place deeper than survival—it came from the version of me that already knew where I was headed, even when I didn’t.
When I wrote it, I was in one of the darkest points of my life. I felt disconnected from myself, from reality, from any sense of identity. But the crazy thing is, the lyrics didn’t come out hopeless— they came out wise, like they were trying to guide me through a future I hadn’t reached yet. Almost like my soul left breadcrumbs for me to find later.
Looking back now, Story of Time feels like a message from the version of me that would eventually awaken—Comatose Red Ivy. It’s about realizing that time isn’t just something we live through; it’s something that shapes us, strips us, destroys us, and then rebuilds us if we’re brave enough to face it. It’s the moment right before you shed your old name, your old identity, your old survival mechanisms. The song is the tension between who I was and who I was becoming.
People might think it’s sad, but to me it’s beautiful—it’s the sound of a soul trying to wake up.
The lyrics of “Story of Time” read like a raw diary entry — vulnerable, existential, brutally honest. What was the moment or event that pushed you to write this song originally, and what made you decide the world was finally ready to hear it now?
The moment that pushed me to write Story of Time wasn’t a single event — it was the collapse of everything I thought I was. I was losing myself in every direction: identity, relationships, purpose, even reality felt thin. I didn’t write the song as an artist trying to make music; I wrote it like someone trying to understand why they were still alive.
It came out like a diary entry because that’s what it was — a confession I never expected anyone to hear. At the time, I wasn’t writing to release anything. I was writing to survive. It was me trying to map out the storm inside me, trying to figure out what was real and what was just the weight of trauma talking.
Your delivery in “Story of Time” is intense and visceral, full of urgency and emotional fire. How did you approach performing such deeply personal material without letting it emotionally overwhelm you?
I didn’t try to avoid being overwhelmed — I let myself be. That’s the only way a song like Story of Time could exist. When something is that personal, you can’t perform it with a safe distance. You have to step into it, let it burn you a little, and trust that you’ll come out the other side.
The intensity in my delivery comes from a very real place: I recorded it while I was still breaking apart, still trying to understand myself. It wasn’t a performance; it was a release. I approached the vocals like someone writing their final letter to themselves — honest, shaky, raw, but necessary.
Your new single, “Tragic Love Story,” released just yesterday, has a completely different emotional landscape but still carries your signature vulnerability. How do these two tracks connect to one another in your mind? Do they represent different chapters in the same transformation?
Story of Time and Tragic Love Story feel like they’re on opposite sides of the same transformation. Story of Time is the collapse — the moment where you realize everything familiar is slipping through your fingers and you don’t know who you’re going to be when it’s over. It’s existential, spiritual, almost prophetic.
Tragic Love Story is different. It isn’t about losing yourself — it’s about losing someone you loved while trying to hold onto what was left of you. It’s more human, more immediate, but still just as vulnerable. If Story of Time is me speaking from the storm inside my mind, Tragic Love Story is me speaking from the wreckage of my heart.
The connection between them is this: both songs capture a version of me that was breaking so I could become someone new. One is the internal fracture, the identity unraveling. The other is the emotional cost of letting go of someone who couldn’t come with me.
Fans feel that these songs may be hinting at a new full-length project. With “Story of Time” and “Tragic Love Story” now out in the world, is a new album on the horizon — and if so, what themes would it explore?
I’ll say this: Story of Time and Tragic Love Story are definitely clues. They’re not random singles — they’re pieces of a much bigger picture. I’m writing a full-length album called Shadow Work, but it’s not the kind of shadow work people romanticize online. It’s not depression for the sake of poetry. It’s not suffering without direction.
This album is the aftermath — the metamorphosis, the integration, the rebirth.
For most of my life, I wrote from the collapse, from not knowing who I was, from trying to survive my own mind. Shadow Work is different. It’s the sound of coming out the other side alive. It’s the moment where the darkness stops being the enemy and becomes the teacher.
Your 2024 album One Last Look was a turning point, featuring songs like “Have To Let Go” and “Taken for Granted.” Looking back, what did that album unlock in you artistically, and how have you evolved since its release?
One Last Look was exactly what the title says — a final glance back at everything I had been carrying. That album wasn’t written to impress anyone; it was written because I needed to face myself. Songs like Have To Let Go and Taken for Granted weren’t just stories — they were confessions. They were me taking one last look at my mistakes, the people I hurt, and the versions of myself I didn’t want to be anymore.
Artistically, that album unlocked honesty without disguise. It taught me that vulnerability wasn’t a weakness — it was the doorway to becoming who I actually am. I stopped writing from the surface and started writing from the wound itself.
But the real shift came after its release. When I look back now, I can see that One Last Look was me letting the pain consume me so I could finally release the guilt and shame I’d been dragging for years. It was the end of a chapter — the closing of a book I didn’t need to keep rereading.
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Your songwriting often deals with identity, exile, rebirth, and survival. Has your relationship with these themes changed now that you’re in what you describe as your “awakening era”?
My relationship with those themes has changed completely. For most of my life, I wrote about identity, exile, rebirth, and survival because I was fighting them. I was writing from the middle of the storm — trying to make sense of why everything felt like it was collapsing and why I felt like a stranger to myself.
Back then, identity was something I was chasing.
Exile was something that hurt.
Rebirth felt impossible.
Survival was the only goal.
But now, in what I call my awakening era, those themes don’t feel like wounds anymore — they feel like wisdom.
In your message about “Story of Time,” you talk about documenting your transformation rather than simply creating music. What part of your transformation feels most important to capture at this moment — the pain, the rebirth, or the becoming?
Right now, the part of my transformation that feels most important to capture isn’t the pain or even the rebirth — it’s the becoming.
Pain is easy to document. Anyone can write from suffering when they’re drowning in it. And rebirth is beautiful, but it’s fleeting — it’s a moment, a spark, a realization.
But becoming… becoming is the part nobody talks about.
It’s the long, uncomfortable, sacred middle.
It’s the place where the old self has already died, but the new self isn’t fully formed yet.
It’s the part where you’re rebuilding your identity from truth instead of trauma.
That’s where I am right now.
You’ve experimented with many sounds — from hip-hop to rock to acoustic grunge, like your powerful cover of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” How do you decide which sonic world each story belongs to? Do the lyrics dictate the style, or does the style pull the story out?
I’ve never chosen a sound based on genre — I choose it based on what the lyrics demand. Every project I’ve made has been part of me digging for something to soothe the pain, the confusion, the collapse I was living through at the time. Each track was its own battle, and the sound always became whatever shape the emotion needed.
The lyrics are the core of everything I do. They’re the parts of me I’m exploring, revealing, or trying to understand. Once the words exist, they tell me what world they belong to — whether that’s hip-hop, rock, acoustic, or something in between. I don’t think in genres. I think in emotions, confessions, and truths.
As for my Smells Like Teen Spirit cover — that was pure boredom. I recorded it without overthinking anything. Honestly, I’m sure Kurt Cobain would hate it. But then again, he’s the same person who said, ‘Vandalism is as beautiful as a rock in a cop’s face.’ So if I destroyed the song in my own way… maybe that’s exactly why he’d love it.
At the end of the day, the style never comes first for me. The truth does. The lyrics decide everything.
Many listeners resonate deeply with how openly you confront fear, loneliness, abandonment, and self-doubt. What would you say to fans who see their own struggles reflected in “Story of Time”?
I’d tell them: hold on. Keep fighting. The hardest part about identity collapse, heartbreak, and feeling lost is that it tricks you into believing you’ll feel that way forever — but you won’t. Time and perseverance really are the keys. Healing isn’t sudden. It’s not pretty. Most days it doesn’t feel like progress at all. But staying alive long enough to see who you become on the other side is the most powerful thing you can do.
I’ve had long nights where I felt completely alone, where the weight of everything felt impossible. What saved me wasn’t pretending I was fine — it was finding outlets. Writing. Music. Reaching out for help when I needed it, even when it felt uncomfortable. And I want people to know that getting support doesn’t make you weak. Checking into a rehab, talking to a therapist, walking into a community center, even going to a hospital when you’re close to the edge — those are acts of courage, not failure. That’s resilience.
I hope no one ever has to suffer the way I did, but I know a lot of people are carrying their own storm. To them I’d say: take it one day at a time. Don’t measure your healing by what you feel today — measure it by the fact that you’re still here.
And if someone connects with Story of Time and sees themselves in it, they’re not alone. They can always reach out to me online. I’m not unreachable. I’m not above the people who listen to my music. I’m right there with them, just trying to make sense of all of this too.
Being a trans artist in today’s world comes with unique challenges, especially when navigating identity in an industry that can be unforgiving. How has your artistic journey helped you reclaim your identity and your voice?
My artistic journey didn’t just help me reclaim my identity — it helped me understand it beyond any label. People assume the hardest part of being a trans artist is society, but for me the biggest challenge wasn’t the outside world. It was the cages I didn’t realize I had built inside myself.
In the beginning, I clung to identity labels because I needed something to hold onto in the chaos. But over time, I realized even that was another form of confinement — another narrative I felt pressured to perform or defend. The more I awakened, the more I understood that my truth was bigger than gender, ideology, or any category people use to make sense of each other.
My book Cultural Warfare: Refugee goes way deeper into that. I talk about how culture — not individuals — radicalizes identity until it becomes a battlefield. And honestly, within that battlefield, everyone ends up turning on everyone, even within the same communities. It wasn’t society that pushed me to step back from gender ideology. It was the realization that culture tries to claim ownership over identities, even the ones meant to liberate us.
Art is what freed me from all of that.
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It was such a pleasure having you with us. Finally, I would like to ask you, looking ahead, what can fans expect next from Comatose Red Ivy? More singles, another album, new collaborations — or perhaps an entirely new era of sound and storytelling?
Everything I’m doing right now is leading into a new era — not just of sound, but of identity and storytelling. Fans can absolutely expect more singles, but they’re not just random releases. Each one is another piece of the transformation I’m documenting. And yes, a full album is coming. Shadow Work is the heart of everything I’m building next — not the suffering that created me, but the metamorphosis that saved me.
This next era is about clarity, consciousness, and becoming. It’s the first time I’m creating from the other side of the collapse, fully awake, fully present as Comatose Red Ivy. The sound is evolving too — darker, wiser, more cinematic, more intentional. I’m blending genres the way I blend identity: nothing boxed in, nothing confined.
I’m open to collaborations, but only if they match the depth of what I’m creating now. This phase of my life isn’t about chaos — it’s about truth. It’s about building a body of work that reflects the journey from identity destruction to identity rebirth.
So what can fans expect?
A new era.
A new sound.
A new honesty.
A continuation of the transformation they’ve watched me crawl through, burn through, and rise from.
This is just the beginning of who I’m becoming.
CHECK THE LINKS BELOW, DISCOVER MORE ABOUT COMATOSE RED IVY, AND REMEMBER TO ADD THIS TALENTED ARTIST’S SONGS TO YOUR FAVORITE PLAYLISTS!
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