Photos by Jared Tinetti
ratbag didn’t wait for permission to become an artist. Before the stage name, there was Sophie – an artist who has carved out a lane all her own, blending raw lyricism with indie charm and a streak of soft-anarchy that’s impossible to fake.
Now, with her new EP kissing under an almost full moon released to the world — ratbag is ready to prove she’s not just here to sing songs. She’s here to tell stories that don’t ask for permission.
We sat down with ratbag to talk love and horror, queerness, and the strange magic of songwriting.
Q: Your EP title “kissing under an almost full moon” has such a bittersweet feeling to it—almost perfect, but not quite. How does this title reflect the themes you’re exploring in your music?
A: My music always has some sort of juxtaposition to it and contradicts itself throughout the sounds and lyrics I use. I like to create intentional imperfections during my process too—anything to reflect the way I experience being myself.
Q: You’ve described your EP as exploring the “love and horror” of modern womanhood. Can you tell us more about what sparked this concept?
A: The love and horror of womanhood stems from my experience of growing into myself as a woman, discovering my sexuality, and understanding the way I’m viewed by the world. There is so much beauty in it and also so much fear surrounding it—and each song explores this in its own individual way.
Q: You’ve mentioned a pivotal moment in developing the “love and horror” concept came after Sydney Mardi Gras this year, when a security guard let you into a party with a gross comment. Can you share more about how that influenced the concept?
A: Love and horror came with a slap in the face that night. It was an important moment for me—how a night that felt so powerful and safe could instantly become unsafe and uncomfortable from just one comment. I’ll always remember the feeling of pure disgust and the sudden drop in my stomach. Unfortunately, comments like that are common, but I hoped this night would be an exception.
Q: How do those jarring transitions influence your creative process?
A: Everything I experience—good or bad—feeds into my creative process. I write about how things make me feel, and that feeling ends up in the music. Every song is a reflection of how I felt in a specific space or moment in time.
Q: “LWYDTM” deals with cycles of desire and self-loathing. What made you want to explore that emotional terrain, and how did you translate it into music?
A: I think LWYDTM is more relatable than people expect. It’s about yearning—wanting to sleep in someone’s bones and look through their eyes, while trying so hard to act normal about it. Writing it came very naturally. I didn’t overthink it—it was raw, and I think that shows.
Q: In “juliet & juliet,” you celebrate ride-or-die relationships. How important have those been in your life, and how do they balance the “horror” elements?
A: I think the horrors of life aren’t so bad when you have someone with you to offset them. Juliet is that friend or lover who flips off the catcaller or pushes the weird guy away at a party. The Juliets of the world just make every room safer and better to exist in.
Q: “King of Kingston” confronts male entitlement. Was there a specific catalyst for this track, and what do you hope listeners take from it?
A: With everything happening in the world, it’s not hard to see where I drew inspiration. I had this clear image of big baby men in tuxedos crying and carelessly pressing big red (and very important) buttons. Turning that visual into a song was fun. I hope people find some humour in it, but also a place for their anger to live and thrive.
Q: As a queer artist from New Zealand, how has your cultural background and identity shaped your perspective on womanhood and the themes in this EP?
A: This is the period in my life where who I am has started to really bleed through into my music—especially in this EP. I’ve had some of my most vulnerable moments during the writing process, and I’ve definitely felt the growing pains of becoming a woman.
Q: The juxtaposition of “love and horror” feels particularly relevant to women’s and queer experiences today. How do you balance celebrating joy while acknowledging struggle?
A: I don’t think I’m great at balancing it—I just take it as it comes. I enjoy time with my friends, where I feel safe and comfortable, but that never really softens the blow when the outside world makes me feel unsafe or uncomfortable.
Q: Your music holds space for complex, sometimes contradictory emotions. Is that intentional, and how do you hope listeners connect with that?
A: That’s interesting to hear. I write really intuitively, so sometimes it just comes out as a mix of thoughts and feelings that might contradict, agree, or even argue with each other.
Q: Which song on the EP was the most emotionally challenging to write, and why?
A: Lose Her was definitely the hardest. It’s a song written to myself from myself, saying things I usually wouldn’t admit. It’s a great example of that juxtaposition I love—the lyrics are some of the saddest I’ve written, but they’re dressed up in a sound that hides that a bit.
Q: How has your approach to writing and producing changed since your previous work? What new territory did you explore with this EP?
A: I’ve always been drawn to the production side, but my interest in it really grew while making this EP. The lyrics, too, come from a deep place of self-exploration, confusion, and vulnerability. I expressed that in ways I haven’t before.
Q: Ramona Magazine focuses on feminist culture—what changes would you like to see in the music industry to better support women and queer artists?
A: I think the industry is improving, but it still needs more inclusive spaces and stronger advocates—especially for young women. While I’ve had mostly positive experiences, I think it’s essential to create safe, informed, and supportive environments for young women entering this often overwhelming industry.
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