Like his work as a visual artist, Bennett Coast’s music is a reflection of his surroundings and his youth. Huge vistas, grassy hills, the blue of the sea. Boys getting into fights in parking lots. A first kiss with someone you end up being really, really sweet on. All of it is deeply personal and felt. Much of Coast’s art is like this: defies easy categorization, embraces the coming, the going, the catharsis. He reaches for roots, the bottom-line harmonies of human experience. It makes sense: Coast is an inherently introspective person. Someone who grew up in the Bay Area suburbs and never quite fit in, getting into a few fights along the way. Someone who tried out film school but was already making videos at the age of seven. Music, for Coast, is an extension of all of his other artistic practices, all of which are connected, incredibly symbiotic. He learned how to make music specifically because he wanted to make music videos. Coast is growing, sinking into his seat, shaping the aches and sighs into a substance worth sharing—the result is something like an anchor, a pin to drop on a time in your life.