rOe: The Balancing Act of Adulthood | REVIEW #2

Ena Mori (stylized as ena mori) has always been ambitious with her work. The release of her self-titled debut EP in 2020 set the stage for her skills, a semi-laid-back introduction to who she was and what she could do. Two years later, she, along with longtime collaborator and producer Tim Marquez, released her boldest and loudest project, ‘DON’T BLAME THE WILD ONE!’  This year, Mori returns with something softer, geared more towards introspection than making a statement. She brings us rOe, an EP offering a colorful glimpse into the messy, uncertain journey of growing up.

The opening track, also titled rOe, reveals the bright world Mori has built. Much like fish roe, it feels fragile and innocent, as though you were waking up for the first time. The accompanying visualizer adds an extra layer of storytelling to an already bright sonic experience: Mori appears encased in a plastic egg, slowly awakening and marveling at the world above her. The egg itself isn’t perfect—it’s uneven, with sharp edges. It suggests that while Mori may now be an adult, she still carries a sense of childlike wonder and fragility.

Following the serenity of rOe is Portion Control, one of the EP’s first standout tracks. It appears strong at first, but beneath the surface lies something even we do not often admit out loud: desire. This track feels designed to consume you the same way our unrelenting wants and needs consume us. It’s meant to feel loud. It’s meant to be overwhelming. After all, what could be more confusing than wanting everything at once—and having to carefully portion it all out?

Portion Control ends on a tranquil note, leading into Heartache Generation, another highlight and a subtle nod to Mori’s bolder roots in ‘DON’T BLAME THE WILD ONE!’  The track announces itself confidently, but a closer listen reveals an overwhelmed protagonist struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of life. There’s a sense of restlessness and impulsivity under the guise of an upbeat track. It captures the pendulum swing of adulthood—how it moves from moments of stability and responsibility to sudden doubt, leaving you wondering if you’re doing anything right at all. So to cope with it, you dance: “So bad it’s perfect. Don’t you take my moment.”

Sink is one of the weaker tracks on the EP (though this may change if rOe were to become a full-length album in the future). Even so, it offers an honest look at adulthood: the difficulty of stepping into a new chapter while part of you remains rooted in the past, constantly measuring yourself against those who appear to have escaped that limbo. 

Trust Me—admittedly a favorite—is a beautiful follow-up to Sink. Lyrics like “All I ever really want is to feel a little better about myself” and “No more hurting, I just want you to trust me” resonate deeply, especially if you haven’t quite figured things out yet. The song feels like a necessary breakdown—a moment of catharsis that offers comfort amid inner contradictions, and a gentle plea to be handled with grace and trusted through the messiness of growth.

The EP closes with Cub. This track puts a heavy emphasis on the “inner child” theme that runs throughout the project. It’s a song about acknowledging your growth, and accepting the prospect of continuing to grow and change—still malleable, like clay you can mold until you’re content with what you have.