Grief is not a straight line, and Mifarma’s “The Five Stages of Grief” makes no attempt to flatten it into one. Instead, the track unfolds in movements that mirror the messy, nonlinear way we live through loss. New York-based artist Danielle Alma Ravitzki, performing as Mifarma, has crafted a song that is less about mourning something specific and more about reflecting on the transformations that occur when our lives are split open.

What makes the track so affecting is its scope. Rather than focusing on absence alone, Ravitzki suggests that grief is also about identity — about who we were before pivotal experiences and who we become afterward. That idea is embedded in every layer of the song, from its lyrical fragments of memory to its textured, atmospheric production.

“The Five Stages of Grief” is not loud, nor does it rely on obvious crescendos for emotional impact. Instead, it moves like a tide: gentle at first, then swelling unexpectedly, then retreating into stillness. The effect is haunting, a soundscape that envelops the listener in both intimacy and distance. It’s the kind of track that rewards patience, asking you to sit with it, to feel it in your body, to let it echo in your own memories.

The song arrives as the final preview before Ravitzki releases her first English-language album, Mifarma, on September 19. She’ll mark the occasion with an intimate release show the next evening at Pete’s Candy Store in Brooklyn, NY. Produced by two-time Grammy nominee Carmen Rizzo (Seal, Alanis Morissette, Paul Oakenfold), the record represents Ravitzki’s most expansive artistic statement yet — a merging of her earlier Hebrew-language work with a more experimental, genre-fluid palette.

Earlier singles have already revealed the scope of her vision. “I Left the Room Without My Hair” was stark, almost startling in its openness, a song that peeled away identity with the same sharpness as its title. “The Five Stages of Grief” continues that unflinching narrative but with a wider, more universal lens. Other album cuts, including “Somnambulist,” deepen the exploration of fracture and renewal, showing the breadth of Ravitzki’s artistry.

The collaborators on Mifarma help stretch that vision further. Shara Nova of My Brightest Diamond lends her voice, Earl Harvin (Tindersticks, Air) provides drums that pulse with understated urgency, Melissa Lingo adds layered textures, and songwriter Piers Faccini brings his own poetic touch. All of it is tied together by Rizzo’s production, which resists excess. He frames Ravitzki’s voice in space, surrounding it with electronic hums, classical flourishes, and subtle pop undercurrents.

At the center, though, is Ravitzki’s voice — crystalline, fragile, but unyielding in its honesty. She sings with the clarity of someone who has lived through what she is describing, someone who knows that grief is never just sadness. It is confusion, anger, numbness, and sometimes even beauty. The restraint in her delivery gives the song its power: it does not beg for attention, it draws you in quietly until you realize it’s been holding you the whole time.

The strength of “The Five Stages of Grief” lies in its refusal to resolve. There is no neat conclusion, no triumphant final chorus. Instead, the track lingers in transition, reminding us that grief is cyclical and ongoing. It resonates as a companion rather than a guide — not telling you how to move forward, but walking with you as you figure it out yourself.

In that sense, Ravitzki’s alter ego Mifarma is less a mask and more an embodiment — a space where she can excavate, confront, and reshape her own history. The project is bold not because it is loud, but because it dares to stay soft in a world that often demands spectacle.

“The Five Stages of Grief” is available now on all streaming platforms, and if it’s any indication, Mifarma will be an album that refuses easy categorization. It’s a record designed to be felt as much as heard — one that blurs the lines between personal diary and communal hymn. Ravitzki has given us a track that is not just about grief, but about survival, identity, and the quiet resilience of moving forward, one step at a time.