Love, sex and bicycles

This week’s curation has been an emotional rollercoaster. At first, I wasn’t sure to have enough songs to fill the edition. But as Friday grew old and night fell, more and more extraordinary tracks came together. In the end, I had to choose from eleven pieces.

Maybe it seems trivial from the outside, but the process of curating this newsletter is painful. My mission is to share great music with anyone willing to listen. Not sharing a song that speaks to me always feels like neglecting a part of myself. In a way, Weekly5 is accompanied by vulnerability and doubt. Did I choose wisely? Or did I kill too many darlings?

But ultimately, the deadline approaches and puts an end to the worries. The best I can hope for is that there are songs that also speak to you.

Five songs obviously survived the slaughterhouse. They tell stories of love, sex and bicycles. They trigger gratitude and self-doubt. They leave you energized and relaxed. Hopefully.

Adna – November

I vividly remember encountering Adna for the first time. I stared at the cover of her second album, Run, Lucifer, and was immediately captivated. In front of a grey wall stands this woman with large, deep eyes. The gaze is filled with heartbreaking melancholy and an ancient sadness. As vulnerable as a flower and as steadfast as a rock in the storm. It was the perfect metaphor for Adna’s art. Gentle music is a lethal weapon.

After the third record, Closure, Adna went silent. It’s been a long four-year wait. Finally, the Swedish artist with Bosnic roots released a new single, November. The song is pure Adna; this shimmering melody played by a guitar, the composition’s ethereal flow like the sea on a foggy day at the beach.

There’s innocent beauty and bittersweetness in November. There’s an eternity in this song about vulnerability. And while it’s a hymn full of love, hope and gratitude, there’s also a ring of doubt that one could find somebody who’s fully embracing you.

With Adna’s music, the world stops spinning. At the same time, I ask myself how it kept turning without it.