Hey my friend,
Sixty.

Somehow we’re already here.

What started as a small indie experiment, a way to share discoveries, stories, doubts, wins, and little pieces of this strange creative life, has now reached its 60th edition. And honestly? It still feels surreal.

Every week, you show up. You read. You listen. You write back. ❤

You help this little corner of the indie world stay alive, curious, and warm.

So for this milestone edition, I wanted to focus on something real. Something most artists hide behind jokes, memes, or silence: the fight between perfectionism and letting go. The moment when a song refuses to cooperate. The doubts. The sleepless nights. The fear of releasing something imperfect.

And the simple truth that we finish our songs not because we’re always inspired… but because we’re still stubborn enough to try.

We also take a look at a warning worth knowing, the Stripe “bank linking” issue shared on Subvert.fm. Because protecting your art also means protecting your data.

So… welcome to Mitxoda Weekly #60.

Thank you for being here, again.

Let’s dive in.
Mitxoda

I can’t finish the song.

And honestly, I think a lot of us know exactly what that feels like.

There’s that moment when the idea is there, beating, breathing, insisting on existing, but every time you try to shape it, your mind tightens instead of opening. The chords feel wrong, the structure collapses when you touch it, the words slip through your fingers like dust. You stare at the DAW, or at the page, or at the guitar or the piano, and it feels like you are the problem. Not the song.

And that’s where the dark thoughts start building their little empire.

The stress that grips your chest because “I should have finished this yesterday”…

The lack of sleep that turns every detail into a mountain.

The frustration of hearing other artists release five tracks while you’re stuck on one.

The fear, that old one…, of not being heard, not being understood, not being worth it.

The fear that the song will disappear into the digital sea without a single human noticing the work, the hours, the heart you poured into it.

And then the self-doubt: Am I too picky?

Too obsessed with details nobody will ever hear?

Too “à cheval” on perfection?

Too afraid to call something done because… what if it isn’t good enough?

This mix of emotions is a heavy storm to stand in. And it gets heavier when you’re alone with it, because finishing a song is not just a question of technique. It’s emotional engineering, spiritual weightlifting. It’s wrestling your own brain until it lets you move forward again.

But here’s the truth artists often forget:

All the bad things have to be evacuated before the song can breathe.

The stress, the loops of overthinking, the fear of disappointing… none of that belongs in the final track.

It can certainly fuel the creation but it cannot live in the final form, IMHO.

It has to be pushed out, drained, burned, whispered away.

Otherwise the song stays stuck. And so do you. Finishing a track doesn’t just require skill. It requires clearing space inside yourself. And yet… there is a reward waiting behind this mess.

A tiny one, maybe, but one that changes everything. It starts with one listening. A single person who hits play and gets it. One message saying “hey, this part hit me.” One radio spin at 3AM when someone on the other side of the world is awake enough to feel your track more than they expected.

That’s where the light begins. I made something that exists outside of my head.

And that little spark is enough to justify the fight.

Because in the indie world, we survive and grow thanks to the things that the big industry forgets to care about: kindness, respect, curiosity, and feedback.

We live in a landscape where every song is an act of vulnerability. Where every release is a little leap of faith. Where every artist is fragile, brilliant, exhausted, stubborn, hopeful.

And we survive because we lift each other up.

So yes, I’ll finish this song. I don’t know when.

I don’t know how many storms I’ll have to walk through before it clicks.

But I know this: I won’t be finishing it alone.

I’ll be finishing it inside this indie universe where people actually care. Where imperfections make the music human. Where feedback is a gift.

Where we respect each other’s battles.

Where creativity is a strange, fragile animal and we protect it together.

And when the song is ready, even if it takes days or months or a ridiculous amount of overthinking… someone will listen, someone will feel it, someone will understand.

So yeah, I will finish this one.

Don’t know when 🤣

But trust me: it’s on its way.

Love,
Mitxoda

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Source: a piece by Dbene, on the excellent forum Subvert.fm

A Subvert.fm member warned that when creating a new Stripe account (especially US-based), Stripe strongly pushes users to “link” their bank account through a login flow. It looks mandatory, but it isn’t.

This “linking” actually gives Stripe (and its third-party data aggregators like Finicity, MX, Flinks) ongoing access to your full banking history: balances, transactions, personal info, and potentially even your banking login credentials. All of this becomes “consented” automatically if you follow the linking process.

What you actually need, for payouts, is far simpler: manually entering your routing + account number later. No login, no data access, no continuous tracking.

DBene advises:

This doesn’t affect your ability to receive payments via Stripe. The login-based linking is only pushed through UI design that looks unavoidable, but isn’t.

Useful reminder: always double-check what “consent” actually means in fintech interfaces.

Thanks for being here.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks for keeping this indie path alive.

We move forward together.

One song at a time.

One week at a time.

Peace,

Take care,
🖤 Mitxoda

END 😆