Dear indie friends,

"This next song is for Sarah."

If you're old enough, you probably smiled when you read those words. A radio presenter would pause for a moment. Perhaps they'd explain that Sarah had just graduated. Or that someone wanted to apologize or celebrate an anniversary.

Or simply say, "I'm thinking of you." Then the music would begin.

For three or four minutes... the song belonged to someone. Not everyone.

Someone.

Today, music has never been easier to send. Yet somehow... it feels less personal than ever.

This Weekly is the tenth and final installment in this series about the frustrations of indie artists.

I hope you've enjoyed reading it, shared it with the people you love (or hate... whatever), and found it useful for starting meaningful conversations about these difficult topics, with solid arguments, empathy, and without hate.

My personal goal with this Weekly has always been to help shine a light on how we, as artists, can explain our vision to people who may not understand it yet. Without judgment.

I'm just the messenger, you know...

Enjoy this final chapter. And yes, you read that right, this is already the 99th edition of Mitxoda Weekly.

It makes me wonder... what are you expecting for issue #100?

Share your ideas, your wishes, and surprise me with the topic you'd really like me to write about.

As always, surprise me, but this time, send it directly by replying to this email. Let's see what comes next... next week.

Love,
Mitxoda

I call it The Death of the Dedication.

The technology has improved beyond imagination. A song can travel across the world in seconds. A playlist can be shared with thousands of people. A link can reach someone on the other side of the planet almost instantly.

We've solved distribution. But have we preserved intention?

A dedication wasn't really about the song. It was about the person. The music became a bridge. A way of saying something that words sometimes couldn't. "I heard this... and I thought of you."

Perhaps no streaming feature has ever fully replaced that feeling.

For independent artists, something subtle disappears when music loses its personal rituals.

Songs become content. Tracks become files. Listeners become users. Recommendations become algorithms. Everything still functions.

But the emotional thread becomes thinner.

Music has always carried stories that existed outside the recording itself.

Who gave it to you. Where you first heard it. Who was sitting beside you. Why that lyric suddenly mattered. Those memories are invisible. Yet they're often the reason a song stays with us for decades.

Without them... music risks becoming infinitely available... and strangely anonymous.

Think about the most meaningful song you've ever received. Not discovered. Received.

Perhaps someone played it during a long drive. Perhaps a friend quietly sent you a link after a difficult week, or your parents danced to it.

Perhaps it played at your wedding or at a funeral.

Suddenly... the song was no longer just music.

It had your name written all over it. Emotionally.

That's what a dedication creates. Ownership through memory.

The beautiful thing is... dedications never required expensive technology.

Just intention.

A handwritten mixtape. A burned CD. A radio request. A note inside an album cover.

Today it might simply be a message. "Listen to track three." "This reminded me of you." "I think you need this today."

The format changes. The humanity doesn't have to.

Perhaps the dedication isn't dead after all, it has simply become quieter.

Every time someone shares a song with one specific person... the tradition continues.

Every time an artist replies to a listener. Every time a community recommends an unknown band. Every time a radio host introduces a song with genuine affection.

Every time a newsletter celebrates artists instead of statistics. Every time we choose people over algorithms.

The dedication lives.

Not because technology preserved it but because people did.

Independent music has always thrived on closeness. An artist who remembers your name, a listener who replies to every release.

A radio show where songs are introduced with care - when I m not on holiday, for instance 😃

A small venue where conversations continue after the final note. Those moments don't scale particularly well.

Perhaps that's precisely why they matter.

Music was never only about reaching audiences. It was about reaching people. With a message.

One by one.

As this series comes to an end...

I've realised that every frustration we've explored points toward the same quiet truth.

And now...

the dedication.

On the surface, they seem like different problems. But perhaps they're all asking the same question.

How do we remain human while music becomes increasingly digital?

I don't know if there's a perfect answer. But I do know where I'd start.

With conversations. With curiosity. With communities. With artists who still make music because they have something honest to say.

And with listeners who still take the time to truly listen.

This is why this Weekly matters to me. To You.

Every Friday at 4:00 PM (Brussels time) a new episode of Le Salon Indie de Mitxoda will take place on salon.mitxoda.be, don’t miss it.

Actually... there won't be another frustration next week.

Because every story needs an ending. So instead, I'd like to dedicate this final paragraph... to You.

Whether you've read one Weekly or all ten, all 99...

Whether you're an artist, a listener, a curator, a radio host, or simply someone who still believes music matters...

Thank You.

For listening, sharing, caring.

And for proving that behind every great song... there is still another human being.

See you somewhere between the next note... and the next conversation.

With love, always,
🖤 Mitxoda

END 😆