As Trent from Never Have I Ever said after a jock asked him why he had so many photos of Adele in his locker: “cause she’s an icon with the voice of an angel, bro.” I don’t have any photos of Adele in my hypothetical locker, or even in my room, but she is in my weekly (almost daily) music rotation.
My love for listening to Adele started after my freshman year when I spent the summer studying abroad. Naturally, I’ve taken up listening to British artists while I was in London, taking long evening strolls. The dynamics of a soft, contemplative low voice and powerful, clear belt soothed me as I would watch the 8 p.m. sunset.
My favorite album during this time was 19, when I was 18. I often thought of how close I was to the age Adele was when she released her first album, and I was confronted with the prospect of what success would mean to me during my college career. I was abroad for Berkeley’s Global Internship program, but I feared for the competitive upcoming years. I would think of her project names. What did it mean to name your project after the age you created them? Are we meant to limit what we’ve done in specific time periods? I would wonder whether placing an age to designate a period would limit us, or if it would better allow us to track how we change.
Luckily, one of my favorite Adele songs, “Chasing Pavements,” is also one of her most popular tracks. My interpretation of the second verse allowed me to imagine how I’d been approaching trying new things.
Adele’s voice sings, “I build myself up / and fly around in circles / waiting as my heart drops / and my back begins to tinge / finally could this be it?”
My interpretation is: “I build myself up / and fall into the same cycles / waiting for something new to excite me / and my instincts to kick in / could this be the change?”
Although Adele’s earlier discography was about love and heartache, I usually dedicated these songs to myself, feeling how my life had become more complex as I became independent and worked towards curating an identity. Adele gave me a voice, even if it wasn’t dictating exactly how I felt; rather, this voice was starting a conversation that helped me be honest and vulnerable with myself.