Adela Mede is a Slovak-Hungarian musician and singer whose works weave together elements of Central European folklore, contemporary vocal techniques, minimalistic compositional structures and experimental electronics. Her intimate, powerful songs, sung in three languages—Hungarian, Slovak and English—explore the reality of a life stretched across borders. The voice is central to her practice; it’s dominant, centre-stage, the expression of a universal language that Mede uses to describe a reality beyond our individual experience. She studied popular music at Goldsmiths, University of London, and is now based in Bratislava, Slovakia. Her latest release, Ne Lépj a Virágra, was released in November 2023 by Warm Winters Ltd. and Mappa.
When we were arranging this interview, we actually discussed the languages in which we would speak. Language is also a system of thought, and sometimes you change as a person when you speak in a different language.
What does language mean to you?
It obviously makes life so much easier when you adopt the language that the locals speak. And I don’t just mean that you learn it at school and then you speak it. When I went to London and worked in a cafe, I adopted a completely different language, a completely different intonation that I hadn’t known existed.
So for me, it’s a tool for fitting in, but at the same time, it’s also something that I’ve used to connect with my parents and to connect with some sort of roots that I have somewhere, to understand what that means to me. And to understand what home means to me.
And is home for you something geographical—in terms of country or region—or is it more personal—in terms of your family and your upbringing?
It’s definitely geographical as well, because when I visited Poland, I felt really great there, even though I wouldn’t say that speaking Slovak in Poland in any way contributed to that. But I could imagine living there and not feeling out of place.
I went to an international school and thought that I would get along with anyone who spoke English, and then I moved to London, and I had a culture shock. I felt really out of place, and it was as if I’d been reminded that I was Eastern European.
I was very shocked and realised that I actually didn’t have any idea who I was. I was brought up in the British system, which doesn’t necessarily erase, but certainly doesn’t focus on the historical context of Eastern Europe. So it was very easy to think that it wasn’t important where I came from or what the history of Slovakia was; I should just look to the West, and that would give me all the answers.
I’m not complaining because it’s a very privileged position to be in—to go to an international private school in Slovakia, speaking and learning in English. It’s the main reason my parents put me in the school—because they wanted me to have a more open world than they had.
But I think they had regrets because I became someone they didn’t recognise anymore. I just fully immersed myself in it without realising that there’s so much more nuance in life than the sort of globalised world we’re trying to create where everyone is unified. But it’s not like that in reality.
So I felt lied to a little bit.
But it’s also interesting that your lyrics and your track and album titles are also in languages like Slovak and Hungarian, which maybe Westerners don’t understand. And in spite of—or maybe because of that— your music has perhaps resonated even more than that of many of the musicians from our country who sing in English.
This has been very interesting to me because, to be honest, I didn’t really care. I felt so strongly that I needed to sing in these languages and to specifically rhyme in Slovak and Hungarian that I didn’t really think so much about how it would be received. I was very surprised by the way in which it was actually received.
Maybe I’m also riding this trend or wave of exploring the folkloric roots of Eastern Europe, and I’m aware that this might have helped a little. But, for example, when I started playing in Slovakia, one of my first concerts was in [a town in eastern Slovakia] Prešov, and I heard people in the audience saying, “Why is she singing in Hungarian again?”, and they would leave.
It’s funny because Prešov is only an hour and a half away from Košice, which is full of Hungarians. But that doesn’t really happen anymore. People know what they’re coming for when they come to my concerts, and I’m grateful for that. I used to be a bit scared, wondering, “Okay, what’s going to happen? Am I going to be in an emotional state?” You’re kind of overcoming yourself— your shyness, your imposter syndrome. Should I keep going? Is it too much?
Yeah, it’s interesting because you come from the border area of Slovakia and Hungary, which has always been bilingual.
Were you surprised by some of the reactions to your music?
Yeah, very surprised because I guess I made this decision to study popular music at university. So that was the commitment I needed to follow through and I needed to really try to make it work.
When I released my first album—it was during Covid, lockdown-ish times, and everything was still a bit uncertain—it was extremely encouraging that Szabadság was so well received. But that was also thanks to the community that was built around Adam, my husband, and his label [Warm Winters] and also friends that we made in London.
It was a huge confirmation for me that I could actually make this work. I really struggled with playing live. It was much harder than putting out music, of course, because it feels so vulnerable, especially the songs that are in Hungarian and about my parents.
I remember I was opening for Claire Rousay in Copenhagen, and I’m scared of flying. I had to hold the hand of the lady next to me on the flight there, and then after my gig I broke down crying and told Claire that I didn’t think this was for me, that I was just going to be a teacher for the rest of my life. That it would be more fulfilling, I could be with children. And Claire was so sweet. She told me, “Of course you can, whatever makes you happy. You were great out there, but if you feel like this isn’t for you, that’s okay”.
Then I came home, I recovered, and a few months later I booked some gigs over the summer, and started to see the joy of it and started to understand that this was probably the best way to make money from my music as well.
Is your music now your main profession?
Yeah, let’s say so. I’ve always considered teaching as part of my creative process because I’m very inspired by voices that are not professional. It’s like hearing an album that I’ve never heard before— it really sticks with me.
Especially when there’s a collective like the women I’m teaching now. I feel like I should be paying them, not the other way around. One of these students even ended up on my second album. This is something I always want to keep open to because there’s so much beauty I see in it.
When you were studying at Goldsmiths, University of London, was that more of a theoretical or a practical course?
It’s actually really well balanced. There’s a lot of theoretical academic essays on aesthetics. I remember one of the best essays I wrote was an analysis of Kara-Lis Coverdale’s music.
I could academically explore all the things that interested me in-depth. We also had to produce recorded music and an essay as well as a live performance of the music. So, we were always taught to think deeply about things, produce them well, and also consider how to put them in a live setting.
I really enjoyed studying at Goldsmiths. It gave me so much. It was absolutely the best money I’ve ever spent in my life. But unfortunately, there were a lot of strikes, and all of the lecturers who taught me and gave me so much have left.
Why were the strikes happening?
Because of cuts to their pension schemes. It was just getting worse and worse for the teachers; they were working themselves too hard. I guess it’s like it is at any other university.
Has the course given you some sort of self-reflection on what you do because you were analysing other musicians?
Yeah, it really influenced me and helped me to understand that the music I make doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It can have a purpose. It can be a research project. But this was also the kind of school of thought that I was immersed in. So, I don’t know if things would have been different had I not gone to Goldsmiths. But I really appreciate the idea that an album or a performative project can be a research project and it can contribute to something meaningful.
Goldsmiths really helped me to see the impact that music has—understanding pop culture, developing your taste and seeing how you fit into that. And learning what cultural appropriation is, what imitation is, and exploring these more political issues within the popular and experimental music scene that are important to discuss.
Then there is also inspiration, I guess. What was yours?
I hadn’t listened to any Björk before I went to Goldsmiths. I didn’t know her. The first time I heard her song “Jóga” I was like, whoa, how did I miss this? Also, most of my classmates were from London or elsewhere in the UK and not from private school backgrounds like me. That was so refreshing because everyone had such good taste, and I learned so much. There was a big group of us who would go for lunch, and it would turn into a big soup club where we would continue discussing some of the lectures.
That was invaluable because you’re contributing to a discourse and trying to understand and learn together.
A community. Do you have such a community now in Bratislava as well?
It took some time to find it. We got a dog to help us make friends. There isn’t the same openness in Slovakia as there is in London, and we were kind of grieving that when we came back. How were we going to make friends? How were we going to meet our neighbours? How could we approach people without it seeming weird?
So that’s why we got a dog, and it worked. But it also helped when I started playing concerts and realised that I really enjoy gigs because I get to meet new people. I see how people go above and beyond everything to organise festivals and concerts and how they are so passionate about music. I guess that’s what my second album is all about.
Are you working on new music?
It’s in its very early stages, but I already have some collaborators. One of them is with a Hungarian artist who moved to Slovakia. She’s learning Slovak, and we became friends because we were booked for a gig together in [south Slovak town] Dunajská Streda.
She writes amazing poetry and she also took me to hear a Slovak-Hungarian choir. I had a bit of a culture shock because they were singing the Hungarian anthem, and they had their eyes closed, and I was like, where am I? It was a bit scary and it was a bit hard on my voice. But we had this experience together and we talked about it, and I want to write lyrics with her specifically. On this album, I’m exploring the clash I have in my head because now I’ve ended the honeymoon phase of being back in Slovakia.
Now I’m starting to notice my neighbourhood more. I’m trying to learn how to keep loving everyone, regardless of some of their thoughts, and to realise that maybe they’re just listening to propaganda…A lot of people I’ve become friends with and really appreciate move away from here.. How to accept that and have the love for those people, too, because they’re also acting out of love.
I guess this is what I’m exploring on the new album.
Are you also involved in the Warm Winters Ltd label that your husband Adam has?
People ask me this all the time. I am in no way involved, to the point where if Adam needs help with packing, I’m like, I can’t iron clothes, and I cannot pack things, so please don’t make me do it.
I just hear the demos when he listens to them, and that’s a blessing, but I have no say.
Sonically, you mentioned you might record some elements of the new album at your grandparents’.
So far, I only have lyrics and the people I want to work with, but my biggest dream is to work with a choir. I’m not sure if this is the time that it will happen, but I’m learning how to work with a choir now that I’m teaching one. Before I go to teach them, I have this little voice in my head telling me that I’m not qualified to do it. But they’re very patient with me, and we have a great time together. I would really like to explore collective singing more, and what it brings up, what it evokes. And not even in a folkloric way, because while that’s obviously where it’s rooted and where its beauty comes from, I don’t want to appropriate it, even though it might be my own culture. I don’t want to end up doing covers. I try to be very sensitive, taking elements that are more abstract and universal rather than repurposing something. There are so many people who are deeply committed to and live the culture much more fully, whereas I would just be an outsider trying to replicate it.
Interview Lucia Udvardyova
Photo Kvet Nguyen