Holding Grief and Hope in the Same Song: Talitha Jae on ‘Ada’

Talitha Jae — 'Ada'

Heatseeker 🔥 Gentle, fearless songwriting that gives voice to stories too often left unspoken.

With ‘Ada’, Talitha Jae offers something rare and quietly brave: a song that refuses to rush grief, refuses to tidy it up, and refuses to look away. Deliberately kept spare in its production so nothing pulls focus from the song’s emotional core, ‘Ada’ is built on warmth and restraint. Produced by Moko Productions, the arrangement centres acoustic guitar, with subtle mandolin and a fragile thread of violin woven through by Talitha’s close friend Cait Jamieson (recently seen on The Voice). Every choice serves the same purpose: to let the lyrics and vocal sit front and centre, unshielded.

Lyrically, ‘Ada’ unfolds like an open letter written in pencil rather than ink. It asks questions without demanding answers, circling longing, fear, and the quiet identity rupture that can follow infertility and loss. Lines of imagined connection (“I’ve longed to meet you since forever / a little missing piece of me”) sit beside moments of brutal uncertainty (“What if I never get to meet you — would that be ok with me?”), tracing Talitha’s journey from the shock of infertility news, through two miscarriages, and into the wary, complicated emotional terrain of pregnancy CAIafter loss. There is no resolution imposed here — only honesty, held gently.

This is not a song newly discovered by its audience. ‘Ada’ has lived in rooms for years. Talitha first shared it at Elixir Music House in Cairns, later performing it for Kasey Chambers during her visit to the CMAA Academy in Tamworth, and again while supporting Sara Storer the same year. It’s a song she brings out instinctively when she senses someone in the room might need it — and almost every time, someone approaches her afterwards to share how deeply it landed. In that way, ‘Ada’ has already been doing its quiet work long before its official release.

That intimacy carries through to the film clip, edited by Talitha herself using footage from every stage of her journey — pieced together one-handed while nursing her rainbow baby. One of the chorus scenes was filmed during her first loss, which occurred while she was in Brisbane as a regional delegate for the Australian Women in Music Awards. She attended the event that day, then came apart afterwards — a moment now permanently stitched into both the song and its visual companion. Like the track itself, the video doesn’t explain or soften the experience. It simply bears witness.

Talitha Jae Ada

‘Ada’ is not a song chasing catharsis or closure. It’s a place to sit. A hand on the back. A few minutes where grief and hope are allowed to coexist — and where listeners are reminded, quietly but firmly, that they are not alone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGuSS078uTQ

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Hi Tee, for those discovering you through ‘Ada’, how would you describe your sound and the kind of stories you’re drawn to tell in your songs?

I really struggle to find the right “box” for my sound. The best way to describe it would be acoustic-based and feely. A friend once said, “T, you are the feels — that is your genre,” which I loved… sadly it’s never a checkbox on festival applications. I usually tick singer-songwriter: real, raw stories shared through music. Music is kind of my therapy — it’s how I process. So many experiences and emotions are universal, and I love creating a safe space where others can feel and process too. I especially love playing live and actually seeing people connect emotionally with the songs.

You’ve always written from a very emotional, honest place. Was vulnerability something that came naturally, or was it learned over time?

It was definitely learned. It took me a long time to start writing because I was scared of being that vulnerable. I was really lucky that a local music shop in Cairns ran a songwriting circle with the loveliest people. They helped build my confidence in writing and sharing original songs — especially when those songs were deeply personal.

When did music become more than a hobby for you? And how has the move from Cairns to Brisbane treated you?

I grew up in a musical family, so music was always there. Until moving to Cairns, I’d only gigged with Mum. At uni I started getting cover gigs, which became regular — lunchtime shows, Friday nights. I even spent time as the lead singer in a rock band (very different to my solo stuff!). It didn’t feel serious until I started writing and performing my own songs. Competition wins helped quiet the imposter syndrome. My song ‘I’m Right Here’ made national finals in the Listen Up Music Songwriting Competition in 2018, and in 2019 I placed third in the Australian Songwriters Association folk/acoustic category. Supporting Clare Bowditch was huge — she’s an idol and so incredibly generous. All of that made me think, maybe I could take this further.

Who are the artists you return to when you need grounding or inspiration?

My top four girlies: Laura Marling, Norah Jones, Clare Bowditch, and Eva Cassidy. Beautiful vocals, melodies, and heartfelt lyrics. I also grew up with a soft spot for female-led, feely music like Jewel.

‘Ada’ is born from heartbreak and healing. When did you know this experience needed to become a song?

I wrote it in a couple of hours after a really rough doctor’s appointment. I’d found out the year before that I had low egg numbers, but I still had hope. A year later, hormones were settled, but I was told there was no way to know if I’d ever have kids. I just felt helpless and heartbroken — and the song poured out.

How did writing something so raw change the way you see yourself as an artist and a person?

It was scary to share. This topic still isn’t something society is comfortable talking about. There’s also pressure as a woman in music to appear young, free, and untethered. I worried it might negatively impact my career — and I actually lost followers after releasing it. But I knew if I was feeling this way, others were too. I wanted them to know they weren’t alone.

The name ‘Ada’ carries deep meaning. What does it represent to you now?

It was my great-grandmother’s second name — she hated it, I loved it. I always imagined naming a daughter Ada. Now it holds both heartbreak and hope. Heartbreak for what I feared I’d never have, and hope — because I now have my rainbow baby. He’s a boy, so didn’t get the name, but is loved just as fiercely.

Grief and hope sit side by side in the music. How did you capture that sonically?

I wanted it simple and raw. I recorded with Moko Productions — Michael played acoustic guitar and mandolin, keeping everything soft and gentle. My beautiful friend Cait Jamison added violin, which really lifted the emotion without overpowering it.

Tell us about the wall of coloured post-it notes. How did the song evolve as your story changed?

I’m a visual thinker, so I write thoughts and feelings on post-it notes and move them around until the song takes shape. It started as a song about infertility, but after my first loss it changed. After sharing it live, so many people reached out with their own stories. Then it shifted again during pregnancy after loss — such a strange, bittersweet emotional space. The song kept meeting me wherever I was.

What do you hope ‘Ada’ offers those walking through loss or uncertainty right now?

I hope it makes them feel less alone, and gives them permission to fall apart for a few minutes if they need to. I cried a lot during this time. If the song can sit with someone while they feel it all, that’s enough.

You’ve released this independently, with no PR budget. What has that been like?

Honestly, tough. I had planned time for the release, but then my baby’s sleep and feeding changed and everything shifted. Releasing independently without PR is hard — emails often go unread, and that shows in the data. It’s disappointing, but I released this for people, not charts. And from the messages I’ve received, it reached those who needed it. That matters most.

Now that ‘Ada’ is out in the world, what’s next?

‘Ada’ will always be there for those who need it. I’ve started writing a song about being a mum, but that’s further off. I did record another song at the same time — a fun, tongue-in-cheek track with a Lumineers-style vibe that goes off live. I’m waiting until I can afford a film clip and proper PR. As a new mum, money’s tight, but I’ll be chasing funding because I can’t wait to share it.