I’ve never been stargazing. I mean, I’ve spent time away from my light-polluted suburb to go to the mountains before, where you can finally connect the dots in a constellation instead of just seeing three or four scattered flecks of light. But lying down in the cool grass, staring up at the sky for seconds, minutes, hours to memorize the luminous refractions on its black canvas — that hasn’t been a lived experience for me yet, at least in real life. In my head, I can see the scene clearly when Haiva Ru’s Wildflowers plays : the shooting-star synths, desert-breeze guitar, caressing sighs of the night (“Wildflowers in half bloom….How could I ever blame you?”). It reminds me of Nick Drake’s “Pink Moon,” but colored over with a shade of pining, Ru’s voice fragile and resigned to lost romance like tattered petals carried by the air (“I’m falling apart quite beautifully”) or even the cosmic debris of memories blowing “past the stars and past the moon.” In fact, there’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, another memory to be made and remembered. Some songs, by a sparkle of kismet, come at the perfect time; “Wildflowers” might have bloomed right on season.
From the rooftop to the spiral staircase, Shatta Wale and Ypee appear to have fun in the company of attractive African women