Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
Wildeflower music is basically the first inch of a river that becomes mightier and mightier as it stretches out, as it flows downhill. It's the beginning of a roaring ribbon of river, slight and mostly just the beautiful seed of what might become of it later. It's that trickle of water springing forth from the ground and gathering to itself as it rumbles. Just the idea that something like the Mississippi River or any of the greats starts as something that a child can hop over on one foot is something that can give you a headache, if you just think about it long enough.
The way that Wildeflower writes and plays is the same as a dawn rising over that tiny stream that doesn't know what it's going to become yet. The songs are delicate and touching. They seem to have some religious undertones about them, if only in the way that they might be interested in the beginnings of everything, in the answers to all of the biggest whys that exist. They'd like to know how it's all going to end, while they're still young to do something about it. They'd like to know the best ways to apologize. They'd like to know when the hand-holding doesn't feel so necessary any longer. They'd like to know why they can't sleep as well as they'd like. They'll be going in circles - plenty of pretty circles - until they're too old and worn out to remember what they thought they really needed answers to. They'll just get closer to the water. Then they'll walk into it, until it's up to their chests, then until it's up to their chins and finally until it's over their heads and they can only hear the gurgling of submission.