TAWANDA CHARI
Some songs hit too close to home and Undirote by Kim Makumbe and Karville is one of those cuts that pries open a part of the heart we usually keep under lock and key. It’s vulnerable. Melancholic. A little toxic. But most importantly, it’s real.
In Undirote, both Kim and Karville find themselves tangled in the what-ifs of romance, that space where love once lived or almost did but never fully bloomed due to poor timing and the inability to express feelings directly. The hook, a ghostly refrain of “Ndirotewo, ndichauya ka paunorara / Dream about me / Do you still think about me / I’ll come to you in your dreams” captures the haunting nature of unresolved emotions. It lingers like perfume on an old hoodie – familiar, aching and persistent.
Kim Makumbe’s verse is a masterclass in soft realization. She narrates a story too many know too well that silent mutual interest where words were never said aloud. Where hints were dropped like petals but never picked up. And by the time the light bulb switches on, it’s too late. Someone else has already swooped in and picked the flower.
Karville enters from a different but parallel lane. One of a man unable to shake off his past. He’s honest about it. He tried moving on. But memory has other plans. The nights are the worst; it's in the solitude of the pillow where his ex still lives, rent-free. There’s pain in his delivery, but also acceptance. A reluctant bow to the reality of lingering love.
The production doesn’t get in the way. Instead, it floats beneath their words, allowing the emotion to rise to the surface. There’s a tenderness that cushions the melancholy. A sonic bed for these two broken narratives to unravel side by side.
Is it a healthy song? Maybe not quite. It treads that slippery slope of emotionally cheating or at least emotionally lingering where you shouldn’t. But that’s what makes Undirote stand out. It doesn’t sugarcoat the grey areas of love. It lives in them.
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