Seapony
Go With Me

One of the main arguments used by detractors of Milan is that "you don't have the sea." Not the mountains either, for that matter, which particularly bothers those coming from Rome: Milan is flat, it has no climbs or descents. And neither does it have the sea. Not even London, nor Paris or Berlin have it, but there it matters less.

Milan has a thousand reasons to be hated, and just as many to be loved; as far as I'm concerned, it's a place where beauty is not flaunted but you have to seek it out. It's like a person you discover to be special as you get to know them; you need to have patience with them. Anyway, it's true: Milan does not have the sea. We invented the Seaplane Base as a minimal solution, and those who want salty waves have to get in the car and take the highway to Genoa. Or push further to Versilia, or to the Adriatic coast on the other side. In short, if you want the real sea, the kind I'm talking about, you can't hope to go there in a day. So what do you do? Maybe on a rainy evening like this one, Tuesday, you put on a record like the one by Seapony and close your eyes.

They are from Seattle, made famous by very different people, and at least with this first record, they don't pretend to establish themselves as a new indie-pop icon, they just want you to listen to the initial "Dreaming" and think of them as someone you might want to hang out with in the future, without expectations. "Go With Me" has the scent of salt, and the cover image of this Rinoa Heartilly lookalike fixes a motionless liquid mass that you can feel moving under your feet as " I Never Would" plays, perhaps the only real reason that could justify purchasing this blue record if you find it while wandering through a market stall. Distorted guitars and ethereal vocals, at times reminiscent of Julee Cruise from "Twin Peaks" singing in the dark for David Lynch. They are raw, like a green lemon, and may give the impression of one of the many messy young bands tinkering with effects pedals who, once they find the perfect knob configuration, never touch it again (stuff like "Go Away" or "So Low" I used to play myself with one arm and the pick between my teeth), yet sometimes they can be a shell that, if you place it to your ear, you can really hear the sea, big waves and backwashes ("Blue Star"), red sunsets ("What You See"), memories ("I Really Do"), a longing for water ("Always"). No track over 3:36, small imaginary droplets that moisten your face when, in Milan, you don't have the sea.

The Sea Ponies make an impression with a record of perhaps overly similar pieces that consequently ends in an anonymous way (after "With You" you expect another similar one to start), yet it sounds fresh, deserves an effort, Jen Weidl deserves a hug on the pier while the wind messes up her hair, and for the other two, a beer at the pub, under the veranda.