Hailing from the bustling city of Turin in northern Italy, The Selfish Cales have an authentic psychedelic pop sound with which I am immediately smitten. It pours from my speakers like technicolor water. At once it is reminiscent of Lemon Pipers or Strawberry Alarm Clock, but with an entirely updated and modern affectation that is clearly neither of these. This music is infused with an invigorating freshness that is distinctly infectious.
I am swept away to a quiet spring meadow. Jangly guitars flash like scales of colorful fish darting in and out of the shadows of a gurgling stream. The rhythm section pulses along, the tempo is jaunty and upbeat like pebbles tumbling over each other in the current. The vocals ring out, shouted from rounded green hilltops speckled with tiny colorful flowers lifting their faces to the sun. A subtly placed Hammond organ brings rays of orange and yellow light which warms my face and shoulders. Nobody is having a bad trip today. Not with that percussion part floating atop the water flowing between mossy rocks, driftwood bobbing along, bumping against each turn.
There is an odd meter change in the song, a twist in the stream as it rushes downhill. It carries me into the swirling torrent, coming together in a mad waltz through the puffy white clouds. They taste like cream and candy. A tiny speck of pollen, I soar on the breeze, turning and tumbling. Led by a buzzing guitar solo dancing like a bumblebee, pointing me to the hidden place where the magical golden honey flows from.
I find myself lost in a dervish dance with the bee. Unconsciously mimicking it’s every movement, we merge into one being neither human nor insect, with multifaceted eyes tinted by rainbows. We soar through the air, following the stream flowing from my speakers to the ocean, amid waving sea grasses and baby turtles scraping across the sand. Waves crash against the shore. I feel the cool mist across my face with a series of cymbal crash crescendos that build steadily. The whole world is visible for a fleeting moment, in a magnified droplet of prismatic sea spray, and I weep with sheer joy at its beauty. A watch floats down through the clear water, resting on the bottom of the widened mouth of the stream. The second-hand ticks it’s last tocks and the day fades gracefully to a clear and starlit night.