For lovers. Angel Ceballos

Considering Seapony's delicate and demure sound, it's difficult to believe that some of it is born of aggression. "[Guitarist Danny Rowland] writes these lyrics that he'll just use for the melody that are like 'I will kill you' or something," says drummer John Bryan, the band's newest and most outgoing member. Commuting home every weekday from his Renton office job, Rowland negotiates some seriously shitty stop-and-go as he inches north on Interstate 5 back to the Capitol Hill apartment he shares with Seapony guitarist/vocalist and girlfriend Jennifer Weidl—hence his pent-up frustration and placeholder powerviolence lyricisms. It may also surprise you to learn that the gifted songwriter—whose fleet, major-key ditties are as memorable as they are charming—has a permanent soft spot for heavy metal. While Weidl and bassist Ian Brewer discuss their day jobs in terse monotones (the former works for artisan cheese-maker Beecher's, and the latter is an architect), Rowland tugs at the hem of his pant leg, trying to cover up the stick-and-poke anarchy symbol tattooed on his right ankle.

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Nothing on debut record Go with Me, however, suggests faintly hesher-esque pasts or rush-hour angst; Seapony is for lovers. The indelible, vaguely twangy guitar melody; verbed-out rhythm guitar exhalations; and nimble, timorous drum machine and bass punctuations of "Blue Star" create a totally star-crossed vibe. "So Low" is just as romantic, and about as close as the record comes to parting its kissy-kissy lips to expose the fangs underneath—the beat is thunderously propulsive and rife with vintage-pop hand claps, and the guitars are more overdriven than typical of twee-pop, with Weidl's airy vocals alighting, angelic, over the relative rancor beneath. Go with Me's lyrics are universally relatable in their simplicity (if sometimes a tad downbeat), and all of its woozy, desert-romance guitar licks evoke the mind-set of an aw-shucks everyman.

If Seapony seem bashful and withdrawn in person, no matter. Their music speaks for itself, in the hushed, smoky-throated tones of early-morning pillow talk. recommended

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